Dollar Triage

The line of people outside the President Ronald K. Graft Dollar Triage Urgent Care Clinic wrapped around the gray, crumbling sidewalk of the dilapidated strip mall. A pet supply store, consignment clothing shop and meat-and-three restaurant had long since been abandoned on the property, leaving only the emergency doc-in-the-box, Bunky’s Title Loan and Quicker Liquor Emporium as tenants.

The good news for those waiting to be treated, though, was that the line moved quickly. It usually did at Dollar Triage, where one buck would get you the best medical treatment one buck could buy.

The only requirement was possession of a President Ronald K. Graft Card, which was part of the commander-in-chief’s “Help Me Help YouSA” program that was owned and operated by the President Ronald K. Graft Family Foundation.

“Don’t worry, Marty, we’re getting there,” said Stu, helping hold his friend upright as he struggled to stay conscious. “We’ll be in the clinic soon and they’ll get you fixed up in no time. And thanks to President Graft, it’s only a dollar.”

Red Ridge City once stood as a small but bustling American  industrial town, but now it was little more than a polluted, noisy hub of AI data centers. There was little work to be found for the locals, and those who could had already left in search of greener – or at least cleaner – pastures. The main hospital had closed down three years earlier, so Dollar Triage arrived to fill the void. Medical insurance was so costly it was largely reserved for the wealthy anyway; these facilities were the only option for many.

“Hang on, buddy,” said Stu, who noticed the bandage wrapped around Marty’s hand was now completely soaked in blood. “Just try to squeeze it real tight. I heard somebody on the internet say if you did that, you wouldn’t bleed as much.”

People were going in almost as fast as they were coming out, and less than 20 minutes after joining the line, Stu and Marty were inside. There was no waiting room; in fact, there were no rooms at all. The space was free of walls and dotted by dozens of folding tables covered in cheap plastic spreads. And instead of doctors and nurses waiting to see patients, the staff consisted of “medical associates” dressed in red T-shirts with President Graft’s head shot emblazoned across the front. They also carried fanny packs that contained first aid supplies.

“Do you have your Graft Card with you?” a young man at the check-in table asked Marty, whose bloody hand was now hanging limp at his side.

“I’ve got it right here,” Stu interjected. “Wouldn’t leave home without it, like that commercial used to say.”

The clerk looked it over and handed it back.

“Why don’t you both have a seat and lemme check the records to see if you’re in the system. Yes … yes it says here Marty Clay – I assume that’s you – began making the $500 monthly payments on the Graft Card two years ago, right after the election. And we also have your direct deposit info, as well as home and auto title details. Now, what can we do for you today?”

“My friend’s hurt pretty bad,” Stu said. “We were playing Stabby Hand and I caught him right near his thumb with one of those knives I ordered from the President Graft Gift Shop. I poured some whiskey on it and wrapped gauze around it, but that didn’t stop the bleeding. The president always says if we need help, we should come here, and I trust his judgment.”

The clerk reached into his first aid kit and pulled out a box of gauze and a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He handed them to Stu, along with a small wastebasket.

“Just take off that bloody gauze and put in in the garbage. Then pour some of this hydrogen peroxide on the wound and wrap it up with the fresh gauze.”

“Stay with me, Marty,” Stu said as he peeled away the bloody wrapping. “I’m just gonna get this off, give you a splash of peroxide and bandage you up again.”

The clerk looked away and tapped his fingers on the table while Stu applied the new gauze.

“When you’re done just go to checkout and pay your dollar. There’s also a convenience fee of $100 and a mandatory $200 contribution to the President Ronald K. Graft Palace Reserve, but we’ll just take that out of your friend’s direct deposit.”

As Stu helped Marty up, he noticed the bandage was already bloody again.

“I think we need more gauze.”

The clerk looked at the hand and shrugged.

“Nah, don’t worry about it … it should be fine. But if you want to, you can buy some gauze and peroxide up front at checkout if you think you’ll need it later.”

Stu and Marty made their way to the front, paid a dollar, and then bought a bottle of peroxide and more gauze for $50.

“Hey,” yelled the clerk. “Are you guys going to the rally tonight at the stadium?”

Marty managed a weak smile.

“You better believe it,” Marty wheezed. “I’ll always support President Graft – no matter what.”