Orwellian Snapshots, episode 10: “Fairness Run Amok”

[Note: Below is the tenth installment of the Orwellian Snapshots (future time travel) series. For background information, including how I came to have access to the time machine in the White House basement, read this post. For other episodes, click the "Orwellian Snapshots" link in the sidebar. Enjoy...]

As every schoolboy knows, one of the greatest threats to our prosperity and liberty is the expansion of government into virtually every aspect of our lives. The monster continues to grow, seemingly without end, threatening to engulf everything in its path.

It was my intention to see the results of this process in the year 2020. Would the iron grip of the behemoth be unbearable, crushing all intelligent life in its grasp, or would there be a reversal, the result of some citizens’ rebellion? I yearned to know.

And thus I stole into the White House basement, as is my custom, and fired up the old time machine. My target setting was a field office of the IRS (Internal Revenue Service) in suburban Maryland, not far from the nation’s capital. What better way, I figured, to gauge the growth of the government than to see up close this critical point of contact between Leviathan and the average Joe.

I set the dials for the year 2020, in early April, just before the deadline for filing one’s income tax return. Soon, after spinning through the depths of time and space, I emerged in the parking lot of the IRS field office.

The place was packed; the lines were interminable. Everyone was quiet; faces looked grim. I glanced up at the wall and saw a large sign: “Welcome to the Department of Revenue Fairness.” Revenue fairness? What does that mean, I asked myself.

The answer was not long in coming. I spotted my average Joe, a middle-aged man sitting quietly in the waiting room, reading a magazine. I decided to accompany him in his odyssey. Soon, my subject’s number was called. I followed him into a corridor, and from there to a cramped office.

Behind the desk was a young woman with a shaved head and multiple pieces of metal that graced every spot on her face upon which a ring or spike could possibly take hold. “Hello, Mr. Stevenson,” she said, with a big smile.

“Hello,” murmured Stevenson, who looked as though he were being led to the electric chair.

“This shouldn’t take long,” she said, tapping some keys on her computer. “Let’s see. We start off with the base rate of five percent. Wasn’t it nice of the President to reduce the rate so much?”

Stevenson nodded. His face looked like that of a cadaver, drained of blood.

“Now…Did you bring your certified home report?”

He removed a sheet of paper from his pocket and unfolded it on the desk.

“Good, let’s see…Oh, no, Mr. Stevenson, you have a thermostat that goes above 60 degrees. Tsk, tsk…That’s an automatic six percent charge.”

“I know, sorry.”

“It’s no skin off my nose,” said the young lady, the skin of whose nose was barely visible under the metallic showcase. “What else…I see you didn’t get a state-approved light-bulb inspection. Damn. Two percent, Mr. Stevenson, and that’s so easy to take care of.”

“I guess I should do that.”

“Okay, let’s check a few things on line.” She gazed at the monitor. “What?! You have seven children?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Stevenson, you know that each child beyond one raises your tax by four percent. And that’s a major concession by the President. I mean, the carbon they consume, the food, the water, the paper…Aghh!!”

Stevenson was hunched over in his seat.

“What else…You gave a $500 donation to a charitable organization. You do know that we have to add that amount to your tax.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Don’t you trust the President to take care of everyone? Has anyone gone hungry in this country since 2008?”

Stevenson looked even more dejected.

“Well, I see that at least you didn’t start a business, that would’ve wiped you out completely. There’s hope after all…uh-oh…You didn’t complete the penitance procedure.”

“I kept meaning to do it, but something always came up.”

“Mr. Stevenson, c’mon! The President gave six months notice that anyone who ever voted Republican could repent and be exempt from the charge. All you had to do was sign a lousy piece of paper. How generous is that? I mean, how much did you damage the world by keeping the Republicans in power? How many people starved to death? How much destruction did the planet have to absorb?” She removed a form, placed it under Stevenson’s face, and held out a pen. “Here you go. Last chance.”

Stevenson stood up, groaned, gripped his chest, and collapsed onto the floor.

“Fascist pig,” muttered the young lady.

I removed myself from the building as quickly as possible, and returned to my own era.

If we don’t stop Leviathan, we’ll all be Stevenson in a few years: