The Ministry of Being Fine

How it begins

Doris broke the country by selecting Not Really.

The question had been simple.

Are you happy at work?

For twenty-nine years she had selected Fine, which was not one of the answers but had become the accepted interpretation of all three.

Today the mouse slipped.

Or perhaps it did not.

The screen went white.

A message appeared.

Your response is inconsistent with national wellbeing.

Doris clicked Back.

The button had disappeared.

Across the office, Felix stood up.

"Did anyone just submit an irregular feeling?"

Nobody answered.

People in the Ministry of Being Fine were skilled at recognizing questions whose answers might create more work.

Doris raised her hand.

Felix approached her desk carrying a folder marked CONTINGENCY JOY.

"What did you choose?"

"The true one."

He looked at the screen.

Then at Doris.

Then at the framed photograph of the minister smiling beneath a banner that said WE HAVE NEVER BEEN BETTER.

"We don't usually do that."

"I noticed."

An alarm sounded in the corridor.

Not a loud alarm. A reassuring sequence of bells designed by consultants to communicate urgency without distress.

The office lights became warmer.

A message appeared on every monitor.

A spontaneous celebration will begin shortly.

Attendance is evidence of morale.

Doris closed her eyes.

She had a headache. Her sister was ill. The buses had been reduced again, and somebody had moved the tea supplies to improve efficiency without asking the people who made tea.

None of these facts meant her life was terrible.

They also did not mean it was fine.

Felix sat beside her.

"What should I tell them?"

Doris looked at the young man. He seemed frightened by the possibility that a question might require listening to its answer.

"Tell them I'm tired."

"Is that all?"

"For today."

He wrote it down.

Somewhere deep in the building, a printer began producing the first honest report in thirty years.