Checkpoint: Flash Fiction Friday

Always with the checkpoints.

If you wanted to make it to work and be on time, you had to leave a half hour earlier than you used to.  And now even that was getting iffy.  My employers were understanding, but they also docked the pay for being late.

Today was no exception.  I had tried alternate routes, but they were not foolproof.  One time I tried it and wound up behind a very slow-moving checkpoint, manned only by one agent, who moved with the speed and self-assurance of Barney Fife.

But today, just past the intersection of Cedar and Church, I found myself in a line of vehicles so long I could barely see the checkpoint.  Just some flashing lights maybe two blocks up.  I disconnected the podcast I was listening to.

I quickly made sure I had everything I needed.  Car registration and proof of insurance?  Check.  Birth certificate copy?  Check.  Proof of citizenship?  Check.  Voter registration?  Yes.  Party identification card?  Oh, crap!  That was going to be needed.  Where was that?  I squirreled to the very bottom of the glove compartment, and there it was, underneath the Honey Dew Cafe menu.

It was taking forever.  I felt the docked dollars piling up.  My heart beat faster.  When I was still four cars away, I saw a man out of their car, frisked, and then led away, another agent taking the car, presumably to impound.

My mind swirled.  My mind swam in a dark pool of fear and apprehension.  Nothing new.  Since the change, I've swum there many times before. Every time I'd see someone taken away, the fear would burst forth anew.

After another twenty minutes, I had finally reached the checkpoint.  The fear was real.  I tasted it, its rich feel overwhelming my senses.

The agent asked for my documents, in the exact order I anticipated. He inspected each and handed them back to me.  Maybe it was going to be all right.

But I wasn't released.  He asked for something new, something I had not foreseen.  He wanted my cellphone.

I handed him the phone, not sure what he was looking for.  I was careful to only use the texting for work-related activities or to inform my wife when I was headed home.

But that was not what he was looking for.  "Sir, I see you listened to a podcast recently."

I was confused.  "Yes.  I set it at home.  I didn't touch my phone while driving."  At first, the new cellphone use restrictions had gotten a lot of people, but many adjusted, particularly as the consequences grew more grave.

"Sir, it's the podcast itself.  It's an unauthorized podcast from an NPR station in Massachusetts."

This blindsided me.  "It's...a cooking show.  THere's no harm in that, is there?"

"Anything from NPR is forbidden."

"I - I didn't know.  How long has that been true?"

"The advisory council ruled on it last week."

It was hopeless.  I couldn't keep up with these changes.  Why had we not moved to Ontario when we had the chance?  Now he would haul me out of the car, and I would be at a reorientation center for who knows how long.

Instead of asking me to step out, the agent kept my phone.  "Since it is a relatively new change, I'm just going to confiscate this phone.  You'll need to go to a qualified dealer and get a new phone.  It will be up-to-date with enhanced access limitations so you won't have to worry about the new restrictions."

Just great.  Now, I needed to go to the expense of getting a new phone.  Where was that going to come from?  We were already operating at the edge of our budget.

I should have been angered at the new restrictions.  I used to care about such things.

Now, I've swum in the enveloping dark far too long.  I could no longer remember the taste of freedom.  Those days were gone.

Now I just needed to survive.