We’re here (pt 2)
I had given up on Public Assistance when my son was 8 months. But now that we didn't have a roommate and I was hustling to keep a roof over our heads, I gave it another shot. There was an office near our new apartment. I made an appointment for a Wednesday morning (I was told that was the best day and time to be seen.) So I gathered all of the paperwork I knew they would ask for and I gathered all the patiences I could muster up and headed down to our appointment. By now my embarrassment had gone from a level 10 to a level 6. But I still wasn't ready to make eye contact with anyone in the room. I literally looked at the floor unless I was speaking with a case worker. The shame was still thick. This visit was different. Much different. First let me tell you about my first visit…
When the Dude was born, I had worked up till 5 days before he was born with my summer job. Normally I would then have looked for teaching jobs for the school year, but it would be hard to tell a job, “ Hi, I know that your classes start September/October, and I’m due sometime in Sept, will probably need a 4-5 weeks to recover, I’m in between housing situations (read post #8 for the backstory if you are new to is. Welcome!) so depending on where I land the commute might not work. But you should totally hire me because although I’m about to give birth and don’t know where I’m going to live, I’m a good worker! But I just don't know for sure when I’ll be able to come to work after the baby is born. Maybe 1 month, may be 2?” That’s not a real attractive interview if you ask me. So I already knew what I was getting into with my whole situation. The only reason I applied for assistance was because I had been told, when you are pregnant in NYC and your insurance is Medicaid they automatically have you apply for Food Stamps and Daycare assistance. But the application process was horrendous! As I called the hotline to ask what to bring, when to come, the representative scheduled my appointment and told me to bring Birth certificates, SSI cards, hospital records, bills in my name, 2 proofs of residents and 4 previous paystubs. And also she told me because I had no income I would qualify for all benefits: Food stamps, day care assistance, rent/bills assistance. Which sounded great. My appointment was for 9:30am. Upon arrival they give you this “Book of Booklets.” Yes you read that correctly… A BOOK OF BOOKLETS to fill out and give you a number (76) and tell you to wait is waiting room A. As I walked to waiting room A, the weight of the stigma that came with applying for public assistance made me wish I had brought some dark shades and hat. While there was an array of ethnicities, religions, family history backgrounds, educational levels and personalities in there, all I could feel was judgement and embarrassment. From who, I don’t know. But I was so embarrassed walking in to find a seat. Feeling like, how could I let my life to get to this point. I didn’t want people thinking I was “that” kind of person. You know the one society says is on welfare; the person trying to get a hand out, the lazy person who’s not trying hard enough to get a job, the ratchet person who would rather live off the system, etc. But the thing was, I was judging them. Assuming that they were those kind of people. Now I’m sure there were a few of “those” people in there, but the majority were probably similar to my story. And to those people I sincerely apologize. It has taken some time for me not to default to what has been unconsciously ingrained in us. After about 45 minutes of wishing I could fold myself into my diaper bag and hide, my number is called. I walk up to the window and they ask 3 questions. And it varied every appointment.
“Are you working?”
No
“Are you getting child support?”
No
“Are you homeless?”
No
Those are some that I remember. And though they are always different and even more random, your answers predicted where they sent you next.
2nd floor for us, to be interviewed. With a new number (H154) in hand I head up stairs to wait to be called. The thing is, they are calling all kinds of letters and numbers. None are in order. It's very confusing to see someone who just walked in, get called. And you’ve been sitting there for 1 hour and 15 minutes and still haven’t gotten called. People are getting madder by the minute, cursing in their native language. But the show falls on deaf ears. There are no workers out there, they are in offices behind the wall and closed doors. The only witnessing your performance is the security guard. And by the look on his face, he doesn't give shit.
I finally get called in. Woohoo! The worker takes my book of booklets, takes one booklet from it and hands the rest back to me. “These are yours.”
Wait?! I just spent the last 2 hours filling out these booklets for shits and giggles?! If I wanted to fill out questionnaires to ‘better know myself’ I would have taken one of those Which Disney Princess Are You quizzes. You’ve gotta be kiddin me?!?
She proceeds to ask me all the questions I had already answered in the booklet that she is now using as an armrest. But now she's typing them into the computer. It all became very mundane, and I began to tune out. She was literally asking me the EXACT SAME questions.
Worker: How do you spell your name?
ME: K-E-...
Worker: What's your addre-
Me: 167 Grande….
Worker: What your highest level of--
Me: College Graduate
Worker: WELL Ms. College Graduate, the question is, What’s your highest level of HIGH SCHOOL?!
Me: …
Worker: Well?
Me: 12th Grade
Worker: Great. What is your monthly inc-
Me: I’m sorry, is there a Manager I can speak with?