Chapter XIV: Wendy’s Shining Moment (The Day the Dollar Died Series)
by John Galt
January 25, 2010
February 25, 2010 1:05 P.M. Eastern Time
“This is obscene! Honey, come here and read this!”, I yelled out loud to her. I continued my rant, “This is the biggest pile I have ever seen, come here and read just the first two paragraphs of page 246! These people are trying to trap everyone but the super rich inside the borders!” My wife looked at me, exhausted and instead of just taking my word for it, grabbed the documents out of my hands. She glanced and the page and said, “Honey, quit getting upset over this crap. These people are trying to take control of our lives and just make sure when you are through reading this that we do not miss anything that can get us in trouble with the new brown shirts. It’s obvious what they are trying to do and right now, they will succeed barring a miracle.”
I thought about what she said. She was right. For the time being, the government had the guns, the goons and the bureaucrats backing them. What made matters worse for everyone concerned was the lack of supplies that most people had in their homes and the lack of cash which apparently was going to be taxed at an absurd daily rate. When I reflect back on the news before it became government television twenty-four hours a day, seven days per week, I realized that this plan was something dug out of a filing drawer and implemented when it fit someone’s schedule, be it for domestic or international political purposes. I looked back at my wife in the bedroom, booting the personal computer back up now that the power was on again and told her, “Well, tomorrow is shopping day, let’s get a long list together so we can insure we can stay in one place for a long period of time. It would appear that our ability to drive around and even do the simple things in life are about to get somewhat complicated.”
February 25, 2010 4:09 P.M. Mountain Time
Wendy was enjoying the music blaring from her MP3 player through her car stereo as she headed home when she noticed that the liquor store several blocks from her home was open and apparently doing a brisk business. She pulled her car into the parking lot and after driving around it twice, an elderly man pulled out which opened a parking space for her. She went inside and grabbed a basked when she noticed that the check out line had a private security guard with a shotgun near the entrance and another one near the rear. She paused for a moment and in that innocent voice of hers, she asked the guard, “Is it safe in here?” The guard, obviously tired after man hours at work looked down at her and started to snicker when he replied, “Oh sure, as far as liquor stores during Armageddon goes, it’s safer than the Academy up the road from here!”
She was not amused and uttered a brief, “harrumph” as she rolled her eyes and walked away from the guard. Wendy made a bee line over to the wine department which was still relatively well stocked when an older man and his wife bumped into her from behind with their shopping cart full of various bottles of rum, tequila, bourbon and vodka. “Excuse us miss,” the two spoke softly and politely, “we didn’t hurt you did we?” Wendy shook her head no, then her curious nature got to her and asked the couple, “So where’s the party at? I mean, it’s nothing personal, I just can’t see what you would need with all of that liquor?” The old man grinned and crept creepily close to her head and whispered into her ear, “Miss, we’re going to survive this thing. And we know how to horse trade like the old days. We’re heading back out to the ranch as soon as we are done here.” Wendy just replied softly, “Okay, but I guess that’s a good reason to whisper.” She was more puzzled than ever but events at the cash register would leave her angry and frustrated.
After thinking about what the old man said, she grabbed six of her favorite bottles of wine and put them in her basket and then grabbed her favorite cherry flavored vodka and headed to the check out line where she sighed when she noticed that only one register was open and the elderly couple with at least fifty bottles of various sizes and flavors to be checked out. The old man started stacking all of the bottles on the counter and the cashier nodded in an odd manner and started to put the bottles in empty liquor bottle boxes filling box after box up until four full boxes were stacked up in the cart of the couple. The old man then reached into his coat pocket, handed what looked like a fist sized roll over to the man who broke it open and counted the large silver looking coins. “See ya next week, roads and weather permitting Tom,” the old man said as he walked away. Wendy quickly deduced that Tom was the owner and that there was some sort of arrangement for the purchase and with all the weird things going on, it was none of her business to ask questions.
She carefully placed all six wine bottles by the scanner and the bottle of vodka. The owner looked at Wendy and said quite firmly, “Driver’s license and D-Card please.” Wendy opened her purse and handed it over to the man and he proceeded to scan both of the cards. The owner then handed the cards back to her and spoke again, “Miss, your rations do not permit more than two bottles of alcohol to be purchased per week. You can buy any combination of two items, but that would be it per the OEC directive on rationing.” Wendy shoved her license and Dollar Card back into her purse and then glared at the owner and asked the question he knew was coming, “So how come the old guy in front of me was allowed to buy as much as he wanted? Where is his restriction? Why don’t I get treated equally and fair like he does? Who do you think you are making rules for some people and not other?”
Tom, the owner of this private liquor store had heard enough. His six foot five frame contained with fifty-five years of everything this town could throw at him leaned over, with the grizzled beard less than two inches from Wendy’s face with a reddened face and narrowed eyes he said to her, “Because he pays me with real money Miss. If you have some, you can buy whatever you want. But if you insist on using this dog-crap card to do your part for the country, then you will take what you are allowed to buy and be happy with it. If you have a problem with it, you could call the OEC but just remember now, I have your home address and those ain’t government guards standing by the doors sweetheart. Now for your booze, choose which ones you want and do you want a paper or plastic bag?” Wendy was taken totally aback by his comments, not to mention the little bit of chewing tobacco dribble coming out of one side of his mouth. She was so embarrassed by this event and the guy behind her banged her slightly with his shopping cart and said to her, “Come on whiny, don’t start crying! Pick your booze and let’s go. Some of us want to get home before curfew lady!” Wendy pointed at the vodka and a bottle of wine, then pressed her thumb on the fingerprint scanner. Tom printed out a receipt, threw it in the bag and told Wendy “I would prefer you shop elsewhere in the future Miss.”
Wendy was trying to hold back the tears but her eyes had welled up and she nodded, put her sunglasses on and grabbed the bag with the two bottles. She hurried out to her car with one of the guards walking behind her, watching her every move and as she started the car she swore he was writing down her tag number. The roar of a jet plane overhead from the Air Force Academy startled her, but she recovered and slowly backed out of the parking space, put the car in drive and proceeded to pull out on to the highway to head home. “This is just not fair,” she thought to herself as tears streamed down her face, “and I have to tell someone to do something about this.”
When she calmed down after enjoying a glass of her wine, she grabbed the packet from the OEC that she ignored which contained her D-Card that proudly proclaimed at the top of each page, “Office of Economic Security, Mid-Mountain Region, Denver, CO” and she immediately looked for an index. After fumbling through dozens of pages she found the index but it was of little help as it was too confusing for her but after flipping through the front of the book, she found the quick reference page within the table of contents. She found the telephone number for the OEC Hot line at 1-800-OEC-HELP and started dialing on her home phone that had no dial tone. Frustrated she slammed the phone down and grabbed her cell phone which displayed a solid five bars. The automated answering system prompted her to press four for reports of retail or vendor fraud and thus began a deathly long hold time where the prompt advised her that her hold time would be “approximately one hundred and seventeen minutes.”
After almost two hours on hold, a voice finally popped up on the line and started to speak, “Ms. Wendy Listels, D-Card Number nine, one, one, seven, three, six, six, six, four, eight, seven two, two, two, five, one?” Wendy paused for a moment, reached for her purse and grabbed the card out of her wallet to reply, “Yes, that is my number.” The voice, a gruff sounding female voice in what sounded like a boiler room full of operators in the background started again, “Are you still located at 9967 Mountain Valley Lane, Colorado Springs, CO, eight, zero, nine, zero, eight? Your physical description is listed as five foot four, one hundred thirty-six pounds, auburn hair, brown eyes and wears corrective lens for driving. Is this information correct?”
Wendy was somewhat stunned as she was reporting someone else and they wanted to know or validate information about her. Instead of arguing after this upsetting afternoon she answered, “Yes that information is still current and correct, may I ask you why you need that?” The operator then identified herself, “I am operator one two nine seven nine. You may retain this information for future use. I am setting up a report for our field office in Colorado Springs so an investigator can visit you and the place of business involved. The purchase report for today will be forwarded to the investigator from the Office of Economic Continuity Enforcement Division, the OECED, which will interview you and the vendor involved separately. Was this vendor involved a garage sale, flea market, road side stand, or one of the three charges placed on your D-Card this afternoon?” Wendy gasped at the list just read and erroneously said out loud inquisitively, “Garage sale? Uh, why is that on the list?” The operator replied, “So you tried to use your card at a garage sale that fails to collect taxes or were you using Federal Reserve Notes, uh, physical cash, for a purchase?” Wendy quickly gathered herself and answered back quickly, “Oh, no you misunderstood. I was just shocked that you said anything about a garage sale. I haven’t been to one of those in ages, it has been too cold. The incident happened at Tom Albert’s Liquors about three hours ago. I saw a man make an illegal purchase without using his card or cash.” The operator sighed, “Miss Listels, how can you be sure this was illegal? Are you sure it was not a bar owner or other buyer with legal papers allowing him to make such a purchase. And just how in the world did the buyer purchase anything without using his card or cash, that is strictly forbidden now.” The operator sounded like she had suspended belief in the call and was almost mocking Wendy’s statement. She gathered herself and spoke firmly to the operator, “Miss One Two Nine Seven Nine, I saw the person pay the owner of the store with some sort of silver coins. I could not see the coins but I watched him count them out on the counter. He yelled at me and told me it was real money, whatever that is. I thought my dollar bills were real money?” At that point in the discussion the operator replied somewhat firmly and in a more business like manner, “One moment Miss Listels, I am going to have my supervisor join us on this call.”
The supervisor clicked into the call with the operator and she began to speak, “Miss Listels, my supervisor is on the line to validate the information and confirm that your report has some basis in fact. The OECED does not take matters like this lightly and will send an investigator out immediately to your home and the business in question as soon as curfew is terminated in the morning. If you would, please repeat what you said for the record one more time so we can begin processing the report for our investigator.” Wendy sighed, recounted everything that happened at the liquor store and was thanked by the OEC officers who then hung up. “There, I showed that jerk at the liquor store,” she thought to herself as she eagerly awaited to meet the agents in the morning so she could get her pound of flesh. The wine started to flow freely as she felt vindicated, watching the start or the nine o’clock news called America Tonight via the cable channel provided by Radio and Television America as she drifted into the night eating chips and dip and consuming her bottle of Merlot.
February 25, 2010 3:30 P.M. Central Time, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
“Prisoners, please stand up,” the voice bellowed like a military man, “and face forward, you may stop looking at the floor now. I know you are not in the military nor familiar with those procedures but if you listen to me, you will survive the processing and hopefully return to a normal life in your society. My name is Staff Sergeant Ellis Lee Franklin of the National Home Guard. Those of you who are not familiar with our units are to learn what I say this one time and one time only. We have full military regulatory authority in the streets and homes of the United States to protect the citizens and our economy from enemies foreign and domestic. We do not report to the United States military, the National Guard or Governor of this state. The Home Guard has full law enforcement authority which supersedes all local, county and state laws and regulations while a State of Emergency is in effect for your region. Due to the nature of the recent attack on the National Guard Armory in Little Rock, this state of Emergency has been extended to an unlimited period until all responsible parties are arrested and prosecuted to the fullest extent. You gentlemen are here because you are suspects in this attack from Tuesday night or suspected of providing logistical support to the terrorists we seek. You have not been charged with any crimes at this time. You will be interrogated and we can do this the hard way or the easy way. Each of you will be fed, given a medical exam and fresh clothes upon departure to either the detention facility in Helena or back to your local communities. No questions will be taken and you will speak only when spoken to. Sit down, shut up and wait until your name is called. That is all.”
The men all sat down and immediately stared at the floor, some even breaking down in tears. Pastor Lewis knew that he could not speak, preach nor attempt to comfort the men he was with at this time. With the frustration and horror of what has happened to him in just one day, he knew what to do and began to pray in silence hoping the Good Lord would comfort him in his time of stress. “Lewis, front and center!” the voice from the tent flap yelled out. He stood up, nodded, and moved towards the door. The guard put a set of leg and wrist shackles on him and said, “Sorry Padre, this is procedure. Let me know if they are too tight.” The guard then led him into another tent where a dog sniffed him down then the guard walked him into one of the airport type scanners where the other guard waved him through.
After passing through the tent where he was screened another guard wearing a solid black uniform with a weird patch that only said “HG” prodded Lewis into a building then into a room that was plain with only two wooden chairs and a desk all painted white and some very bright fluorescent lighting illuminating the room. The guard then said to the Pastor “Wait here, do not sit until instructed, your researcher will be in shortly.” At this point in time, he couldn’t hold it any longer and spoke, “Uh, sir, guard, I really have to go to the bathroom, please, I’ve been holding it for hours. I really need to go bad now sir.” The guard stopped in his tracks, paused and grabbed the Pastor by the neck of his shirt and pulled him down the hallway to a bathroom where he unlocked the leg shackles and looked him in the eyes with a sneer and said “Two minutes.” The Pastor knew what this meant and hurried with his business, returned to the door, and was promptly re-shackled and escorted back to his white room.
“Mr. Lewis, I presume,” the voice said as the door opened and a tall gentleman dressed in a solid black uniform with that weird patch on his shoulders, this time with Captain’s bars. “Yes sir, that would be me sir, or you can call me Father, Reverend, whatever you would like sir,” the somewhat terrified church leader said. “Sit down Mr. Lewis, and please listen to everything I have to say carefully. Your future freedom and perhaps survival could depend on this interview. On February twenty-third at thirty-four minutes after one in the morning, twenty men attacked and illegally entered into the National Guard Armory in North Little Rock, killing four guards and stealing two trailer loads of weapons and ammunition. This entire state will remain a Federalized Military district until the parties responsible are apprehended or killed. The reason you are here is that you have admitted to providing shelter to residents who were in violation of the declared curfews and then yourself committed the same act. Are you aware that you knowingly violated the provisions of the Emergency Safety and Security Act which was activated forty-eight hours ago?”
Pastor Lewis was stunned and started to respond, “Uh, sir, I don” know anyone….” The Captain was not impressed and cut him off stating, “Yes or no answers only.”
Stammering, scared, and somewhat intimidated, the good father simply replied, “yes” and waited for the next question.
Captain: “Did you openly declare you would take refugees without prior authorization from the Department of Homeland Security?”
Pastor: “Yes.”
Captain: “Did you check the identification of the persons in your church early this morning?”
Pastor: “No.”
Captain: “Do you own a firearm?”
Pastor: “No.”
Captain: “This concludes our interview. Your statements to the other officers have been noted. Apparently your ignorance of the law does not constitute a threat to the Republic. I have had your face scanned into our database and your statistics do not match those of any of the suspects in the Little Rock attack. Your illegal refugees have also been cleared and the migrants will be processed and shipped to a camp in Oklahoma for work assignments. Mr. Lewellyn’s daughter was found alive in the woods this morning and his family has been cleared. You however sir will be required to donate twelve hours per week to the Homeland Guard Camp Delta as punishment for disobedience of the curfew and refugee regulations that were posted on February 23, 2010 at eighteen hundred hours Central Time, per the President of the United States. To be honest, we need a spiritual adviser who can help counsel some of the souls we are arresting for violations of the numerous new regulations. When I leave this room another officer will escort you to a clean room, give you some fresh clothes and escort you to final processing. You have been hereby adjudicated and found guilty of misdemeanor violations of Regulations 0124.9973.102 and 0124.9973.296. You will be provided with a choice of cooperating with the Division of Corrections within the Homeland Guard or accept assignment to make restitution for your actions. Do you understand the scope and details of the sentence passed down upon you?”
Pastor: “No sir. I do not. This is America, don’t I get a trial? What happened to my Miranda rights? I don’t understand what I did wrong? My church is a refuge and the rights conveyed upon my church by God are not to be violated by the laws of man. What happened to our nation where these laws no longer hold true?”
Captain: “Off the record so please stop recording now.” After a pause he leaned over the table and spoke firmly but quietly, “Look Padre, I don’t like this either, but we have a new series of regulations we must follow. You now live in a state under martial law and the Constitution has been suspended. We have terrorist acts breaking out all over this region including unlawful assembly for anti-government purposes, threatening of and attempted assassination of government officials, and attacks on law enforcement and retail facilities all over this region. Just take the deal, don’t make trouble and in sixty days, you will be released from your duties. I convinced the Colonel to give you a pass and insure you would perform non-denominational spiritual duties to help calm and re-educate the prisoners we are holding now.” He leaned back in his chair, straightened up his back, and said, “Recording on. Father, one more time. I am not in a position to enter into Constitutional nor other debates as the rule of law was established by the actions of the President in response to the terrorist acts. Do you accept this sentence and agree to cooperate with the Homeland Guard as instructed?”
Pastor: “Yes sir. I’m sorry but I am tired and upset.”
Captain: “We understand. You will be guided through processing and your sentencing documentation will be available for you to sign at the exit processing interview. Please obtain a copy of the Emergency Declaration at the exit interview so you can remain within the law. Hopefully this will be lifted in the next one hundred days. Good day sir.”
