Reality check

“Have you had any letters, dad?”

Dad had been hiding his mail, or just throwing it out of his ground floor window.

“This one’s about voting dad, shall I open it?”

The TVs always on and the blinds always drawn. He’s been wearing that t-shirt for a week and he’s switched off the fridge again.

“It’s about the new voting rules, dad, you need to scan this QR code - this barcode thing. Shall I do it on your phone?”

I knew this would be pointless. Dad’s been talking about an old lover that none of us remember. He thinks my brother wants to steal his artificial hip. 

“They’re doing a test - the government. It’s how you register to vote. Don’t worry about it.”

I put the letter in my pocket. I’d done the test myself last week. Our sense of reality was being checked online. It was well intentioned - beliefs had gone wild - there was no such thing as a lie anymore. Each online forum, paper, social media was a different reality. This test was supposed to disqualify those on the fringes - test not just for sanity but a particular sense of reality. I had an irrational bias against inherited wealth, apparently, and was too optimistic on immigration.

“I’ll get you another t-shirt, dad. No, I think it’s just junk mail so I’ll throw it out the window.”