Here is a bit of political satire-- a very short absurdist story for readers' consideration. Recently I posted a sci-fi story that imagined a post-Trump future here, and was pleased to find that some of you liked it. This one is shorter, and confines itself to a 5 minute scenario in an "empty chair town hall meeting"-- if you look that up you'll see where the phrase comes from. Using that odd phrase--"empty chair town hall meetings"-- I developed a bizarre little scenario (related to the themes in those news stories, about GOP representatives that no longer meet their constituents)... Hope you all enjoy it! --PD
Empty Chair Meetings
Joe Hendricks counted out quarters on the hood of his Honda, squinting at the parking meter's faded instructions. Seventy-five cents for two hours—enough time, he hoped, to get a straight answer about his Medicare coverage. He fed the coins into the slot with deliberate precision, each quarter representing careful budgeting since his doctor visits had stopped being covered in September. The manila folder under his arm contained three months of contradictory correspondence, and the phone maze at Medicare had left him dizzy with transferred calls and hold music. This town hall meeting was his last reasonable shot at getting a human answer to a human question.
The Millfield Community Center's main hall felt sterile under harsh fluorescent lighting, empty except for twelve folding chairs arranged in a precise semicircle. Each chair sat behind a sleek digital nameplate that flickered through rotating titles: "Acting Deputy Director," "Interim Assistant Coordinator," "Temporary Liaison Supervisor." Joe's footsteps echoed as he crossed the polished floor. Above each chair, microphones dangled from the ceiling like mechanical spiders, connected to a central amplification console that hummed with electronic anticipation.
A teleprompter near the entrance scrolled: WELCOME TO YOUR REPRESENTATIVE TOWN HALL. PLEASE STATE YOUR QUESTION INTO THE MONITOR AND TAKE A SEAT IN THE EMPTY CHAIR CHAMBER. YOUR CONCERN WILL BE ADDRESSED ACCORDING TO THE FIVE-MINUTE RULE.
Joe leaned toward the monitor's built-in microphone. "I just need to know why Medicare stopped covering my doctor visits. I've been paying into the system for forty-three years." His voice bounced off the walls, creating a hollow echo in the empty space.
The teleprompter responded: THANK YOU. PLEASE BE SEATED. SESSION COMMENCING.
He chose a chair in the middle of the audience section and settled in, the manila folder resting on his lap. The digital nameplates continued their relentless shuffle: one now read "Former Future Chairperson," another "Associate Acting Undersecretary." The microphones began to move, rotating with mechanical precision to focus on the empty chairs like searchlights seeking targets.
Then came the creak. Chair number four—currently labeled "Provisional Deputy Associate"—shifted almost imperceptibly under the weight of absence. The super-sensitive microphone captured the sound and fed it through the amplification system, transforming the barely audible squeak into a low, resonant groan that filled the room.
The main console's screen flickered: PROVISIONAL DEPUTY ASSOCIATE ACKNOWLEDGES THE INQUIRY AND DEFERS TO SPECIALIZED JURISDICTION.
Chair seven (now "Interim Coordination Specialist") creaked in response. The microphones caught this too, amplifying it into a longer, more complex sound. The translation software processed: INTERIM COORDINATION SPECIALIST NOTES PROCEDURAL COMPLEXITIES AND REQUESTS INTERDEPARTMENTAL CONSULTATION.
Joe leaned forward. "Excuse me, I just need—"
But the system was gaining momentum. The hyper-sensitive microphones began detecting subtler sounds: the whisper of air through ventilation ducts, the distant buzz of fluorescent ballasts, the almost inaudible settling of the building's foundation. Each sound triggered the amplification cascade, and within minutes the room filled with a growing symphony of interpreted silence.
ACTING INTERIM DIRECTOR suggests reviewing subsection 4.7 of protocol guidelines...
DEPUTY COORDINATION LIAISON recommends cross-referencing with established precedent...
TEMPORARY ADMINISTRATIVE SUPERVISOR emphasizes the importance of proper channels...
The nameplates spun faster now, titles becoming increasingly baroque: "Assistant to the Deputy Shadow Coordinator," "Interim Permanent Temporary Director," "Acting Associate Provisional Supervisor." One nameplate glitched, displaying "ERROR_404: AUTHORITY_NOT_FOUND" before cycling to "Emergency Backup Acting Director."
A fly buzzed near chair nine. The system erupted: EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS ACTIVATED. ASSISTANT DEPUTY EMERGENCY COORDINATOR CALLS FOR IMMEDIATE RISK ASSESSMENT AND COMPREHENSIVE STAKEHOLDER NOTIFICATION PROCEDURES.
The amplification reached feedback territory—microphones picking up their own output, creating loops of electronic shrieking. The translation software struggled to keep pace: SYSTEM PROCESSING... RECALCULATING... The cacophony was deafening: chairs creaking under the weight of empty responsibility, circuits screaming with artificial purpose, nameplates strobing through an endless cycle of meaningless authority.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the five-minute timer expired. The microphones retracted with mechanical precision. The feedback ceased. The nameplates settled into their final positions. The main console screen displayed the session's official conclusion:
AFTER COMPREHENSIVE INTERDEPARTMENTAL CONSULTATION AND THOROUGH PROCEDURAL REVIEW, THE DEPUTY ASSISTANT PROVISIONAL COORDINATOR, IN CONJUNCTION WITH THE INTERIM ACTING TEMPORARY SUPERVISOR, RECOMMENDS THAT YOU SUBMIT FORM 847-B TO THE APPROPRIATE LIAISON OFFICE FOR FURTHER CONSIDERATION OF YOUR REQUEST FOR CLARIFICATION REGARDING YOUR INQUIRY ABOUT THE MATTER IN QUESTION, PENDING AVAILABILITY OF RELEVANT PERSONNEL AND SUBJECT TO STANDARD PROCESSING TIMEFRAMES AND APPLICABLE REGULATORY GUIDELINES.
Joe stared at the screen, then down at his manila folder. His Medicare question hung in the air, unanswered and somehow more distant than when he'd arrived seventy-five cents ago. The empty chairs sat in perfect silence, their nameplates now reading generic titles: "Representative," "Official," "Authority."
He looked at the teleprompter, which had reset to its welcoming message: WELCOME TO YOUR REPRESENTATIVE TOWN HALL. PLEASE STATE YOUR QUESTION INTO THE MONITOR...
Joe Hendricks stood up slowly, walked to the monitor, and smiled wryly at his own reflection in its dark screen. He leaned toward the microphone once more. "I just need to know why Medicare stopped covering my doctor visits," he said again, his voice carrying the patient resignation of a man who understands that some questions are designed never to be answered.
The teleprompter responded: THANK YOU. PLEASE BE SEATED. SESSION COMMENCING.
Behind him, chair number four began its almost imperceptible creak.