Not My Department App

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Act I – The Download

Boot Barnes sat on his front porch with the kind of posture that suggested he was both resting and preparing for something unnecessary. The sun was working its way down across Sequatchie Crossing in a way that made everything look like it had been approved by committee.

Daisy the hound lay beside him, one eye open, watching nothing in particular.

Boot tapped his phone.

“It says here,” he muttered, “that this app is supposed to route complaints to the proper department.”

Daisy blinked.

Boot squinted at the screen. “You ever notice how the proper department is always somewhere else?”

Daisy exhaled.

Boot leaned forward. “Now listen to this. ‘The Not My Department App uses advanced routing protocols to ensure no complaint is ever mishandled.’”

He paused.

“That sounds like a lie.”

From across the road, Clovis Strickland was leaning on his mailbox, watching Boot the way a man watches a neighbor about to invent a problem.

“You download it yet?” Clovis called.

Boot raised the phone. “Just did.”

Clovis nodded solemnly. “I heard it routes complaints through twelve levels of verification before anyone ignores them.”

Boot tapped the screen. “I’m gonna test it.”

“With what?” Clovis asked.

Boot gestured toward the road. “That pothole out front.”

Clovis looked at the pothole, which had achieved a sort of permanent residency.

“That pothole’s got seniority,” Clovis said. “Might not qualify as a complaint anymore.”

Boot ignored him and began typing.

“‘Large pothole on County Road 3. Causes mild existential dread when driving over it.’”

Daisy raised her head.

Boot hit submit.

The app spun.

Then it dinged.

Complaint Received. Routing to Appropriate Department.

Boot leaned back.

“Well,” he said, “that was easy.”

Clovis crossed the road and joined him on the porch.

“Nothing’s easy,” Clovis said. “Not unless it’s wrong.”

The phone dinged again.

Boot looked.

Complaint forwarded to Infrastructure Review Subcommittee.

Clovis nodded. “That sounds about right.”

Another ding.

Forwarded to Road Assessment Liaison.

Boot frowned.

Another ding.

Forwarded to Interdepartmental Coordination Task Force.

Boot looked up. “It’s moving fast.”

Clovis shook his head. “That’s not moving. That’s circling.”

Daisy stood up, sniffed the air, then sat back down like she’d already decided how this would end.

---

Act II – The Escalation

By the time Boot reached the diner, the complaint had already been forwarded seven times.

Inside, Mabel Dean Ashcroft sat at her usual table, a slice of pie in front of her and a notebook open as if she were documenting the decline of civilization in real time.

Trixie Jo Bartlett slid into the booth beside Boot.

“What’s got your face doing that?” she asked.

Boot held up his phone. “I filed a complaint about the pothole.”

Mabel didn’t look up. “You mean the one that’s older than half the town?”

“That’s the one,” Boot said.

Trixie leaned in. “What happened?”

Boot showed her the screen.

“It’s been routed to something called the ‘Regional Surface Integrity Council.’”

Trixie blinked. “That sounds important.”

Mabel snorted. “Anything with ‘council’ in the name just means nobody’s responsible.”

The phone dinged again.

Boot read aloud. “‘Forwarded to Strategic Infrastructure Visioning Board.’”

Trixie laughed. “Visioning?”

Mabel finally looked up. “That means they’re imagining fixing it.”

Boot scrolled. “Now it says it’s under review by the ‘Temporary Committee for Permanent Road Issues.’”

Mabel closed her notebook. “Temporary committees are the most permanent things in this town.”

At the counter, Sonny Morales poured coffee like a man who had seen every version of this before.

“You boys messing with that app?” Sonny asked.

Boot nodded.

Sonny shook his head. “Last week, somebody filed a complaint about the coffee being too hot.”

“What happened?” Trixie asked.

Sonny shrugged. “It got routed to the Fire Department.”

Daisy, who had followed Boot inside, rested her head on the booth seat.

The phone dinged again.

Boot read: “‘Complaint escalated due to lack of resolution.’”

He looked up. “Escalated to what?”

Another ding.

“‘Escalated to Emergency Infrastructure Oversight Panel.’”

Trixie raised an eyebrow. “For a pothole?”

Mabel leaned back. “Give it time. It’ll be a federal issue by supper.”

---

Act III – The Meeting

Town Hall was already full when Boot arrived, phone in hand, complaint still bouncing around like a pinball with no exit.

Sheriff Peeler stood near the door, arms crossed, watching the room like he was waiting for it to admit guilt.

“What’s all this?” Boot asked.

Sheriff Peeler nodded toward the crowd. “Emergency meeting.”

“About what?”

Sheriff Peeler sighed. “Nobody knows. But it got routed here.”

Inside, Tiffany Annette Roark stood at the front with a tablet.

“This complaint,” she said, “has triggered an interdepartmental cascade.”

Shelley Fawn Wexler raised her hand. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Tiffany said carefully, “that the system is attempting to determine who is responsible.”

Clovis leaned over to Boot. “That’s gonna take a while.”

Pastor Arnold Peeler stood up. “Has anyone prayed about it?”

Sister Lila Mae “Hallelujah” Pruitt stood immediately. “I have, and I received clarity.”

Everyone turned.

“It ain’t my department,” she said.

A murmur of agreement spread.

Officer Kenny Joe Teeter checked his phone. “It just routed to the Sheriff’s Office.”

Sheriff Peeler shook his head. “Not mine.”

Ding.

Officer Teeter looked again. “Now it’s back at Town Hall.”

Tiffany tapped her tablet. “The system is… recalibrating.”

Mabel stood. “Translation: it’s confused.”

Daisy barked once, as if to contribute.

Boot’s phone dinged again.

He read slowly.

“‘Complaint returned for clarification.’”

He frowned. “Clarification on what?”

Another ding.

“‘Please specify whether pothole is emotional, physical, or philosophical.’”

The room went quiet.

Clovis nodded. “That’s a fair question.”

---

Act IV – The Clarification

Back at the diner, Boot stared at his phone like it had personally insulted him.

“What’s it asking now?” Sonny said.

Boot sighed. “It wants to know if the pothole is emotional, physical, or philosophical.”

Maggie Sue Dillard leaned over from the next table. “Well, how does it make you feel?”

Boot thought.

“Tired,” he said.

Maggie Sue nodded. “That sounds emotional.”

Dr. Neil Cowgill, seated nearby, adjusted his glasses. “Technically, a pothole exists in the physical realm but can induce emotional responses and philosophical contemplation.”

Trixie looked at him. “So… all three?”

Dr. Cowgill nodded. “That would be the most accurate classification.”

Boot typed.

“‘Pothole is all three.’”

He hit submit.

The phone dinged.

“‘Complaint complexity increased. Routing to Advanced Review.’”

Clovis smiled. “You just made it worse.”

Another ding.

“‘Forwarded to Multidisciplinary Assessment Panel.’”

Mabel shook her head. “That’s the end of it right there.”

Daisy whined softly.

Boot checked the app again.

“Now it says it’s under review by something called the ‘Holistic Infrastructure Experience Committee.’”

Sonny laughed. “That’s where complaints go to become stories.”

Boot leaned back. “I just wanted the pothole fixed.”

Clovis patted his shoulder. “You wanted too much.”

---

Act V – The Loop

By late afternoon, the complaint had traveled through 27 departments and returned to Town Hall three times.

Doug “Doughboy” Teeter burst into the diner.

“It’s looping!” he shouted.

Everyone turned.

“What’s looping?” Trixie asked.

“The complaint,” Doug said. “It keeps getting reassigned back to departments that already declined it.”

Boot checked his phone.

Sure enough:

Forwarded to Infrastructure Review Subcommittee.
Declined: Not my department.
Forwarded to Road Assessment Liaison.
Declined: Not my department.

Clovis grinned. “It’s learning.”

Daisy barked.

At that moment, a chicken wandered in through the open door.

It clucked once, then pecked at Boot’s boot.

Boot looked down. “Where’d you come from?”

The chicken pecked again.

Sonny sighed. “That’s probably Earlene’s.”

The chicken stepped onto Boot’s foot.

Boot shifted.

The phone dinged.

Boot looked.

“‘New complaint detected: Poultry interference.’”

Everyone froze.

Another ding.

“‘Routing to Animal Control.’”

Sheriff Peeler, who had just entered, shook his head. “Not mine.”

Another ding.

“‘Forwarded to Agricultural Oversight.’”

Another ding.

“‘Forwarded to Public Safety.’”

The chicken flapped its wings.

Boot’s phone began dinging rapidly.

“‘Complaint merged with existing case.’”

Clovis leaned in. “You’ve got a multi-issue situation now.”

Boot groaned.

The chicken clucked louder.

The app spun.

Then—

Error: Recursive routing detected.

---

Act VI – The Expansion

By evening, the complaint had grown.

What began as a pothole had become a network.

At Town Hall, Tiffany stared at the screen.

“It’s branching,” she said.

Shelley leaned over. “Into what?”

“Everything,” Tiffany replied.

The complaint now included:

• Road conditions
• Animal interference
• Emotional distress
• Philosophical ambiguity

Mister Wade Langston stood up. “This is what happens when you don’t keep things simple.”

Lurleen Davenport nodded. “It’s all connected now.”

Evelyn Grace Tipton raised her hand. “Can we vote on it?”

Tiffany shook her head. “There’s nothing to vote on.”

The screen flickered.

“‘Complaint network exceeds standard parameters.’”

Sheriff Peeler looked around. “Can we arrest it?”

“No,” Tiffany said.

The chicken, now sitting calmly in the middle of the room, clucked.

Boot’s phone dinged again.

He read:

“‘Complaint reassigned to original reporter for further action.’”

Boot blinked.

Clovis smiled slowly. “That’s you.”

Boot stared at the screen.

“You mean… I have to fix it?”

No one answered.

---

Act VII – The Return

Back on his porch, Boot sat in silence.

The pothole remained.

Daisy lay beside him.

The chicken had followed him home and now stood near the edge of the road, as if supervising.

Boot looked at his phone.

“‘Please resolve complaint and report outcome.’”

He sighed.

Clovis walked up.

“Well?” he asked.

Boot gestured at the pothole.

“They want me to fix it.”

Clovis nodded. “Makes sense.”

Boot looked at him. “How?”

Clovis shrugged. “That’s not my department.”

Boot stood.

He walked to the shed.

He came back with a shovel.

Daisy watched.

The chicken clucked.

Boot began filling the pothole with gravel.

Each shovel felt like a decision.

The phone dinged.

He ignored it.

Another ding.

Ignored.

Clovis leaned on the fence. “You’re bypassing the system.”

Boot kept digging.

The sun dipped lower.

The pothole began to disappear.

---

Act VIII – The Resolution

By the time the stars came out, the pothole was gone.

Boot stood, shovel in hand.

Daisy wagged her tail.

The chicken clucked approvingly.

Boot checked his phone.

“‘Complaint marked as resolved.’”

Another ding.

“‘Resolution credited to Original Reporter.’”

Clovis nodded. “You’re a department now.”

Boot sat back down.

The road looked smooth.

For the first time in a while, it made sense.

---

Act IX – The Update

The next morning, Boot opened the app.

A new notification.

“‘Congratulations. You have been assigned 12 additional complaints.’”

Boot stared.

Daisy looked up.

Clovis, already at the mailbox, shook his head.

“You fixed one,” he said. “Now you’re the department.”

Boot sighed.

The chicken crossed the road again.

The phone dinged.

“‘New complaint: Chicken crossing without authorization.’”

Boot closed his eyes.

---

Epilogue – The System Improves

Weeks later, the app was updated.

It now promised:

Faster routing. Smarter avoidance. Better accountability distribution.

No one noticed much difference.

Complaints still moved.

Responsibility still drifted.

And sometimes—

If you waited long enough—

They came back to you.

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Disclaimer

The events depicted in this story are entirely fictional and intended as satire. Any resemblance to real systems, departments, or individuals—living, dead, or currently forwarding your email—is purely coincidental. In Sequatchie Crossing, as elsewhere, responsibility is a shared concept, often distributed evenly enough that no one can quite find it when needed.

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At Sequatchie Crossing, we tell the stories of Sequatchie Crossing.

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