Chapter 16

Abby’s Story

Abigail Sanders was on the way up. After years at Cook County General, she was getting into a major practice. Then came the notice in Monday morning’s mail. One percent. One percent per year were selected. How could I get caught up in those odds? she asked herself.

Like most intelligent women who ignored problems until they happened, she had no real plan of attack to cope with this. Getting the notice was a shock, she began a search into what she could do to delay or undo this horrible mistake.

By Wednesday, things were becoming pretty bleak. Legally, there were no loopholes open to her. The Equal Selection Act had made it pretty difficult and the lack of familial sufferance (no others picked in her family) made it even harder. With four girls in the family in addition to her, the odds of selective substitution were high, but Abby had no interest in sending one of her sisters in her place. It looked like plain dumb luck.

Wednesday night, while drinking with a few friends, she was asked if she had seen the blogs of the previous weekend’s festivities at Findlay. Figuring that any information was better than no information, Abby decided to see what her options really were.

Three drinks later, what she read did surprise her. Thinking to herself, if you are going to have to go, this place seemed like the place to do it. Looking at the web page, she saw that there was a schedule posted. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays were considered primary method processing days, with Tuesdays and Thursdays being focused on intakes, consultation, and end planning. Catch-ups, specials and requests were provided on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays.

This sounds like a hospice for the healthy, Abby mused to herself. Leave in your own way. She especially liked the “You are not meat until you are gone. So we won’t treat you like that” statement on the web page. Really, how nice could you treat someone you were going to kill and turn into steaks?

Looking at the web page, she saw a selection of consulting appointments for Thursday. Selecting ten-thirty for a review and appointment, she entered her name and her SSN ID as the form requested. A few seconds later the form came back with a confirmation notice in her name. Additionally, there were instructions for driving and parking, and an agreement that she would not be processed unless she specifically asked to be on Thursday.

That was different, she thought. Not what I expected.

Thursday Morning

David had a lot on his mind driving to the office. It had been over a week since the Sunday party for Jennifer and her friends, and a lot of very interesting things had happened.

On the Monday following the celebration, the two students who decided not to go through with it on Sunday had written extensive blogs about the proceedings. So did several members of the audience. No photographs were shown but some of the descriptions were pretty graphic. The frank discussion of the Saturday night celebration, followed by the Sunday Services had gotten Findlay picketed by the Reverend Billy Bob Freeman of the Fundamental Church of the Fallen Soul (non-denominational). Apparently death should be a painful exercise causing the penitent to beg for forgiveness as they cross the divide (Billy Bob’s words) and that anything less than the greatest of pain was unforgivable.

Merle Hill was calling everyone he knew to try to get his business re-opened, and had a fit when he found that his own guillotine was being used at Findlay after the USDA forced him to throw it out. He tried to sidestep the issue that the unit had not been cleaned in several months when it was removed, and that it was in his primary processing plant. The USDA was not sympathetic.

The selection board had responded to the closure and license review by allowing all selectees to use the location of their choice, rather than assigning them to a certain location. Which meant that the team of ladies were doing interviews non-stop almost every day.

Monday was an eighty-six-woman day. Tuesday was interviews and thirty-four. Wednesday was ninety and Candy and Margaret were leading strings down and waiting while Helen, Carol, Nancy and Cindy were following with short strings behind them.

Collinson had worked out better than expected, finding that he could do field-dressing with Chris, Margaret and Candy in the afternoons. Gus, Marty and even Max Burke were busy doing parts and cut-ups.

We need to get another cutter, David said to himself. The quality is going up now. Almost none of the stuff is pet food any-more. We are doing more carcass shipping than ever before. We even had to provide stock to Hill & Steinhauer on Wednesday. We need cutters and dressers more than we need hamburger grinders. Moving that downstream lowered his per pound price but it was still above pet food in whole. Even the H&S butcher shop didn’t complain about quality.

Margaret was not happy with the interview she had with Cindy’s mother and sister on Tuesday. Margaret felt that the situation was coercion by Jane against Cindy’s sister, and that Cindy didn’t want her sister to give up any chance to recover. Carol was not too optimistic about the Equal Opportunity for the Handicapped statute, as it was never intended to bring pain to the handicapped. The medical team Margaret met with was not very sympathetic either. They were more interested in keeping an insured client than any sort of deal.

The problem was that Cindy did not appear to have what it took to be a cutter. She could do intakes, and move women along, and talk to them while they bled out. But she was not really settled in to using the knife. So she did not really fit into the goat situation. Unless something changed soon, she was going to be going down to processing on Saturday.

Margaret had agreed with David that Cindy was on the bubble. She was bright and friendly, but not as outgoing as Candy was. And she seemed a little fragile. With her mother’s influence, she had not really going to be able to be much more than an occasional toy for the boys. And with the need to keep and staff up, she agreed that Cindy was not really someone they needed to keep taking up space.

Enter Abby

At ten-thirty on Thursday, Abby drove into the parking lot and parked. Walking around the corner, she saw a plain brick building with planter boxes in the front and a large glass double door in the center. She was surprised to see just a few women sitting at tables with some sort of forms, and a few nude women walking around with tablet computers. As she walked in, a group of women got up and followed a nude woman down a hallway marked ‘Examination’.

Walking up to the desk, she saw an older woman sitting talking to a younger girl. Both of them were nude and wearing orange collars. “Can I help you?” the older one asked.

“Hello. I’m Abby Sanders, I have a ten-thirty appointment?”

“Okay, I’m Helen and this is Cindy. Just a second while we look you up. Okay, you’re here for intake consultation. Cindy, would you mind helping Ms. Sanders?”

“Not at all. Please come with me over here. Do you want a Coke or coffee?” Cindy asked.

“Sure. That would be good. Coke if you have it.”

Sitting down at the table Cindy indicated, Abby looked around. Another group of women had just gotten up and started following a younger blonde down the same hallway toward the rear, and she noticed that another group was walking out the doors.

Cindy shortly returned with drinks and her portable. “Well, let’s see your notice, please?” Cindy asked Abby.

Looking over the form, Cindy saw there were no selections or registration. “Abby, we have to do some paperwork here first. How did you hear about us?” she asked.

Thinking that this was absurd, and being a little upset, Abby replied, “I looked under ‘butcher’ and your name came up.”

“Wow. I didn’t know we were advertising,” Cindy replied.

Thinking the girl was either dense or playing her along, Abby got ready to snap back. Then she realized that it really wasn’t this girl’s fault. She was in the same situation as Abby according to the blogs.

“No, I did some research and the blog articles said that this place treated people differently. I looked you up and you had a no-commit appointment. I figured I had a little time and I would come down.”

“Well, you made the right choice,” Cindy said

“I would rather not be here at all,” Abby said quietly under her breath.

“Neither would we. And if things were different, the boss would send us all home. Really,” Cindy said.

“Okay. So, where do we start?”

Using her portable, Cindy helped Abby do go through the selection process on the MAB web page. Then they went to the selection board and did a status check to verify status and reporting date. “Looks like everything is in order. You have until Sunday, so we have some time. Do you want to go through the questionnaire?”

“You have a questionnaire for getting killed?” Abby asked.

“You know, the job is never finished until the paperwork is done,” Cindy said with a smile.

Going through the questionnaire with Cindy was not as Abby expected. The complete list of tasks was pretty thorough and it was surprising that it listed a lot of things that a lawyer would suggest. Things like locations of wills, keys, distribution of pets, accounts, credit card information and contacts, and a whole host of personal issues. Even a question of where the car was parked (in case the woman had driven herself). Profession was also listed. “Why profession? Aren’t you more concerned with my meat quality than my mind?”

“Our boss likes to know and so do we. Sometimes we take advantage of the time we have with you to help to expand our knowledge, or maybe try to make things easier for you.”

Struck by the earnestness of the young woman, Abby started to ask questions. Soon she found she was in a deep conversation with the young woman and that it was almost lunchtime.

“Want to stay and eat with us?” Cindy asked.

“No. I have a lot to do, according to this questionnaire. I hadn’t thought about most of this stuff.”

“Well, when do you want us to schedule your intake?” Cindy asked.

“I guess tomorrow? What time should I get here?”

“Things slow down today at noon, but Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays are pretty much full tilt all day. Probably ten o’clock tomorrow, Friday, we will have time to talk, or you could get here for lunch. We have pasta on Friday.”

“Last meal, huh? Okay. Save me a seat for lunch?”

“Sure. If I am here,” Cindy said.

“Why won’t you?” Abby asked, then felt stupid.

“Because my expiration date was last Saturday, and I am just helping around here for the time being,” Cindy said.

“Oh. I am so sorry,” Abby said.

“So am I. But doing something while I am waiting is pretty good. I don’t have a lot of time to get depressed. So we have a date? Lunch tomorrow?” Cindy asked.

“Sure. Friday. I can get here about eleven-thirty?”

“Works for me,” Cindy said, standing up with Abby. “Don’t forget to take the intake form with you, and if you come up with anything we forgot, write it down,” Cindy said, as she gave Abby a hug.

“Okay. Thank you. I will see you tomorrow,” Abby said as she picked up her purse and left.

In the car, Abby was in an emotional turmoil. She had just sat down with a nineteen-year-old child and calmly talked about closing out her life. And it struck her that the kid she was talking with had made those same decisions herself last week - and was just sitting around waiting for the axe to fall. How did this kid get so mature? Or was she just hiding it?

Cindy, on the other hand, was also thinking. This woman was exactly what Candy was talking about when she said that there were certain people needed here. She was smart, medically-trained, and probably would adapt to the people here.

“Helen. I want you to look over the last person I was talking with,” Cindy said. “I think she is what David was looking for.”

Friday Noon. Lunch with murderers

Cindy was taking a string down behind Candy when Abby came in. She was late because she had decided to take public transportation, rather than have her car left in a lot. Of course, it was in a space at the condo she would never see again, but that was to be expected. Her last notes to her sister listed where the keys were, and supposedly all of her things would be shipped out on Monday.

Seeing the attractive brunette, Helen waved her over to a table. “So, you’re joining us for lunch?”

“Sure. Is Cindy around?”

“Yes. She is just down the hall helping a few other ladies. She will be back in an hour. Why don’t you get a plate and a glass of wine?”

“Wine? Lunch? This place is different.”

“Thank you. We do try. Cindy was struck with you yesterday. I was going to ask you a little about yourself, if you have some time?”

And so Abby spent the next hour and a half talking about her time at Cook County General, her work as an intern, resident and then later specialization in nerves and trauma. Some of the stories were smug, some were sad.

Helen laughed a lot at Abby’s stories, having done her internship at Cook as well.

Cindy and Candy, seeing the two in conversation, quietly took their lead from Nancy and Carol and took another string down. When they came back, Margaret had come and sat with Helen and Abby for a short time and then left with another group. Gradually, the reception room was emptied of everyone except Helen and Abby. The conversation was so intense at times that Abby never even noticed the dwindling numbers of people. At three-thirty, Cindy came over and sat with Helen and Abby at the table, after getting herself a soda. Candy came over and, after Margaret’s suggestion, went and got herself a glass of wine, and brought one over for Abby, who’d had several by this time.

“Phew. Time has flown,” Helen said.

“Yes. Barbara wants to shut things down and Christen wants to start shipping,” Candy said.

“Everyone done in back?” Margaret said.

“No. Chris and Marty are kind of backed up. They won’t get out for another hour or so,” Candy said.

“Candy is our production manager. I can depend on her to know what is going on,” Margaret said.

Abby came to the sobering realization that she was the only one here who was still dressed. And that the people were talking about closing up. Which meant that she was out of time.

“Well, girls, who takes me back?” she asked, drinking a large gulp from her glass.

“Who would you like to have take you back?” Margaret asked.

“Cindy, do you want to do the honors?” Abby asked with a little shake in her voice.

“Sure, if you like.”

“You were the first one to talk with me here. So I think I will go with the one who brung me. Ladies, it has been a wonderful time,” Abby said, as she downed the last of her wine. “Hope this doesn’t spoil the meat.”

“It won’t. You aren’t kosher anyway,” Margaret said.

“I guess I am ready. What do I bring?”

“Everything,” Cindy said.

Walking down the hall to Exam was scary, but talking with Cindy was a distraction. Barbara came in and drew six tubes of blood and took a saliva swab. She left Abby with a cup for a urine sample. With several glasses of wine, Abby had no problem filling the cup. When they left there and went into stripping, Abby saw a single box on the table with her name on it.

“I’m guessing this is for me?” Abby said.

“Yes,” Cindy said. “You put your shoes in first so your clothes aren’t soiled. First, put your cup on the counter.”

Abby tried to keep up some level of banter as she removed her shoes, slacks and blouse. Following with her underwear, she noticed that her breathing was a little rapid. Anxiety was setting in a little. Barbara calling her from the window got her attention back.

“Abby, do you want to look at your results?”

“I just finished a critical physical two months ago. I doubt that there is anything wrong. Not that it will matter in a little while, will it?”

“I don’t know. Aren’t you curious?” Cindy said.

“Not really. Actually, I guess I just want to get this over with. So, I am naked. What do we do now?”

“Well, follow me. We take the turnstile around, and we start processing there. First a shower and then some cleanup. We have some time to talk later.”

Following Cindy and watching as she grabbed the handle when the light turned green, Abby waited. Then when the light turned from red to green again, she stepped into the turnstile.

Looking around her, Abby saw Margaret and Cindy standing next to the turnstile. Behind them were several women’s bodies hanging inverted in a row above the tiled floor.

“Well, I guess that’s it,” she said to Cindy and Margaret.

“Not just yet. Unless you are in a hurry, we would like to talk with you for a while.”

“Well, I guess I should say that my time is all yours?” Abby said with gallows humor.

“There is that. Here, put these sandals on and follow me around,” Margaret said. “How long did you work in the morgue?”

“I did a three-month rotation. Not my favorite job, but they never complained.”

“No, at this point they don’t. My worry is getting them to this point,” Margaret said. “And that is where you come in. We are not knowledgeable enough to feel we are doing this the best way possible. And we don’t have much in the way of medical information to work from. So, are you really in a hurry?”

Thinking for a moment that this was the ultimate intimidation, Abby said in a small voice. “I guess not.”

“Good answer. Let’s get out of here, it’s cold,” Cindy said.

“Lead the way, dear. Abby and I will be along in a moment.”

Looking at Cindy’s departing rear, Margaret had to smile. I think that girl may have just saved herself. She doesn’t know it yet, but she didn’t freak at all.

“So. Do you want to know what you are getting into?” Margaret asked.

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Well, here is the deal. David, my lovely husband, is running a lifeboat - for some people. It is for people who are able to provide value to the business. We need people who do interviews to find the loopholes for some to go home instead of into a box. In the last three weeks, we have sent home pregnant women, women who were selected in error, women who were volunteered by malicious husbands and relatives, and everyone else we could exclude. And of those we had to term, we gave choices to those who wanted to pay, and we try to send the rest away as peacefully as possible. But I am not sure that from a medical perspective, we are doing the best we can, and we need another cutter.”