I’ve been poor before. Completely, totally, flat broke dirt poor and living under a bridge….so this state of semi-poorness shouldn’t be bugging me at all.
When I was down in the dumps poor I had two tiny kids…well semi-kids as they both qualified as babies at the time…and social services are seemingly set up to cater to those unwed moms of teensy tiny semi-kids.
They are not really set up for the old farts that are now attempting to use them.
For one thing, none of the lovely young women at social services realize that we older applicants may be a bit hard of hearing…but NOT every one of us. Just SOME of us. yet, all those lovely young women tend to half hollar when they see our white hair and our bifocals.
I am (un-luckily as it turned out) NOT hard of hearing. I can hear George open a cookie wrapper from the living room when my spouse is in his backyard shed!…with all the doors and windows closed and the TV on.
We walked into social services and were faced with a dozen ratty chairs and a single reception area with two open windows. Three young ladies were seated behind those two windows, and a stack of clip boards were piled up between the windows on a counter.
I stated we were there to apply for medical assistance until our medicare kicks in……. the young woman in the middle shouted “good morning”. I stated my business yet again (in a normal tone of voice).
Again, a young thing practically shouted at me. I said (very nicely and quietly) that I was not hard of hearing. Of course, she either didn’t listen or thought I was simply being polite and totally ignored me to yell “how may I assist you madam?” (I had already told her twice how she could assist me)
I said “first, you can stop calling me madam. I am not now, nor have ever BEEN a lady of the evening”.
She handed me an application when she finally heard what I wanted……….47 pages front and back……….
Now the vast majority of those pages were the consequences of lying to the state about your financial services. This many years in prison for saying you are hungry if your last meal was within 48 hours sort of junk. There were additional pages where you promised to hand over your firstborn as collateral in case the state paid you too much in any one month….
George and I filled out all those pages and signed………then I tried to hand the packet back to the hard of listening receptionist.
By this point, she was sitting in front of the left window. She said “you can’t hand that in at this window. Take it over there please” and vaguely motioned to her left (my right). I looked right…yes, at the window…and moved over two steps to stand in front of it. Once again I held up the papers and stated I would like to turn these in now.
The young lady ROLLED HER OFFICE CHAIR OVER to the window and said “I can take those for you”.
It was like a Monty Python act.
I handed over the papers and asked for an appointment. The young lady said “You can’t do that here. Move along to the other window please”
As I took another two steps, this time to my left, she rolled her office chair to the first window and said “how can I help you”.
George would not allow me to slap her silly and we have an appointment tomorrow afternoon.
He has also hidden my canes as he wants “no bloodshed” tomorrow.