Ye Ol' Food Stamps Place

Oh, goodness. Wasn't I a drama queen today?

I'm pretty calm now. It's pretty much worn off. But I was mad at the world today. I felt like I used to in high school. A loner, binging on food after-school, waiting to do something new, but feeling like the only place I really belonged was in bed. And that happened today, too. It's funny how those little up and down cycles of your life never leave you. I'm sure I'll have more of them in the years ahead.

But anyways, back to the drama. So, my Food Stamps were up March 1st. With plenty of leeway time, I went to the Denver Department of Health Services on January 23rd. The lady who helped me there was listening to Spanish music.

"Who is this?" I asked with genuine interest, thinking that she liked Latin music, like me. Trying to make some connection.

"Oh, I don't know. It's the radio." Drones. The poor people who work there helping the poor. I really do feel sorry for them. It's probably hard to keep your head up or even appreciate the beautiful music playing in the background of your boring, sad day.

So, this lady told me I'd be all set. That it's good I came in early. It takes about a month for the re-certification process to go through. I'm all good, I thought.

Then, March 1st rolls in. With avengence. Okay, it's not that bad. But, I had no money in my food stamps account?
"Where was it?" I worried. "It's March!"

So, I proceeded to march on in to the Food Stamps place, a second time, but the line was too long, and I'd certainly be late for work.

So, I proceeded to march on in a third time. The lady there told me to fill out a request form, and that I'll get a call in 48-hours by my case worker, Flora Garcia. I'll have my food-stamps by 6pm.

The time goes by, no food stamps.

So, I proceeded to go in a third time. The lady tells me to do the same thing. Fill out a form. 48-hours. 6pm. Yeah, I hope so, I think.

Nada.

So, I let a few days go by, cool off. Luckily, the Rick's saintly parents, Carol and Vince, come to visit and shower us with extra groceries and gifts for our apartment. We are truly blessed to have them in our life. Carol, Rick's Mom, even leaves a surprise $100 dollar bill hidden in an envelope behind a painting. We are indeed spoiled.

But this is a matter of principal. I am qualified for these food stamps. I need them to be comfortable.

So, I walk in today. This time, I'm ready to give it my all. I wait for two hours. Get tossed around like a bag of groceries, and I begin to feel broken and manipulated...like someone's taking advantage of me. Not raping me, but taking advantage of me. And I start of think of all the people in my life who take advantage of me. I start to feel all whiny, "Why me? Why me?" And like my Grandma Lurkin's used to say, "I don't owe those people nothin'!" I begin to lose passion for my work, for what I do.

Let me fast forward a bit. So, I do eventually get to talk to someone after two hours.
She asks, "How are you?" And for the first time, I don't act all cheery. I am honest.
"I'm pretty good." How can anyone be happy at this place?

Before this happened, I watched something melancholy. A Mexican woman's turn is skipped. Number 6 and Number 7 are called.
"Excuse me, I'm number 5," she says in broken English.
"Are you Spanish?" the blonde, middle-class, hickish worker asks as if she's asking for her shoe size. "Because you gotta wait for the Spanish case worker."

The women sits dejected, trying to get her toddler daughter to sit still.
"Parate. Parate. Parate!!!!" She keeps telling her daughter to stop it. To stop falling on the floor. Another Mexican woman sits down with her baby. The woman who just came in offers the other lady's daughter a Starburst. They exchange some banter about having to wait in line, about not working, and needing money. I want to reach out to them and say, "I want you to be happy. Go back to Mexico and be with your family." Working with Hispanic families, I see too many who are taken advantage of, can't understand what's going on, made to feel like pieces of shit. Most of the mothers tell me they're happier in Mexico. Then go back there, I think. But they really want better opportunities for their kids. It's beautiful. It's sad. It's self-less.

I did get my food-stamps. I cried. The food-stamps lady told me I was missing some documents. She was all by the books. I hate those kinds of people.
"You have one pay check here, not two."
"Okay. Well, what's the difference?"
"We need two!"

"Do you get paid bi-monthly or twice a month?"
"Isn't it the same thing?"
"No, it's not!"
"I think I get paid around the 15th and 30th of each month."
"Says here you got paid of the 13th!"
"Okaaaay."

"Did you get extra leap year pay?"
"What?"
"If you don't know what it is, then no!"

"I can't process this without your current checking account balance."
"I thought I already did that when I came in January!"
"No, it didn't go through."
"Well, I don't have it."
"Then, I can't process your food stamps?"
"Can I use your computer and print it off?"
"No! You are not authorized to use this computer!"

Then, when all else failed, I cried.
"I've been here five times!!! I don't want to come here anymore!"

She didn't make eye-contact. Looked at her computer all confused. Didn't respond when I asked questions. Bitch.

But she did work some magic.

You won't get as much money as you're used to. I had to make some changes with your current status. But you should get money by this afternoon.

"Sorry I got so emotional. I've just been here too many times."
"Well, we all work really hard here."

Huh.

So, I left. Was in a mood all day. Felt put out. But at least I have food stamps.