Non-disapproved

“So, you want to do This or That, do you,” asked the Fed, or G-man, or lower level bureaucrat whose actual title is “analyst” which makes as much sense as the rest of this story.

“Well,” he continued, “you will need to file an application and pay a fee.” He then paused, thoughtfully staring at a well worn page in a three-ring binder; the three holes of which had been reinforced with scotch tape, carefully folded, covering the hole on each side of the paper, time after time. “Actually,” continued his continuation, “you will need two applications and two fees, one for This and a separate one for That.”

“So what is the bottom line? What will it cost me? My question was met with a knowing smile indicating the he knew that I knew that he had the advantage. His team was winning.

“Well, both applications are available online. We no longer print them as it is too costly. The instructions precede the application. It must be printed out and signed and the original and one copy delivered to this office with a check. Two applications require separate checks. Our review window is 60 days. If one or both of the applications is not non-disapproved, the fee is not refundable as it pays for the approval process.”

"What do you mean by non-disapproved? Do you mean approved?" I began to regret asking as I saw that knowing smile of his slowly reappear. He had me again.

"No, we don't approve anything," he was suppressing his giddiness, almost, "we non-disapprove."

“So, what will it cost me?” I felt as though I was in some kind of quicksand, sinking and unable to do anything about it.

“Yes, the application fee for This,” he was studying the next reinforced three-ring binder page and speaking very cautiously, “is $460 and for That is $640. The actual processing will not take place until the checks clear.”

“Why the difference in fees?”

“Well, This is easy and requires only a team of junior analysts. That, however, is much more complex and must be evaluated and non-disapproved by a senior analyst. Much more expensive and somewhat slower.”

“How much slower?”

“That adds a 30 day management review, unless waived by management review as a result of the filing of a management review exception request and an additional fee.”

“What is the fee for the management review?”

“None, it is included in the approval fee.”

“But you said there was an additional fee.”

“Not for management review, the additional fee is for the filing of a management

review exception request which is subject to management review after That check clears and the new one, too.”

I was feeling dizzy and needed water or sugar, I am not sure which. I had neither. “So, how much is the new fee,” I managed to ask.

"For the management review exception request?"

“Yes, that one.”

“That one is,” the pages of the binder were flying by, “$74.”

“Can I give you cash now, and start the clock today?”

“No that will not be possible, we do not take cash or credit cards, only checks.

Also, the clock starts when the complete application is submitted and the check for the fee clears.”

I was surprised because I fully understood that last comment. It actually made sense to me.  I worried that I was somehow acclimating.

“Okay, I will bring in the applications and the checks tomorrow morning. You are open, right? Tomorrow is Friday.”

“Yes, we are open, but no.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“We only take applications for This and That on Tuesday and Thursday mornings

from 8:00 AM to 11:00 AM.

My vision was beginning to tunnel. “Okay, I’ll bring them in next Tuesday bright

and early,” I said.

“That won’t work, either.” He said as he slam-dunked me back into the quicksand. 

“Why is that,” I questioned, pinching myself; this must be a bad dream.

“The app for This, with the check, on Tuesday morning only and the app for That, with the check, on Thursday morning only. That is clearly outlined in the instructions.” With that he handed me a poorly copied and stapled packet of a dozen pages of instructions in about six point type; breaking the rule about handouts. “It is all there,” he said, “the web address in on page two.”

I felt drunk as I staggered to my car in the metered lot in front of the huge tan building with “Administration” in large Roman letters.

I reached my car and in short order a crowd of passersby formed around me. I was sitting on the ground laughing hysterically. My audience was not sure if I was laughing or crying, sane or ready to howl at the streetlamps. A cop pulled a paper from my hand, a parking ticket, my meter had expired.

“It’s okay folks,” the cop said to the crowd. Then she muttered, mostly to herself, “third time this week.”

I managed a short break in my hysteria, saying to her, “you’re non-disapproved.”

______________________________________________________________

Fiction? You be the judge.

June 2017

© 2017 CLThomas Published on theprose.com per agreement. Other reproduction for use by written permission only.