The Attendant

 

July 4, 2041, 8:00 A.M. Eastern Standard Time, Pittsburgh, PA, Children’s Hospital

 

T

he man appearing on the Clarity View at the visitor’s gate, on the unwatched screen in the security round, had a kind, elderly and yet incongruently muscular face, framed above by a shaven skull of a pale hue, ancient freckles and fresh age spots mixing into a complexion that might seem motley.  Below his close-cropped silver beard, attached by a corded neck, his kind, somewhat worried visage was offset by the hardened body of a 20-year-old athlete under sleek, form-fitting yoga leotard of blue—the same color as his wistful eyes.

The man was holding a pink teddy bear, a stuffed companion bedecked in a white fedora decorated with an emerald green feather, a hand-stitched dreamcatcher suspended from its fluffy neck, above plaid overalls and black leather, silver-buckled shoes.

The automated attendant announced, “Welcome to Children’s Hospital, your name please?”

The man shuffled nervously, “Rick, ah, Richard Wayne Pensky.”

The attendant droned, in a gender neutral voice: “Greetings, Richard.  Please state the nature of your visit.”

The man shuffled again, “I’m here to see Dandelion Machi.”

The attendant suggested, “Richard, please extend your hand for safe check.”

The large, thin-skinned but unwrinkled left hand extended as the other held the teddy bear.  An electric eye moved near on its rubber stalk through the galvanized steel bars of the gate and illuminated the Universal Person Code on the back of the man’s pale, spotted hand.  The eye retracted and the man’s face was oddly cast in a state of wanting wonder, a face curiously un-indented by a mask, a face that, should the man be viewed by any sociologist, would suggest a lifetime of non-compliant criminality.

The attendant droned, in a now feminine voice, “Please Richard, await the safety officer for a manual reading of your safe code.”

The man looked around nervously, and asked, “Can I just drop the bear off for Dandelion Machi?”

The tinny female voice of the attendant droned for compliance, “Shah Ali Khan, await the safety officer.  You have been cited for use of an assumed name.  Failure to accept citation may result in the issuance of a medical warrant by the attending physician.”

“I just want to see my little niece!  She’s sick.  She should not be all alone.  I’m not sick—look at me.  I’m healthy!”

The attendant soothed, “Visitor, please understand that safe code certification is a condition of visitation and that Children’s Hospital is dedicated to the safety and wellness of staff, patients and visitors.  The safety officer will be with you momentarily.”

The man claiming to be an unregistered person named Richard Wayne Pensky, as indicated by the red flashing words “NOT FOUND IN DATABASE” on the unobserved monitor in the vast security room, occupied by one obese officer asleep in one of the 24 swivel chairs, before the 240 screens, became red in the face and blurted, “Just let me leave the bear, please.  A little girl should have a teddy bear at least!”

The attendant, unseen, as the attending screen and speakers were below the monitor lens, switched to a mid-octave feminine tone, a voice with a motherly quality patterned after long-dead but immortal singer, “Visitor, in these trying times the need for counseling and treatment of anxiety and depression remains profound.  We, at Pittsburgh Children’s Hospital, are dedicated to the wellness and safety of all and offer treatment.  Our Cradle-to-Rainbow Bridge Initiative links MedFar Health facilities suitable for all ages and genders.  If you would be kind enough to await safety certification by one of our sensitivity-trained officers, then the attending physician may redact your medical warrant and issue a prescription for psychiatric treatment in one of the following assisted living facilities: Monroeville Geriatric Center, McKeesport Senior Hospital…”

The anonymous man, now known to possess the Universal Person Code—as indicated by the red flashing notice on the Clarity View monitor—of Shah Ali Khan and claiming to be a missing and unrecovered person by the name of Rick Wayne Pensky, last contact traced in Orlando, Florida in January 2032—as indicated in the still, blue notification of investigation lettering at the top left of the monitor—became agitated.  The irrational man then stuffed the bear under his arm and jogged nimbly down the walkway and out of view of the Visitor’s Induction Clarity View.

As the single safety officer in the 24-seat security room, before the 240-screen Clarity View round, snored softly in her blue uniform, her many service decorations slinking softly against her sagging breast, various views of the muscular old man in the blue yoga suit alternately shuffling, jogging, walking and looking about suspiciously under the grey overcast sky, played across the cluster of monitors dedicated to the exterior of the east wing of the hospital.