Welcome to Babel!
“Welcome to Babel! The land of the free to work; home of bravely safe. My name is Sam. How are you a good citizen today?”
“Uh, hi. I’d like to open a restaurant.”
“Alrighty! Lucky for you, I’m a foodie. Real quick, before we continue, do you consent to being recorded for, you know, quality and training purposes?”
“Yeah, that’s fine—”
“Sweet. One more thing. Today we are training my new colleague Regina. Is this ok?”
“Sure—”
Regina combed her money piece behind her ear with her 1-inch purple French manicure. “Welcome to Babel! The land of the free to work; home of bravely safe. My name is Sam. How—
Sam corrected, “Not bad. Love the energy, but say your name, not mine.”
Regina bobbed her head. Her embarrassed smile excused her silliness. “Welcome to Babel! The land of the free to work; home of bravely safe. My name is Regina. How are you a good citizen today?”
“Very good. Pitch perfect,” said Sam.
The citizen switched attention between Sam and Regina. Both had vacant eyes and forced smiles. The citizen eventually said, “. . . I’d like to open a restaurant.”
“I hope it has that new vegan beef tartar,” said trainee Regina aside to Sam.
“Um, yes! Love that,” reciprocated Sam.
Regina returned to business with the citizen. “Do you know how to cook?”
“I think I should, haha.”
Blank stares.
“Yes,” coughed the citizen. “I can cook.”
“Excellent, please submit your cooking.”
“I didn’t bring any food with me. I didn’t know—”
“Sir. Please don’t joke. We are very busy today.”
“Great conversation authority,” instructed Sam aside but loudly enough for the citizen to hear. “We really have to drive these points in.”
The citizen blinked hard. “I’m not joking.”
Regina wasn’t phased. “We are too busy for jokes. Submit your cooking.”
“I told you. I don’t have any.”
Supervisor Sam leaned over Regina’s shoulder reach for a something on their desk. “Ole’ Sammy gonna’ step in for a bit.” Regina didn’t help nor move out of the way. Sam spoke rapidly. “Can you?—It’s ok, I don’t need the paper. Ole’ Sammy’s an expert here, haha. . . Anywayzz, this occurs often, Regina. He thinks you mean dish samples. Clarify.”
Regina rapidly nodded her head. “Your cooking forms. Submit in required ordering with format consistent to Section. . .” Regina scanned her notes. “19.35.918.29, subsection Foxtrot 18.43.71.”
“I don’t have the forms. They told me to get them from you.”
Supervisor Sam stepped in. “We got a doozy here. He messed up his stated purpose.” Sam inched out his next sentences while wafting his hand for Regina to join in concert. “He should’ve said, ‘To preliminarily inquire application. . .protocol (good!) of forms related to, and limited to, cooking.’” Regina had jumped in halfway. “That’s the one. Usually, we kick these guys to back of the line.”
The citizen protested. “Oh, c’mon I—”
Sam, “Don’t trip; no clap, my guy. We can use this as a learning experience for my new friend and family, the cool new clerk, the one and only, rockstar Regina. Your call, rockstar. You can dismiss him or be generous.” Regina wasn’t enthused. Sam’s head shook away his disappointment.
Regina spoke imperiously. “You have erroneously stated your purpose. Please amend accordingly.”
“Thank you! Ok, may I please—”
“Welcome to Babel! The land of the free—”
Sam interjected, “I love the energy! Really do. But, you don’t need to repeat our Great Greeting.”
Regina, “Sorry, I thought that. . .” She pointed to her talk track. “Here. It says, ‘Every petition must be preceded by our Great Greeting of Grateful Gifts.’”
Sam’s lips pursed. “Oh, look at that. You’re right. Good job.” They giggled at their mishap. “Proceed.”
“Welcome to Babel! The land of the free to work; home of bravely safe. My name is Sa—Regina.” Sam winked at Regina. She continued, “How are you a good citizen today?”
“I’d like to acquire applications for cooking.”
“You cannot acquire without, first, an inquiry.”
“I meant ‘inquire.’”
“Preliminary or substantial?”
“Preliminary,” said the citizen quickly.
“Excellent. We are happy to help. Do you have your submissions?”
Sam began chuckling. “Ooof, extra doozy today. Who doesn’t like a good ‘dooze.’” He coughed. “Good learning experience.” Another cough.
The citizen was dumbfounded. “I don’t even have the forms.”
Sam said, “Strike two, sir-browski. You have to inquire about the application forms before inquiring about the application itself.”
“Ok, whatever you say. I’m interested in—”
Regina interrupted, “Welcome to Babel! The land—”
“Are you kidding me!”
Regina gasped. Sam recoiled. Regina guarded her mouth. Sam guarded his heart. They were already behind bronze gilded bars. Regina spoke, “Sir, we do not condone violence, threats, nor prolonged eye contact. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you and your shameless eyes to leave.”
“I didn’t threaten anyone!” He looked helplessly at Sam and Regina before casting his eyes downward submissively.
“Excellent Regina! I pat you on the back, metaphorically speaking.”
“I accept your compliment, and, yes, Labor Resources training was clear on protocol for sanctioned compliments. I accept.”
“Really? Thanks,” said Sam with a small smile. “And good eye on his eyes. I love that.”
“Thanks.”
The citizen glared at the two now.
Sam said, “Ole’ Sammy here wants to give him a break. He agreed to help with your training so I think he deserves an expediate. Sir, do you know your PP number?
“That’s the only thing I know around here.”
Sam continued, “Good.” Then, he rapidly slurred out the greeting while almost headbanging to a beat. “welcomeababel. Ho-ma-a-the-freeda-wur; ho-ma-bravey-say. Mi-nah-miss Regina. How you a good sih-sin aday.” Sam slapped his forehead. “Ooof. Now I did it!” Sam repeated the intro slowly and enunciated his own name correctly.
“It’s tricky, right?!” laughed Regina.
“Please,” begged the citizen quietly starting at the counter. “What do I need to do?”
“A little bird—me!—heard a lil’ song about a ‘preliminarily inquire for application protocol of forms’ questions related to, and limited to, cooking.’ Isn’t that right sir?” Sam and Regina again froze with their wide eyes and fake smiles.
“Yes.”
“Great,” said Sam. “Usually, we go through these one at a time, but because we only have one minute left, we will have to expedite. Gotta’ fire them off.” Sam fired finger-bow-and-arrows for the pistol didn’t yet exist. “Are you ready for the questions?”
“Yes?”
“Do you know your PP number? Do you have proof of residence? Do you have your homeowner’s overlords’ approval? What fuel do you use to cook? Are you enrolled in inclusive hairnets for the bald?”
“Can I have a paper to write this down?”
“Sorry,” said Sam, “but this paper is for the people of Babel, not you.”
“I’m a person.”
Sam and Regina laughed. Sam continued, “It’s a poetic ‘people of Babel.’ Regina, do you like poetry?”
“Mmm, not really.”
“Me neither,” said Sam a bit collapsed. “But, sir, I suggest no more interruptions. We may not finish. Where were we?. . . Yes. Are your dishes and ingredients standardized to what we can pronounce? Where did you first learn to cook? Did you dream of cooking when you were young? Can your restaurant be seen from the top of the Tower? Do you have the Tower fee? Do you have your sanitation survey and its fee? Do you have your three witnesses? Is your money securely deposited in a Babel sanctioned bank? Do you have your culinary degree? Your emancipation from internship? Do you have your food serving license? Your drink serving license? Your food and drink serving license? Alcohol license? Babel Tower alcohol license? Mead honey license? Cocktail liquor license? The coveted ‘I don’t have a problem; it’s been a long week’ liquor shots license? Your insurance? Are sourcing partnerships contractually obligated through the authority of the Tower?”
“I was told to come here to start all of this!”
“You don’t already have a restaurant?”
“No!”
“Ooof . . You need an original PIAPFRLC. This PIAPFRLC is for existing restauranteurs. A true foodie, like me, would know that.”
“What? What the hell is a Pee App Freckle?”
Regina got offended. “Preliminary inquiry for application—”
“Save it!” The citizen stormed off.
“Good job,” said Sam to Regina. She floated with a big, successful smile. “Here comes the next one.”
- - -
“Welcome to Babel! The land of the free to work; home of bravely safe. My name is Regina—got it this time—How are you a good citizen today?”
“Hello, I’m—”
“Sorry,” interrupted Sam. “We really shouldn’t mince words of the Great Greeting of Grateful Gifts. It’s kinda’ our thing, so. . .”
“I am so sorry,” said Regina. “It won’t happen again.”
“No worries. You’re good; you’re guuuud. Learning experiences, guurlfren’.”
“Welcome to Babel! The land of the free to work; home of the bravely safe. My name is Regina. How are you a good citizen today?”
The citizen took a deep breath. She focused her eyes at the counter. “I’m here to submit forms for music playing. I have them ordered and optimized per the, uh, Section and Subsection.”
“Someone with their head on straight,” said Sam. “Let’s take a look. PP number, check. Proof of residency and overlord’s preliminary approval, nice. Account with reputable bank. Is it linked to the Tower? Yes, ok. Instruments have been sourced from trees we like but don’t love, good. An affidavit of your childhood dreams witnessed by four! Good for you. Noise permit, check. Music permit, check. Got the ‘not homeless, I promise’ documents, sweet. Insurance in case of failure, right here. Good. Regina? Would you like to do the honors? I think she’s a-ready for the application. Fun stuff.”
The citizen tapped the counter. “Wait, wasn’t this the application?”
Regina said, “These are the forms for the application.” She side-eyed Sam. “And, I don’t want to be too presumptuous my first day, but we need to ask the pre-app questions.”
“Ooof,” said Sam. “Of course. Great catch Regina!” He then joked, “Keep it up, and I’ll start worrying you’re coming after my job, haha.”
Regina panicked. “Should I submit an internal preemptory five-year plan? I don’t want any misunderstanding.”
“Oh, no, don’t worry. It was a joke. I was joking.”
“I’m confused. It says jokes are assigned to breakrooms and should not include Babel Tower authority unless it—”
Sam’s head vibrated. “It—it’s ok. Just—we’ll address it later. Let’s just do the pre-app questions.”
“Excellent. Welcome to Babel!. . . Sorry, habit. Ok, let’s start. Citizen, do you know your PP number?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have answers to the following questions?”
“Yes?”
“Then we may start. What instrument or instruments are you playing?”
“The lyre.” Sam and Regina looked at each other disapprovingly. “It was sourced correctly! You have the form. What did I miss?”
“No questions during the pre-app questions, please!” said Regina.
“Good command presence, Regina. You’re a quick study.”
Regina mouthed a Thank you. “What hours of the day will you play?”
“From 11AM until sunset, unless contracted for an evening concert or event.”
Sam pointed to a paper to the side. Regina nodded and asked the next question, “Where will you locate your playing?”
“Rings 107-132, as permitted in my. . . permits.”
“Them Rings coming up on. . . the, uh. . . up and up,” said Sam.
Regina added, “My cousin and her man just bought a sewer level apartment there. It’s their starter home. Investment. Solid 75-year debt PP ballooner.”
“Nice!” added Sam. “75-year ballooner. Tough to get. Good for them. I love strolling through those Rings. I get chased by this old woman with no teeth, but still a nice area. Well, she has one tooth. Anywayz, some women do, indeed, chase ole’ papa Sam here, haha.”
The citizen’s scrunched face stared at the counter.
Regina forced a coughed. “Ok, that’s all we need, unless I missed something. Sam?”
Same smiled silly. “Only your request for a jam sesh with ole’ Sam here, haha.” Nobody laughed. “No, that’s good. It’s all good.” He snapped and clapped the thumb of his fist. “Regina, I’ll let you have the honors.”
“Thanks Sam! Citizen, Preapplication failed.”
“Wait, what?!”
“Unfortunately, the lyre was created by a descendent of the evil Cain. And, you did not submit a renunciation of the villainous Cain and his descendants.”
“They all died in the flood though.”
“Furthermore, your hours of operation interfere with cattle grazing hours.”
“What?! Cattle love music.”
“Excuse me! We at Babel do not condone torturing livestock with hope and happiness right before slaughter. That is simply cruel.”
“But, I’m in the 107th Ring. There’s no animals up there!”
“Denied! Next!”
- - -
“Welcome to Babel! The land of the free to work; home of bravely safe. My name is Regina. How are you a good citizen today?”
“I am here to caretake and teach children. I have completed preliminary, its forms, pre-app questions, and the application itself.”
“Thank you for your attention to detail,” said Sam. “And, if I may say, an honorable, difficult job. I could never do it. We need more teachers.”
“Increase the pay and more just might.”
“You know I would, girlfriend, but that’s a totally different department. Tower officials and your Union gals have to hash that out.”
“Aren’t unions supposed to be for when there’s an excessive amount of labor available? Not a shortage?”
“Yes, and also unskilled,” added Sam. He and Regina smiled at our citizen unphased.
“Why a Union then?— Forget it,” said the citizen.
Sam reminisced into the ceiling. “I had a huge crush on my fourth-grade teacher. I’d misbehave so she’d talk to me at recess, you know, one on one—I stayed in on purpose sometimes—but it made a fuss with the principal. ‘A big thing,’ everyone said. She left after that year. Something about shattered hopping in dreams? It’s all kinda’ fuzzy. What was she hopping on in a dream that breaks?”
“I’m sure she left for something personal, not you,” tried Regina.
“No, it was me. The principal told me—well, he told the whole class, actually.”
Regina scratched her head. “Let’s review the application. PP number, residency, overlord, insurance, it all seems to check out. And look at this. Two additional letters of recommendations from magistrates.”
“Yes, I was their families’ financial planner and tutored their children from since they were born.”
Regina said, “Ok well it all looks good. I’m happy to—”
“Hold on a sec,” said Sam. “Look at this.” He pinched two diplomas. “We have to double check these doozies. These smartas—I mean smartly educated—they sometimes try and sneak in stuff like this. But ole’ Sammy’s eyes not too old yet.”
“What is it,” demanded the citizen.
Sam spoke, “I see a degree from Babel University for—”
“Two degrees. Applied mathematics and psychology.”
“Yep, see that’s the issue. You don’t meet the required education levels.”
“Excuse me?”
“You see? You need at least two years of child psychology. The Tower sanctions it. It helps you blame parents. You also need a teaching degree. To report scores. That’s mostly the job: reporting. But, don’t worry. All’s not lost, yet. We haven’t approved the application. If we did, then you would be subject to fraud, imprisonment, public shame, and possibly death. . . So, you’re welcome, haha. Ole’ Sammy’s got a soft spot for teachers.” He winked.
“So, you don’t think I’m educated enough to teach! I’ve raised seven children. How many have you raised? None, I bet. What woman would want you with a body and hair like Eve. I thought it was her perfume—” pointing at Regina, “—but its clearly yours!”
Sam’s voice squeaked. “It’s—it’s Noah hair, not Eve. It’s sheik. Long hair’s in sheik, no clap! And it doesn’t matter. We don’t need people, like you, with your big education and big words for our children to make fun of me—I mean, Tower authority.”
“Their children. You have none, scrub. She just said you need more teachers, you imbecile. Sorry! I thought I’d try to help.” The citizen stormed off.
Regina eventually said, “I like your perfume, by the way.”
“Cologne, Regina. Cologne!”
- - -
“Welcome to Babel! The land of the free to work; home of bravely safe. My name is Regina. How are you a good citizen today?”
“I’m in love! I’d like to apply for an exclusive partnership license.”
Sam jumped in. “Mind if ole’ Sammy takes this one? I got these questions memorized in my sleep!. . . Mostly, because I’ve applied so many times. Rejected, but that doesn’t matter. May I?”
Regina broke the eye contact rule with the citizen. “You got it boss.”
“Alrighty, let’s get started. Ole’ Sammy loves a good romance story. I’d like to be in one, one day, but. . . yeah.”
“It’s ok, boss” and “You’ll find your person” came out pitifully embarrassed from the bored faces of Regina and the citizen.
“Enough about me, argh, haha. Or!—hear me out—maybe not enough about me. Do you think I need to put myself out there more? Be more vulnerable? I tend to always keep the focus on them with questions, attention, and all that. Am I too good of a listener? Do you think I should take charge more?”
“I think you’re vulnerable enough, boss.”
“Can we, uh, do my application? Don’t we have a time limit?”
“Sorry, yes, sorry. Confidence. Whew. That’s what I need. I’ll be ok. Right? Yeah, I’ll be good. Anywayz, when did you meet your applying for partner, a.k.a AFP?” Sam tried to rap the two acronyms.
“We met four years ago.”
“Ooof, four years is reaching statutory deadlines.”
“Well, we didn’t start dating until last year.”
“So, you two waited three years before any sort of romance? No one pulled the trigger earlier? That’s a little concerning, don’t you think?”
“No, we did, but we weren’t really official until—”
Regina said, “We decide who’s official. That’s why you’re here.”
“Good one, Regina,” said Sam. “Nice. So, the timeline. It’s messy, but get those dates lined up and you still have a good chance. Where’d you meet?”
“Garden of Beer-den.”
“I love that spot,” said Sam. “Many first dates there. . . Not many second ones—but I meant on which Tower of Babel application did you two meet?”
“We didn’t meet through the Babel apps.”
Sam and Regina chuckled. Sam said, “Very funny. Good one. Seriously though. Which app?”
“I am serious. We met at the bar.”
Regina erected in her seat. She slowly turned towards Sam. Sam lost composure, “See, that’s. . . This is a red flag, if I’ve ever seen one. Everyone uses the apps. I’m on there! How do you know they’re your person without apps tempting you with someone better? Every next one is close to perfect. I say ‘close’ because only the perfect thing is the Tower. . . and its applications.” Sam and Regina nodded slowly.
“Because we’re happy together? We bring the best out of each other?”
“That’s naïve. How can you know you’re happy. . .” Sam rolled his eyes. Regina shook her head. “. . . if you’ve never seen what else is out there? The apps work. You think the Tower would have them if they didn’t—don’t answer that. They’re there for a reason. They tell you all the great things people claim to be. It lets you know what they claim to want too. And so many options! You go on a date, see something you aren’t 100% about, and can back out before committing too deep.”
The citizen’s eyes closed halfway. “Is using an app required for the license.”
“Well, no. The apps register your PP number for good citizenship, but not technically required.”
“What else do you need to know then?” asked the citizen pointedly.
“Just the names and addresses of your other situationships to notify them of your exclusivity.”
“There aren’t any. It’s just me and my partner.”
“Now that’s whack,” exploded Sam. “You’re telling me you’re on a one-person roster!? You have to be joking this time. It’s basically a rule. Four, maybe three, minimum at the same time.”
Regina added, “I’ve got eight now.”
Sam looked over, “Really? Nice.” They fist bumped.
“Why do I need a ‘roster’ when I want exclusivity?”
“It’s—it’s obvious,” stammered Sam all fired up. “You can’t go around open and honest about the one you want. Even if you know it’s them. Even if they know it’s you too! It’s clingy, desperate—it’s just a bad look. Gotta’ be coolio’ like ole’ Sammy here. You need leverage. That’s not the perfect word though. Like, for instance, say you want to do some grand show of love and emotion and attraction or whatever word—”
“—I knew you’d struggle for these words, boss,” joked Regina.
“—not funny, Regina. Hurtful. But it’s simple. Like, let’s say you profess your intentions too early. You’re wacky or scary. Too late, and you’re heartless or lazy or seen as ‘settling.’ The roster keeps you grounded. You get some comparisons. You don’t get too carried away in either direction because you have comparisons. You get to practice your big love moves. Think about it, calculate, and it comes from the head. Not the heart. Much safer. And! You don’t have to fake your delayed responding to messages and letters. You actually have a whole roster to write to. The delays are perfectly timed and natural. People love the delays, trust me. Who would want someone willing to make time for you? That’s desperate. The trick is to always be too busy always without ever accomplishing things. The ideal is someone too busy for you, but not too busy for more apps. Making yourself ‘available’ to someone is the worst thing to do. It’s—everyone’s doing it. And it’s concerning you aren’t. I’ve never heard of no roster. . . No dating apps was weird. I’ve heard stories of app-less exclusivity licenses, but I thought it was a myth.”
Regina chimed in, “As mythical as your relationships?”
“Ouch, Regina,” but Sam fist bumped her again. “That one was funny.”
“Why would I listen to a miserable human like you!” said the citizen.
“I’m saving you from misery you don’t know for the misery we all know. Application denied.”
- - -
“Welcome to Babel! The land of the free to work; home of bravely safe. My name is Regina. How are you a good citizen today?”
“Hello, I have completed all steps for medical school. Here is my ticket. I’m here for Babel’s determination of my financial aid.”
Sam instructed; Regina followed. “Take the ticket, good. Read out his PP number to be sure. Good. Now, right there, it gives the filing location. Grab it. Excellent.”
“Phew, you have it,” said the citizen. “I’ve been waiting for this.”
“Oh yeah?” said Sam. “When’d you know you wanted to be a doctor? I thought about being a doctor when I was younger, but my dad said I wasn’t ‘cut from the right cloth’ for it.”
“A parent shouldn’t say that to a child.”
“Oh, my dad told me this last week.”
Regina pursed her lips. She asked the citizen again when he knew he wanted to be a doctor.
“During the plague last year. It took my mother and father. I nursed my little sister back to health with some herbs. And, I knew it was my calling.”
“That’s great!” said Sam. “Well, not your parents’, you know, dying, obviously, that. . . horrific, bleeding eyes, painful, seizing, mouth foaming, rabid death, but, you know, finding your calling. . . Regina, where’s the file—”
“Got it right here, boss.”
“Good. Good,” said Sam. “And I have some good news for you. Tower authorities recently approved a subsidy for plague victims and their family. Were your parents Babel citizens?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent, do you have their PP numbers?”
The citizen provided them.
Sam continued talking while rifling through the files. “We can give you the cash now, or roll it over with an extra 20% into your medical school financial aid.”
“Let’s do the medical school—my sister gets her own subsidy?”
“Yes, she does.”
“Yeah, definitely roll it over.”
“Ok, I just need you to sign here.” Sam pushed a document under the bronze bars.
The citizen signed quickly.
Regina spoke, “Now onto your financial aid. The tower generously gifts 3,000 silver shekels to your education.”
Sam reacted as if his friend announced getting married. He put both hands up to double high-five the citizen, but he was on the other side of the bronze bars. He tried to transfer it to Regina, but she had turned away. “Congratulations, son!—I mean, sir.”
The citizen rose one eyebrow. “Medical school is 200,000 shekels.”
“3,000 is good! It’s on the upper side of Tower grants. This is good, right Regina?”
“This is my first day,” said Regina.
“Well, it is. Just agree with me, Regina. Ok?”
The citizen became despondent. “I can’t afford 197,000 shekels. And, this whole application process with you guys, the school, the overlords, everything cost me close to 5,000.”
“Don’t get too blue. You got good math,” said Sam genuinely before realizing himself as patronizing. “But, it’s not all bad. You can take out loans for the 197. Every doctor does.”
“Why did you promise me more? The Tower always announces we need more doctors. Why are you making so hard to be one?”
“I didn’t promise you anything. Little ole’ me. I’m just a clerk here. I don’t have any power. Ole’ Sammy always follows through on his promises. Women say I don’t the next morning, but they love teasing me. It’s their love language.”
“Dude, why did the Tower promise me, then?”
“Ooof. Tough question. Um, well, it’s a big investment, right? We need trained doctors, you’d agree. And, the price tag keeps away people not serious about it. But, if I’m being honest—Regina, you never heard this from me, girlfriend!” Sam coughed. “Well, many doctors end up not enjoying all the work it takes to be a doctor, so, you know, gotta’ give them the carrot to keep on keepin’ on, if ya’ know what I mean, haha.”
“Isn’t that more of a stick than carrot?” said Regina.
“Carrot sounds better. See?” Sam pointed to the talk track. “Tower terms for the win, am I right? Boom baby.”
“What?” asked the citizen with a scrunched face.
Sam said, “Yeah, doctors have one of the highest rates of suicide, but you’ll be fine. You’ll be good! I know it.”
Regina said, “Shouldn’t we move on?”
Sam coughed again. “Yes, great idea. Quick study. Anywayz, we still have the plague subsidy for the death of—I mean from your parents.” Sam opened the file. He skimmed, chuckled, ceased the chuckle quickly, and froze.
“How much,” demanded the citizen.
Sam said, “Ooof. Life’s funny, isn’t it? Haha. You make plans and God laughs.”
“What’s the number?”
“75,000. . .” drawled Sam. Regina snapped her long French nails and did a mini dance in her seat. The citizen bounced in elation. “. . . but it looks like the advisors of Ring 6, the advisors of your parents’ PP retirement fund, which the subsidy funneled through. . . the advisors embezzled the money for their ring renovations. They were punished, of course. It was big news last year. Five months of prison in Ring 8. I mean, those Ring 8 prisons are better than my apartment, but it’s prison still, right? Yeah, definitely.”
“Damn, Sam. Tell me what I gotta’ steal for a free room in Ring 8, mmhmm—oh, sorry, sir.”
“How much is left?” said the citizen rolling his eyes.
“None. Zero. Nada. Zilch.” Sam started popping sounds from his lips.
“Can I go after their ring renovations to recollect what’s rightfully mine?”
Sam sucked air through his molars. “Yeah, that’s a different department. And, the fees would be more than 75K.”
“Unbelievable,” said the citizen. “This city is fucking crazy.”
“Do you still want to be a doctor?” asked Sam. His eyebrows were shot up. His eyes wide. His nose scrunched. His mouth looked in pain.
“Yes.”
“Please don’t hate me. Your parents owed fees to the fund management company in the amount of 4,203 shekels.”
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?! So, I’m now, what?. . . 201,203 in debt?”
“Again, don’t hate me. The fees tack on that 20% because you signed the, uh, rollover document—”
“Give it back then. Tear it up!”
“I can’t do that. That’d be destruction of Tower property.”
“Fuck you, Sam!”
“It comes to 202,044 when rounded up.”
“Oh! Rounded up! Great math. Thanks Sam. What a huge favor you did for me!”
“You think any of us wanna’ build the Tower? The debt makes us. Nobody wants the tower. But, it’s our only chance to get paid.”
“So, we take loans to build the Tower we don’t want, to get out of the debt?” said Regina confusedly.
“Been saying it all day: Quick study, Regina.” Sam slowly turned back to the citizen. “Don’t trip, bro. No clap. Some doctors actually—oh, he left.”
- - -
“Good first day?”
“Yeah, mama could use a drink though.”
“Garden of Beer-den?” Sam sang in a high pitch (or tried to) the name of the bar.
“Mmm, k.”
Regina and Sam exited the front door of their office.
A teenager on 6 ft stilts, with a 2 ft high top hat, and draping a cape onto the ground wobbled over to them. “Thank you for visiting Babel! The land of the free to work—”
Sam interrupted, “Kid, we work here. You don’t have to—ugh. Are you new too?”
“They said I have to finish the line. No excuses.”
“Fine. Fine, but we don’t have to listen.” Sam and Regina sped away. Sam tried to walk chivalrously in front of Regina on the curbside, but they bumped awkwardly twice.
The boy struggled in pursuit. A stilt flew sideways and knocked a cage of hens. The other leg locked into a gutter cobblestone. Children ran under his stilt legs and yanked at his cape. The teen’s balance was indeed spectacular. The teenager yelled at Sam and Regina. “Thank you for vi—visiting Babel! The land of the free-HEE to work. The home of the grave—brave-a-lee safe. My name is Jed. You are the citizen we don’t only need—the citizen we—” The children ran circles with his cape, spinning him 360 degrees. He lost balance and tipped over slowly. “—we don’t need, we want tooooo.”
Seated with beers, Sam said, “An app-less relationship. Maybe I can get one-a-doughs’. . . Those. One of those.” He coughed.
Regina smirked, “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, no. Well, no, yeah. Maybe just get on some more rosters at least.”
Regina sipped her drink. “Not my roster.”
“I wasn’t gonna’ ask—well, I was, if you wanted like a 9th or 10th, but now that you said that—I wasn’t gonna’ ask.”
“Sam, do we ever help citizens?”
“What do you mean? We helped everyone today.” Sam sipped and spilled.
“We rejected everyone. But we greet them with, you know, free to work lines and stuff.”
“Ima’ stop you right there hunball, honeyball? Oh God, that sounded bad even before it came out. Anywayz, yes, we reject almost everyone. It’s part of the job. But hey. Everyone keeps coming to Babel. So, it must be better than where they came from. So, I mean. There’s that.”
“Huh, interesting.”
“Not the first time someone’s found ole’ Sammy interesting. . . I’m serious.” He coughed.
“Another question.”
“Shoot baby—” Regina’s eyes cut Sam’s term of endearment short.
“What does PP stand for?”
“Oh, baby—not you, just the general baby. It’s the lifeblood of Babel. PP stands for ‘Pay to Play.’ The only way to make it in Babel baby: Pay to play.”
