Political Satire: Having trouble surviving these times? You’re not alone. Join us in columnist John F. Di Leo’s exploration of an alternate universe, where we imagine the impossible:
Joe Buckstop, an aging, corrupt old fool, somehow becomes president in his basement, and every night, an aide has to bring him his soup and discuss the events of the day as he prepares to receive his nightly meds…
Note: We continue reprinting roughly every other chapter from Volume Two. In today’s episode, Joe Buckstop’s soup aide, young Rhett Snapper, tries to chat with the old man about a hospital suing him over unpaid medical bills…
Girls, Aliens, Lawsuits, and Hospital Tomato Soup
Dateline May 30. Begin Transcript:
“Good evening, sir, ready for some nice hot soup?”
“It’s high time. Where’ve you been?”
“Actually, sir, I’m right on time, sir.”
“Oh. Well, I was hoping you’d be early.”
“Did you tell the cook you would be hungry earlier, sir?”
“No, I just figured you’d know.”
“Well, sir, neither the cook nor I can read minds, sir. If you want to change a schedule, you pretty much have to tell somebody, sir.”
“Oh.”
“And since I’m a temp, you’d probably have to call my agency to change my hours, sir.”
“What agency is that? CIA? EPA? DLA?”
“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
“Oh, so the shoe’s on the other slipper now, isn’t it?”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“What agency are you with? The Central Intelligence Agency? The Environmental Protection Agency? The Defense Logistics Agency? Which one?”
“Oh, I see. No, sir, I’m not with any of them, sir.”
“Aha! One of the others, huh?”
“No, sir, I’m not with any federal agency, sir. I’m a temp.”
“Oh.”
“That means I work through a temp agency, sir.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t work directly for the government, sir. Your cook hired an employment agency, sir, to find a temp for this job, sir.”
“Oh.”
“So to change my hours, you’d have to tell them. I’m sure they’d be fine with it, if I am, it’s just that, I can’t accept a change in my schedule without them knowing about it, sir.”
“Oh.”
“Because they do all the billing for me, and they pay me… so they have to know about my hours so they can bill you correctly and then so they can pay me correctly, sir.”
“You’re not a volunteer?”
“No, sir, this is a job. Like your cook, sir. And the maids, and your groundskeepers, and all the rest of your staff.”
“Oh. Glad they have professionals for the coffee, at least. I know that’s tricky.”
“Well, I don’t think coffee is as tricky as soup, sir, but… how did that come up, sir?”
“You mentioned coffee.”
“No I didn’t, sir.”
“You talked about how I have employees as cooks and maids and groundskeepers. Don’t deny it. I’m not imagining things. I’m not THAT old.”
“Well, umm, yes, you are, but… I still don’t… wait… were you thinking of coffee grounds, sir?”
“Well, sure! You can’t make coffee out of the whole bean, you know.”
“Oh boy. Okay, well, anyway, sir, here’s tonight’s soup, sir. It’s called Hospital Tomato Soup, sir.”
“Why?”
“Why what, sir?”
“Why is it called that? Will it land me in the hospital if I eat it?”
“Uhhhh… no, sir… I think it’s just supposed to be a nice, simple, traditional tomato soup like they might serve at a hospital, sir.”
“Is that supposed to be appetizing? I don’t want to think of hospitals when I’m eating!”
“Well, sir, considering a hospital is suing you, I suppose you might not have a choice in the matter, sir.”
“Huh? What’s that? Who’s suing me?”
“That hospital in Texas, sir; surely you’ve heard about it.”
“No, I haven’t heard about anybody suing me!”
“You must have heard that Midland Memorial Hospital is suing you, sir. It’s been on the news all weekend, sir.”
“Oh, well, I don’t watch the news.”
“My dad said President Reagan read several newspapers every day; he said he had to, to be well enough informed to do his job, sir.”
“Well, I never have time to read the newspapers. Waste of time. I’m busy.”
“Didn’t you read the paper during all those years when you took the Amtrack to and from Washington every day, sir? I thought all the executives on those commuter routes read the paper every day, sir.”
“No, trains are about connections.”
“Unless they serve the point direct, sir.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind, sir. You were saying?”
“What?”
“About how you’re too busy for the news, sir.”
“Oh, right, well, since I was a newsmaker myself, I didn’t need to read the papers. I talked to the other travelers on the train. Great for making connections. I must’ve built up half my early fundraising base on the executives riding the Amtrak in with me in those early years!”
“I see, sir.”
“Damn right. Connections. That’s where it’s at. It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.”
“You’re proof positive of that, sir.”
“Damn right.”
“So, sir, are you saying you still haven’t been notified that you’re being sued by a hospital in Midland, sir?”
“Is that a real name?”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Midland. Is it real? Sure sounds like one of those made-up names in a children’s book. You know, kids’ readers for like, third, fourth, fifth grade, things like ‘Living in Central City,’ and ‘Daily Life in Metropolis, USA,’ and ‘Life and Work in Midland.”
“Umm, well, sir, you see… ”
“I remember those books, when I was a kid in school. I grew up in Scranton… I don’t know if you knew that, son, see, I’m from Scranton.”
“I never would have guessed, sir.”
“Well, they were all these generic stories about typical American towns… They all had all the professions, and streets named after presidents, and a bank and a factory and a school and a department store… ”
“I’m sorry, sir, what did this have to do with…”
“And I could’ve sworn Midland was one of those…”
“Sir, this is definitely a real town in Texas, and a real hospital in the town, sir. And they’re suing you. Sir.”
“What for? Have i been there?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know, sir.”
“Who’s suing me? Bet it’s some girl… I didn’t do it! I never do it. They make up things.”
“No, sir, it’s not some girl.”
“Oh, so it’s her parents, huh? I didn’t do it. I swear. Darn Republicans, always making things up. I just sniffed her hair, that’s all. I never do anything else, nothing but that. No matter what she said. Probably lying to her parents. They do that, you know!…”
“Sir, it’s not some girl’s parents, either.”
“It’s not? The District Attorney? Child and Family Services? Look, you’ve gotta tell me! If I don’t know who’s suing me, i can’t put my lawyers on it to make it go away!”
“It’s a hospital, sir.”
“A hospital? Why is the girl at a hospital?”
“There’s no girl, sir. I mean, not in particular… there are a bunch, but the boys and girls aren’t suing you, sir. The hospital is, sir.”
“But why? I don’t think I’ve ever been there. I don’t know any Midland… no, wait, I’ve heard of a Midland Michigan, but… where did you say this is?”
“Midland, Texas, sir. It’s in western Texas, sir.”
“I don’t understand.”
“They say your administration has forced them to treat about 40 illegal alien children over the last several months, sir. A lot of expensive treatment, and it’s added up, you know, as medical costs do, sir…”
“Yes? Well? What about it?”
“Well, sir, they say your administration is refusing to pay these bills, sir.”
“Well, my administration doesn’t pay bills. That’s not what we’re here for.”
“Sir, I think that’s probably the attitude that made them feel it was necessary to file a lawsuit, sir.”
“Well, did they send the bills to the kids’ insurance companies?”
“These are illegal aliens, sir. They don’t have insurance.”
“They don’t?”
“No, sir.”
“Oh. Well, did they send the bills to Texas child welfare agencies?”
“These are illegal aliens, sir. They aren’t covered by Texas state programs, sir.”
“Oh. Well, did they send the bills to Medicaid? Or Medicare? Or the Affordable Care Act marketplace?”
“The what, sir?”
“The Affordable Care Act marketplace! You know… the thing that Republicans call ‘Obamacare.'”
“Sir, everybody calls it Obamacare.”
“Oh.”
“And no, it’s not paying either. These are illegal aliens, sir. They don’t have any American coverage, sir. They aren’t Americans.”
“Well, then, why did the hospitals take them?”
“Ummm… because it’s illegal to turn them away, I suppose… and because your administration specifically directed these kids to their hospital instead of returning them to the border and kicking them across, sir.”
“Well, now, look, here’s the deal… If a hospital takes a customer who can’t afford to pay, then that’s on them for accepting that customer. Not my fault they’re taking every indigent who limps into their emergency room.”
“Umm… sir, not to be contrary or anything, sir, but… your administration let these people into the country who should have been turned back at the border, sir…. then your administration transported them to this hospital in Midland and dropped them off, sir… and then your administration insisted that Texas hospitals had to provide care for these indigent illegal aliens, sir…”
“So what’s your point?”
“Umm, well sir, it’s just that, it’s going to be awfully hard to argue that your administration isn’t responsible for these medical bills, when it’s your administration that created the situation that led to the medical bills’ existence, sir.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Well, sir, umm, if you caused the bills to exist, and the bills wouldn’t exist without your policies, you’ve got to admit, sir, that the hospital has a point, sir.”
“No, I don’t have to admit any such thing!”
“But sir… the hospital didn’t have the option of turning them away; your administration just created a massive obligation on the hospital without providing the means to pay for it, sir.”
“Well, then the system needs to be fixed!”
“It WAS fixed, sir.”
“Huh? Then why is there a problem?”
“It was fixed by President Trump, sir. You dismantled all his programs, and made the border porous again. Your policies… your executive orders and so forth… are the reason it’s a mess again, sir.”
“Well, then what do you recommend, smarty-pants?”
“In the short term, sir or the long term?”
“Huh?”
“Well, in the long term, i should think, restoring the Trump policy on the border is probably the only real solution, sir.”
“Well that’s ridiculous. What about the short term?”
“Well sir, I was thinking, you could probably make the lawsuit go away if you paid the hospital bill yourself, sir.”
“What? What do you think I am, rich or something?”
“Well, uh, I don’t know, sir… it’s just that, if you want to make a company provide a service, you have to pay for it, you know? That’s how I was raised, anyway, sir.”
“Well, it doesn’t work like that! It’s the hospital’s problem! Or, uh, or Congress’ problem. They have the power of the purse, you know. You do know about the power of the purse, don’t you?”
“Well, sir, probably not as well as you do, sir.”
“Huh?”
“I’m just guessing you’ve had more women slap at you with their purses than I ever will, sir.”
“Huh? I don’t, uh, ummm…”
“No, sir, that’s fine, I think I understand all I could’ve hoped from this one tonight, sir.”
“Oh? Is that good?”
“It is what it is, sir. I’m just feeling very sorry for a heck of a lot of hospitals in our southern states right now, sir.”
“Oh, fine, fine… Hey, this is good soup, by the way. Could you get me another bowl? With crackers?”
“Yes, sir.. More Hospital Tomato Soup coming up, sir. There are certainly plenty of hospitals in the soup, thanks to you, nowadays, that’s for sure.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah… right… mmm… soup!”
Copyright 2021-2024 John F Di Leo
Excerpted with permission from Evening Soup with Basement Joe, Volume Two, from Free State West Publishing, available in paperback or eBook exclusively on Amazon.
John F. Di Leo is a Chicagoland-based international transportation and trade compliance professional and consultant. A onetime Milwaukee County Republican Party chairman, he has been writing a regular column for Illinois Review since 2009. His book on vote fraud (The Tales of Little Pavel) and his political satires on the current administration (Evening Soup with Basement Joe, Volumes I, II, and III), are available in either eBook or paperback, only on Amazon.
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