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...