Adventures at the "Welfare" office Part II

All the paperwork has been filled out. A complete history of my schooling, not much there anyway, work history and all the necessary documentation requested to ascertain my qualifications for food assistance. Of course today Sydney my 9 yr old wakes up sick, so that means I can't take her to school, instead I got to drag her with me to social services for orientation class and the interview. Poor kid, on second thought it's good for her, she gets to see what it takes sometimes to provide for a family.

It's 10:00 and my first visit is in half an hour. I must attend an orientation of the program. Which basically means I sit in front of a TV and watch a VHS tape that that keeps bouncing around and rolling up the screen explaining all the responsibilities I have if I receive assistance and the hefty penalties, such as fines and jail time if I fail to live up to my responsibilities. So if I move, get pregnant, get a job, lose a job, someone moves in or out of my home, receive money of any kind, a change in my income in any amount or die, I have 10 days to report it to the Health and Human Services agency or my benefits will be terminated and I'll go to jail. Wonder if they'll hit up my surviving family members for money if I forget to tell them I'm dead? Thankfully only half an hour later I have my orientation paper signed and verified that I have attended this class and now I'm out of the office and headed home to wait for my next appointment at 2:30.

Thankfully my mother has kindly volunteered to watch Sydney for me so I won't have to torment her with the long afternoon in the welfare office. 2:00 rolls around and I head down to the offices again to hunt for a parking space, walk 4 blocks, wait in another long line to tell the worker I've arrived for my interrogation er.. appointment, sit on the hard steel benches for an hour while I watch the snot nose children step on my feet as they run around the room chasing each other with cold hot dogs and Pb&j sandwiches.

Funny thing, as I sit waiting, the woman who had been sitting next to me on Friday walked into the waiting room and sat next to me. She too had her stack of paperwork all filled out and ready to be interrogated. She was quite chatty, telling me about raising her daughter on her own, she was now in her senior year of high school and dating and blah blah blah... Poor woman tho, stress from loosing her job caused her to break out in these terrible hives all over her body she was in tremendous pain and needed health care, which is of course why she was there. Finlay her name was called and as she gathered all her belongings and headed toward the interview rooms, she turned and smiled at me and said, "Good Luck!" Another 20 minutes passed by and there it was "Zunny Zaiada, invew rum thateen"

Walked down the long hallway looking for room 13. I entered the room with my life story in my arms. There were two mauve metal chairs with unidentifiable stains on them sitting in front of floor to ceiling 6" thick plexiglass that had that little handy slot at the counter to slide paperwork through. Behind the glass sat a tall thin Asian man in his... well who knows for sure, he looked 30 but was probably 45. He smiled at me kindly and started in on pleasantries, "How are you today?, Long wait?" "Well, lets see here, you already have a case open is that correct?" "Yes, for MediCal." "Have you ever applied for Food Stamps before?" "Yes" "But not now?" "No, the stopped them because I moved in with my parents." "Okay..., We got to be very careful, I don't want to mess up you MediCal."

Ten minutes became twenty then thirty then... After many questions and many papers being slid back and forth between the plexiglass, copies of copies, signatures on this X, initials, "here, here, here, AND here." My fingerprint on this page, a pin number punched into that machine, Mr. Kim pulled out his calculator and added up all the figures, referred to his giant black binder with all the qualification points and with a look of both surprise and disappointment said, "Oh...uhmmm.. Well, it looks like you... Well, let me check this again. I have to be careful not to change things so that you don't lose you MediCal. I think I better check with my supervisor." Mr. Kim then walked out of the room.

"What! What is it!", I thought. That's it I'm going to jail right now, he's going to get security and they're going to hall me off to the slammer. I must have made some mistake in the paperwork and now I'm guilty of fraud. That's it I'm done for. I can see it now, poor Sydney crying as I sit on the other side of 6" plexiglass trying to touch her little hand pressed up against it saying "Mommy, when are you coming home, I miss our cuddle time?" And Silas asking, "So is the food good? You have to make license plates?"

Mr. Kim returned. "Okay, Sunny, well it looks like, well, I had to check with my supervisor because the last worker made a mistake and we fix that and you still get MediCal but you see you make too much money. You over the limit by seventeen dolla."

Seventeen dollars? SEVENTEEN DOLLARS? I MAKE SEVENTEEN DOLLARS TOO MUCH! ... HA HA HA HA HA! That's hilarious.

Poor Mr. Kim kept apologizing and saying how bad he felt and that he should have added it all up first and then I wouldn't have had to wait, and that even if it was a dollar over there would be nothing he could do.

So I packed up my life in paperwork, thanked Mr. Kim and headed down the long hallway into the waiting room through the security check and metal detector down the 4 blocks to my car where I laughed my head off and thought. This should make for an interesting blog.

Three days later I received a notice in the mail making the official statement that my application for food stamps was denied for the maximum income allowed for a household of my size was exceeded by SEVENTEEN DOLLARS. Oh well, I'll stock up on Cup Noodles and buy Halloween Candy the day after for 75% off. This family won't go hungry.

Adventures at the "Welfare" office

It's 9:00 AM Friday morning. It's overcast and grey. After dropping off my 9 yr old daughter at school I call my boss to remind him that I would not be coming in today as I must dedicate the morning to the first of several visits to the Social Services office, more commonly thought of as the "Welfare" office. For some reason this is a term the social workers seem to have an aversion to.

As I make the turn on to the street where the office is located I immediately realize that this just might take a while, for cars are parked solid along both sides of the street for about two blocks. I've been here before and know that these cars are usually representative of at least 1 - 3 people who will all be where I'm headed.

I decide not to take the first open sliver of curb I see, as it's a good block and a half away and I've some question about fitting my little Corolla in the space. Instead I drive up closer in hopes of finding someone that just might be leaving as I pull up. Alas, no such luck. I drive back around to the block where I'd seen the small open space to see if it's still available and if I can even fit in it. Thankfully it's still available. Now, Can I fit? Yes! Pull up nice and close to the bumper of the car in front so my rear is clear of the red curb. I Just barley make it. I Grab my food stamp application, now referred to as "SNAP" and head down the street.

As I walk I see several others all headed to the same location, however there seems to be a sense of urgency in their stride as if they were going to miss a bus or something, they must know what they're in for and want to be ahead of everyone else going in at the same time. One woman practically knocks me down as she passes by. Finally reaching the building I walk up a short flight of stairs and there it is, just as I suspected, the line extends out the door and along the side of the building.

I'm only forced to wait about 5 min till I reach the security check where I must have my purse rifled through and then pass through a metal detector. They must figure that people in need of food and health care are desperate and dangerous. Who knows one of us might suffer a blood sugar crash, wig out and start waving around a gun demanding the government give us our food stamps. Ha! Maybe that's why they changed the name to SNAP!

Fifteen min later I'm called to the window where a worker stands behind 4" thick plexiglass with a small slit at the bottom to slide any paperwork through. As I approach a misty cloud of disinfectant puffs out the slit and begins to choke me. A maintenance man walks across the area behind the glass spraying everything down. The social worker giggles and with a smile says, "flu season". With a forced chuckle I reply, "Yeah". I hand her my application she looks at it briefly hands me another form with two X's marked where I am supposed to sign and date. She then says, "Okay, have a seat and we will call you up to schedule you an appointment. The wait time will be between 1 - 3 hrs." Let me make sure I've got this right. I have to wait 1 - 3 hrs to get an appointment to apply for food stamps? Alrighty then...

The waiting room is full of about 80 - 100 men, women, and children. There are black steel benches to sit on. The kind you find at a bus or train station. After an hour on those things my butt starts to hurt, 2 hrs, it's going numb, by the 3rd my butt is without any feeling and my sciatic nerve is shooting pain down my right leg. With a middle aged Mexican woman with 3 kids under the age of 3 on my right and an attractive English woman in her mid 50's on my left I strain to hear for my name to be called over a loud speaker. But I don't really think it should be classified as one as it sounds much more like voices yelling into a tin can. Their words are nearly inaudible as names and room numbers are called out in both English and Spanish but to hear anything over the constant chatter, incessant high pitched beeping of the metal detector and the screaming, hollering and crying of all 23 children ... well it's pretty much a guarantee you won't hear your name be called.

Looking around the room most of the faces I see are solemn and sad or just expressionless except for the Mexican mothers and children who seem to make it a family outing with their strollers, blankets, toys and food. The children run around the room chasing each other with food in their hands and on their faces and all over their clothes. There is also the rather rotund and somewhat jolly Samoan man with the long wispy Mohawk who smiles wide as he lets out a loud sigh after exiting the restroom. Don't even wanna know what he's so happy about. Everyone else in the room clearly wishes they were anywhere but here.

After a brief yet enlightening conversation with the woman on my left, I realize how humiliating it is for most of the people to be here. Most of us are hard working people who for one reason or another are just struggling to put food on the table, get help paying utilities, or need a little medical care. We're not asking for much and it's only temporary, just till we get in a better place and can provide for our families on our own.

Suddenly I hear my name... at least I think it's me. It sound more like Zunny ZyeAda. But I'm fairly confident that it's me. The woman behind plexiglass window #3 hands me a giant packet of papers and a short note stapled to the front with an interview date and time. Monday at 2:00 PM. Well on one had that's good, I don't have to wait too long to have an interview, on the other, doesn't give me much time to pull together all the necessary documentation needed to determine whether or not I qualify.

The stack of papers I'm to fill out inform me that I'm to bring in birth certificates, photo id, immunization records, school enrollment verification, bank statements for two months, check stubs for two months, vehicle reregistration, proof of citizenship, proof of pregnancy (I guess women with an enormous distended belly isn't enough these days)Social Security cards, child support verification, rent receipts, utility bills, blood samples, urine samples, DNA, and all rights to your firstborn. Alright the last 4 were a joke, but seriously, that's a lot of paperwork. For some of us it's not all that easy to compile all that info. Thankfully for me, I'm pretty organized and feel pretty confident that I can pull it off with out any problem. Then on page 43 I find the sheet that informs me I must attend an Orientation Class first. Those are conducted on Monday at 9:00 and 10:30 AM. So I'll have to be prepared to attend the class and return a few hours later for the interview.

Sigh... alright I can do this, not a big deal.

to be continued...

Death Haunts Me

Today on my way to work I passed by an automobile accident. A sight I've seen all too often. Most times they're simple fender benders sometimes they're 4 and 5 car pile ups and the occasional spin out. 1 out of 5 times there are minor injuries but today there was a fatality. The sight of it caused an audible gasp. Sparing the details, suffice it to say the victim likely died instantly, a thought that actually brought me a measure of comfort.

The sight of that accident brought me a flood of emotions. First I felt shock, then sadness for the driver. I suddenly remembered a rather disturbing thought that passed through my mind just the day before as I got ready to take Sydney to school and then off to work, "What if today is the day I die? What do I want to be wearing when I die?" I quickly jolted my thoughts clear and wondered why that thought would have been there. Then I realized that similar thoughts have passed through my mind all my life. I remember as a little girl being afraid not to tell my mom or dad I love them before leaving in case something happened and I'd not have another opportunity to say it. I wonder who would attend my memorial. Who, outside my family would be truly sad, who would miss me months and years down the road?

I don't want to die, but I'm not afraid to. I don't want to suffer a painful death, but I know God would support and strengthen if I did. The thought that is unbearable to me is what my death would do to those who love me unconditionally, my mother, father, brother and even as I type the words a flood of tears fall from my eyes, my children.

My next thought was, "That poor driver probably didn't think today is the day I die." He or She was just probably off to work just like every other day and 'time and unforeseen occurrence' arrived. Then I thought of the family. I wondered when would they be notified, who would be the bearer of the tragic news? Then I began to feel their unspeakable pain. My stomach was sick, my muscles began to softly quiver.

Then I got angry. I was so angry at the driver of the semi-truck that obviously had to have been driving too fast on the off ramp turn. It was the only explanation for what I was seeing. Stupid driver! Stupid Stupid Stupid! Because of one persons carelessness devastation will come to many. I prayed out loud, begging that if the family did not know of the promise of a resurrection that he send someone to tell them.

Wait a minute, I've driven too fast, I've been careless from time to time when I drove. I could have been just as guilty as that truck driver!

What an overwhelming flood of emotions to deal with all before 9:00 in the morning. I forced myself to think of other things more positive, but not without noticing that my speed was well within the the legal limit posted.

I will be so glad, as will all, when our enemy Death will be done away with forever.