The Joker’s Testimony — #016
Unfiled Addendum
Anon: And after the grind? What’s left?
Joker:
Smiles wide, almost tender.
The punchline, darling. Always the punchline.
You limp into their office after the buses, the Ubers, the waiting room chairs that pinch your back harder than the exam ever will. And what do they give you? A clipboard. A polite smile. A promise that this will “only take a moment.”
But the joke’s already landed. The exam isn’t the care. The exam is the humiliation.
They dress it in medical gowns and sterile gloves, but really it’s a billing statement without ink. You pay in dignity. You pay in exhaustion. You pay in silence — because if you don’t, they’ll stamp you “non-compliant” and close the file.
And when it’s over? You don’t feel healed. You feel processed. Bagged, tagged, and shelved like evidence in a case that’ll never see trial.
That’s the gag. That’s the big finish. You asked for care, and they sold you the privilege of proving you still need it.
Leans back, chuckling low.
And the best part? You laughed too. Not out loud, of course — no, no. Inward. The kind of laugh you choke on when you realize the system’s been laughing first, all along.