THE DAYCARE STATE

—A Diner Scene—

CAST OF CHARACTERS

VITO HAECKELER

—C-of-C-C man-on-the-street. A noticer. Asks questions with prosecutorial intent. Connects dots, then steps back to see who gets nervous.

SALVADOR “SAL” MARTÍNEZ

—Owner of the diner. Salvadoran immigrant. Speaks careful, practical English shaped by lived experience. Enforces “reasonable conversation” not out of ideology, but because moderation keeps the lights on. Understands systems by watching who gets fed and who pays on time.

VINOD PATEL

—Dollar store owner. South Asian Indian immigrant. Meticulous, polite, razor-sharp. Understands how low-cost retail functions as economic babysitting for the post-industrial heartland—keeping people supplied, pacified, and moving. Comfortable living at the edge of what is allowed.

RAJ MALHOTRA

—Motel operator. South Asian Indian immigrant. Calm, formal, observant. Knows how temporary solutions become permanent revenue streams. Fluent in paperwork, patience, and plausible deniability.

PAT DONNELLY

—“The Flag.” A white conservative archetype. Sincere, unquestioning, comforted by reverence. Believes deeply in sacred institutions and dislikes accounting questions.

LILA GREENE

—“The Feelings.” A white liberal archetype. Sincere, pathologically altruistic, morally vigilant. Believes deeply in care narratives and dislikes cost-benefit analysis.

SCRIPT

(DINER – MORNING. A worn but orderly diner that survives by knowing when not to know. A small El Salvador flag sticker near the register. A TV bolted high plays a military recruitment ad on mute. Coffee steams.)

VITO:

(leaning on the counter, coffee in hand)

You ever notice we don’t really fix problems anymore?

We just supervise them.

SAL:

(owner, working today because help has called in sick because of ICEy road conditions. He pretends to wipe the counter)

Por favor, muchachos, silencio —Carefool!

VITO:

I’m not accusing. I’m admiring the system.

SAL:

That is usually when it bites, señior.

PAT:

(Donned flag hat, reverent tone)

Defense spending keeps us safe.

LILA:

(canvas tote, practiced but nonetheless borrowed concern)

Social programs help people who need it.

VITO:

Right.

I’m just saying everything feels—babysat.

SALVADOR:

Babysitting she expensive.

(At the far end of the counter sit VINOD and RAJ. They have been listening the whole time.)

VINOD:

Babysitting is also predictable.

SAL:

(not looking up)

Muchaco, carefool. I no say again.

RAJ:

My motel used to babysit tourists.

Now it babysits transitions.

VITO:

Transitions? Don’t tell me transgenders get free rooms now, too. You mean transients, illegals?

RAJ:

Temporary situation funded by you—I mean the government—with renewable paperwork.

LILA:

You mean housing migrants.

That’s humanitarian.

RAJ:

Yes.

Humanitarian, and paid on time at a premium.

VINOD:

Just like daycare.

(One of the men laughed and said something about “service,” though no one explained what kind.)

PAT:

That’s not the same as the military.

VINOD:

Is it not?

RAJ:

Government needs places where people can be kept safe, fed, counted, and not asked difficult questions.

Motels are very good at this. And so is the military.

SAL:

This is why I charge for refills.

VITO:

So the motel is another daycare.

RAJ:

Everything becomes a daycare once supervision replaces resolution.

VINOD:

My dime store does the same work.

Different aisle.

VITO:

Dime store daycare?

VINOD:

Of course.

Cheap food. Cheap tools. Cheap distractions.

We keep you functional enough to return tomorrow.

PAT:

That’s insulting to Americans.

VINOD:

I serve Americans every day.

VINOD:

We babysit the post-industrial heartland.

People drop off wages.

I hand them what gets them through the week.

RAJ:

No planning required.

No future imagined.

SAL:

Back home, (he said, not looking at anyone in particular) this was just lo normal.

VITO:

Let me see if I understand.

—Military daycare supervises aggression, funnels it forward, and skims the tolls along the way.

—Motel daycare supervises migration.

—Retail daycare supervises decline.

—Civilian daycare supervises dependency.

—Storefront daycare supervises and funnels funding—sometimes without children present.

And all I get is a knockoff tool or microwave meal from the freezer?— and a bigger tax bill through inflation?!

SAL:

That. is. a. long. sentence.

VINOD:

But efficient.

LILA:

This reduces everything to money.

RAJ:

Money is what supervision runs on—the local manifestation of something larger, like Brahman mistaken for bookkeeping.

PAT:

You’re ignoring values.

VINOD:

Values are the branding.

Sacred cows are good investment with higher beef prices.

SAL:

(pouring coffee. Thinks of Juan and the Exxon Valdez )

In El Salvador, everything was “for el Pueblo .”

That is how you learn difference between slogans and systems.

VITO:

So everyone’s being babysat.

SAL:

Sì

VITO:

And nobody’s growing up.

SAL:

That would be disruptive.

(The TV swells with heroic music. Sal turns it up.)

SAL:

Siesta time.

(Sal turns off TV.)

RAJ:

Nap time. Best part.

VINOD:

Nobody has to lie.

RAJ:

Just participate.

LILA:

This is offensive.

PAT:

This is dangerous talk. Its unpatriotic. (Finally realizing it’s all about freedom’s end game. Not even half-time anymore.)

VINOD:

(smiling politely)

Then it is accurate.

(Vinod and Raj leave exact cash on the counter. No receipt.)

RAJ:

Same time tomorrow?

SAL:

As long as we keep it razonable.

VINOD:

We are always reasonable. And ready to negotiate.

(They exit.)

(Lila folds her article, unsettled.)

(Pat salutes the TV with his fork, not so reassured.)

VITO:

(finishing his coffee)

It’s a whole economy of nap schedules.

It never really occurred to me that the military could be a kind of money-laundering daycare—but I guess it scales, like the ’crats say, once you factor in the defense pork and the friendly kickbacks.

🎶 Señor, señor
Can you tell me where we’re headin’?
Lincoln County Road or Armageddon?
Seems like I been down this way before
Is there any truth in that, señor?🎶

SAL:

And you thought we were banana republic.

Cubano goes on the men tommorow —pork on pork, Swiss, pickles, mustard, banana included. Everything stacked, supervised, pressed flat, moved along as care. Ingredients come in boxes. Nobody asks too many questions where they come from.

I get ideas listening to this conversation. I’ll get new uniforms for the help too—Banana Republic. The store. Mall is going out of business. Everything on clearance.

(rings the register)

Nap schedules pay on time.

VITO:

What about waking up?

SALVADOR

(smiles, tired but knowing)

That costs extra, amigo.

(FADE OUT.)

***

Notes from the after-party:

Pat and Lila are beliefs wearing bodies.

Sal, Vinod, and Raj are systems wearing people.

[Disclaimer: All characters in this piece are purely fictional, though true to life. Except for Vito Haeckeler—he’s really real. Or real for real]