Liam Conway
When the federal government collapsed, it was only fitting that state governments assumed responsibility and became new sovereign countries. Before this, everyone had been miserable. Constant political bickering, racism and bigotry of all kinds, wars on every horizon. Life was no fun anymore. While most of America was fragmented into dozens of states, some merged. Most notably, New York absorbed every Northeastern state except for Rhode Island. New York’s reason for sparing it had something to do with its unimportance outside of ship making. They made a deal with our governor to use any and all ports, so all ship products would feed directly into what used to be Massachusetts.
Rhode Island’s former government didn’t last very long though; its government fell apart within a few nights. In the wake of its collapse, people asked what local departments seemed most sincere and joyful, since fun and joy had been missing from our lives for so long. Naturally, the Department of Parks and Recreation came up. They assumed immediate responsibility as the head of Rhode Island. Parks and Rec took under their wing a dozen or so social programs, discussing every matter at town hall. Everyone was happy with the equal representation.
Parks and Rec’s first act as leader came in the form of a constitution. As we waited, we guessed what the new system would be. Maybe officials would be selected randomly from our small population, or maybe we would be forced to board ocean liners and become a seafaring nation. But when the document was finally released, we couldn’t have been more surprised. The new Constitution consisted of a single jingle accompanied by a five second tune: Everyone be nice, everyone go hike, everyone smile, have fun by a mile.
Maybe it had been the fact that times had been so rough the past few years, but everyone accepted the change, the mandated hikes and two-hour work days. The effects were immediate. I noticed everyone smiled more, and the youths I mentored didn’t retort with their usual snarky comments. They said, “we’d be happy to help, Mr. Sommersby” instead of, “screw off, old man.” My wife and son told me how much I had been glowing lately, and that it must be from my early-morning walks. People even began saying, “have fun by a mile!” when passing each other on the street.
The first month or two were wonderful, but soon enough, we began noticing problems. Crops withered and sagged back into the soil, gas stations always seemed to be out of gas, and no one could schedule a surgery for the life of them. The problem was, while everyone was having fun hiking, having picnics, and throwing frisbees, people were losing money. We realized we had to work, and when we went back to work, Parks and Rec was displeased. They established fun mandates and reverse-curfews, forcing people outside and into parks. Go have fun, they said. Don’t let the bad, un-fun times return! Of course, the whole time everyone had to pay a toll to have fun, to take walks in the park or play basketball, and by the end of it, no one was having any fun.
Things took a turn for the worse when Parks and Rec started working with Gunbird, the public safety department. They built guard towers and set up patrols in parks and city streets. This caused more than a few violent altercations when an overzealous Gunbird guard caught a citizen trying to go home before nine. There was also that time my friend was shot when he began fixing a broken chain on his bike. Another was sprayed with mace at a fun-riot. Through all this, we kept smiling, afraid of getting gunned down or imprisoned for not having enough fun.
This was also the time when Parks and Rec established an “importance-based representation.” We asked what that meant. How could one judge the importance of a department? Parks and Rec had an easy answer: everyone was below them. They had saved us with fun, after all!
Not every department suffered from the changes though. The Entertainment District thrived under the new rule. When filming something, they were never taxed or asked to take a break. They could go on working for as long as they pleased. Meanwhile, everyone else was struggling for work hours, individually negotiating for just thirty minutes more.
The Agricultural Sector was most concerned. Their president spoke on live television once. “I like baseball as much as the next guy,” he said, grinning horribly. “But all this fun is literally killing our crops. We need to be in the fields for longer.”
“Two hours is enough,” Parks and Rec said. “Turn Field of Dreams back on or you’ll be fined.” All the while, Gunbird guards fought off anti-entertainment protestors.
Families began to feel the strain too. When Parks and Rec first mandated three hours of family fun a day, I thought my life would be blissful. And it was fun, until I realized I missed work and was bored of playing Monopoly with my wife and son. But what choice did I have? I smiled through it like everyone.
Every week at work, my superior, who worked as the representative of the Youth Mentoring Center, complained to me about the government’s failures. Parks and Rec and Gunbird, who became collectively known as the Block, had too much representative power and always voted together. Unless every other department voted against them, their bills and policies always passed.
We won a small victory when Parks and Rec finally admitted that there were food shortages. The Agricultural Sector proposed more work hours but were denied. Instead, funds allocated to farming equipment would be directed toward purchasing food from New York. While an imperfect solution, the amount of money the Agricultural Sector needed had decreased anyway, so we were willing to accept the roundabout way of feeding ourselves.
This was about the time when departments started shutting down. First, it was everyone in STEM and the Language Department. There was never enough time to conduct research or read books in the midst of all the fun. The Education Division saw a drop in employees, and everyone seemed to be applying to the Church, which hosted low-income events for mandatory fun hours.
It was also about this time that the Rhode Island League of Workers formed. Some underling’s underling in the medical business suggested the idea of sneaking into work and getting in hours to keep operations running. Dr. Raimunde, their superior, thought this idea was brilliant. The word spread quickly in small anti-Block circles. The number of remaining departments was halved, so everyone against the Block managed to keep shut about the business.
Initially, the League only operated in the medical field. Fun-related injuries were increasing each year—tennis elbow, shin splints—and hospitals were sorely unaccommodating. The extra hours weren’t for pay but for the community’s general welfare. But with everyone overdosing on fun all the time, workers didn’t mind helping out.
It wasn’t long before other departments started their own League operations. Things grew until every department was working four hours a day instead of two. Even the youths in my department joined in, working at the center instead of frolicking in flower fields like their activity sheets demanded. We were rebelling right under the Block’s nose.
Naturally, our struggle came to light. We were insects under their floorboards, and the Block peeled them back, prepared to squash us with their massive hiking boots. They were ruthless and tactical. They rounded us up and shipped us to coastal fun camps. From the outside looking in, it seemed like we were being rewarded.
By then, the League was finished. The Block cut the workday down to one hour, and everyone smiled about it. Our sentences were absurd, but they didn’t separate my family. We received a meal a day with gallons of vitamin water. After eating, we put on sunscreen and went outside. We looked like wraiths in a play, running mechanically in a field and laughing at humorless jokes. A loudspeaker yelled out the nation’s slogan while I threw a football with my son until I tore my shoulder. They didn’t have any doctors to look at it. “Throw harder!” a general said through a gritted smile.
“Have fun by a mile!” I replied, imagining that I was at work, playing ball with a rowdy group of kids in an effort to straighten them out. The thought kept me fighting through the pain, looking at my son as if he was some goal to achieve, a purpose to strive for.