THE GREAT REFORM

                                                                                          copyright © 1999 by Robert L. Blau
    For years, they had lived off the people's toil, sponged off the people's sweat, sucked the people's very blood. The shirkers, the ne'er-do-wells, the leeches. At last the people, led by their wise lawmakers, arose as one and said, "Enough!" And there was reform ...

    It seemed like hours before she heard the sirens. The crash, she barely remembered, but the car was a twisted wreck, and broken glass was everywhere. She knew she had at east one bad cut. The children were crying. But now the Emergency Medical Technicians were there. It was going to be all right.
    "You've lost quite a bit of blood, ma'am," said the EMT.
    "The children?"
    "They've both lost some, too. The girl's a little worse than the boy. But not as bad as you. Otherwise, they're ok. Good thing you all had your seat belts on."
    "Can you get started on blood transfusions now?" she asked.
    "Oh, no," said the EMT. "We'll do our best to stop the bleeding, but you need to go in to your local blood center and apply. I'd do that as soon as possible, if I were you."
    "Excuse me? Apply? While I'm bleeding to death?"
    "Afraid so. Since the Personal Responsibility and Bodily Fluids Reconciliation Act, also known as Blood Bank Reform, we don't just give the stuff away to anybody. You have to prove your worthiness and demonstrate that you're ready to take responsibility for your own blood and stop being a leech."
    "But I'm weak. I don't have a working car anymore..."
    "Yeah, everyone's got a boatload of excuses. I think I've heard them all. How come the rest of us can keep our blood in our bodies? Huh? Well, I've done my job. Bye!"

    First came the Long Trek, followed by the Frantic Search. The blood center was hidden away behind a fast-food restaurant in an unmarked building. Nevertheless, it was overflowing with people, most of them bleeding, many already passed out, some already past the need for blood. Janitors scurried back and forth, disposing of the corpses.
    "I need to see someone immediately," she pleaded. "My children and I need blood."
    Some of the prospective blood bank clients looked at her with suspicion and hostility. A few showed a fugitive sympathy. No one said a word.
    "Please! What am I supposed to do?"
    One man mumbled something and gestured with his one mobile arm.
    "What?"
    "Forms," he said. "Over there."
    There were seven different forms, each requiring multiple copies. Some were next to illegible. Some were confusing and contradictory. All carried dire warnings of the swift and sure punishment that awaited the Giver of False Information.
    After the Forms came the Long Line. At the end of the Long Line was the Incoherent Clerk.
    "Please! We need to see somebody!"
    "Mumble mumble mumble."
    "Wait over there?"
    Yes, that was it.
    After the Incoherent Clerk came the Long Wait, followed by the Long, Boring Video, which explained to the assembled miscreants their many shortcomings. Then came the Longer Wait. Finally, after what could have been hours or days, came the Caseworker ...

    "So," said the Caseworker. "Couldn't hold onto your blood, eh? Do you make a habit of this?"
    "No. There was an accident. It wasn't my fault..."
    "It's never your fault, is it? Well, have you had a transfusion in the last five years?"
    "No. Never."
    "Hmm. Okay, let's see how much blood you have left. Still able to stand? Well, that's too much. You're ineligible. Good day!"
    "But I'm bleeding."
    "Come back tomorrow, and we'll check again. Maybe you'll be eligible then."
    "But I may not be alive by tomorrow."
    "Then the problem will have solved itself, won't it?"
    "What about my children? They're bleeding, too."
    "Well, that is a different story. Not their fault they have a blood-sucker for a parent. Not that I would expect them to turn out any better, mind you. The platelets never squirt far from the vein."
    "Thank you," she said. "From me and my husband."
    "What! There's a man in the house? Let him get your blood for you! Why are you trying to leech off the blood donors?"

    "Governor! Governor! Is it true that the contract has been awarded?"
    "Why have you called this press conference at such an unusual hour?"
    The hall was abuzz with reporters. The aides gestured vainly for order, but it was not until the Governor mounted the podium that the noise finally subsided.
    "I have good news for you today," said the Governor, flashing his famous boyish smile. "The era of unrestrained blood-sucking is over. The burden has been lifted from the backs and the cardiovascular systems of the people. I am pleased to announce that the Blood Bank contract has been awarded to an excellent private firm that will provide efficient, professional management of the entire Blood Bank program. This will free the Government and the People from the heavy burden we have borne these many years as a result of the selfish and irresponsible leeches among us."
    "Governor! Why midnight?"
    The Governor chuckled. "It is my signal honor to introduce to you the Chief Executive Officer of Blood Recycling Systems International. He will explain everything. I leave it to the Count to announce the dawning of a new day in Blood Bank Reform. Count?"
    A tall, dignified gentleman in a long, black cape ascended the podium, shook the Governor's hand, and briefly eyed his neck with an air of professional curiosity.
    "Good evening," said the Count. He had a faint foreign accent. "If it is all the same to the Governor, I vill announce the rising of a new moon, rather than the dawning of a new day. Allow me to explain to you the BRSI Two Point Plan. 'BRSI' is vat ve call our company. Short for 'Blood Recycling Systems International,' you see. But I vill explain the Two Point Plan. I vant you to get the point. Or the points. Ha, ha. A small joke. Forgive me. Here are the two points: take the blood and use it. Simple, straight-forward, and cheap. My colleagues and I vill take care of everything. Ve vill lay off all of the phlebotomists, lab personnel, qvestion-askers, and so forth. It vill cost you nothing and save you a bundle. Any qvestions?"
    "Why are we meeting at midnight?"
    "I find the night more congenial. It is ... cooler. Ha, ha."
    "If you fire the people who interrogate the donors, who is going to ensure the quality of the blood?"
    "Do not vorry. My colleagues vill ask the qvestions. They have a, uh, personal stake in the qvality of the blood."
    "Governor, has anyone checked out the qualifications of the Count or his company to perform this function?"
    The Governor looked insulted. "The Count is an upstanding member of the international business community. I will not subject him to this sort of innuendo. Count, please don't take this question as a reflection on you."
    "How could I?" asked the Count graciously.
    "Count! Do we still get to humiliate the bloodsuckers?"
    "Vat?" The Count seemed surprised and offended.
    "You know," the questioner persisted. "Those lazy blood cheats."
    "Ah," said the Count, catching on. "Of course, of course. Vatever you need to validate your existence ..."

    "Gee," said the donor nervously. "The blood bank is a lot gloomier than it used to be. Of course, I never gave blood after dark before."
    The phlebotomist smiled toothily. "It's for your own convenience," she said. "A lot of donors can't come during the day."
    "I see. Aren't you going to look at my arms to find the best vein?"
    "Oh, no," laughed the phlebotomist. "That's the old way. Just turn your head a little."
    "Aren't you going to ask if I want a shot of xylocaine first? I do prefer having the area numbed."
    "Another obsolete procedure," said the phlebotomist. "Don't worry. This won't hurt. Besides, I'm allergic to xylocaine."