When you first meet Janine, your overall impression is of softness – she speaks clearly in modulated Midwestern tones, her hair is a honey-colored cloud, and she has the kind of posture your Grandmother yelled at you for not having. Her casual clothes are sweet and feminine. Today she has on a denim skirt on which she hand-stitched a few tiny flowers, and a gauzy white eyelet blouse more befitting a high school sophomore than the 43 year old medical secretary she once was. And she’ll talk about that to me today, while she tells me all about what it’s like to be on public assistance for the first time in her life.
There’s the shame, of course, and we’ll get to that. But first, more about Janine. She moved to New York to follow a man. He was a contractor redesigning the billing system in the Midwestern hospital where Janine worked, and by their third date she was smitten. His bright eyes and the way his sentences tumbled over each other when he was excited about something drew her in, but it was his brilliance and capability that led her to pronounce him “The One”. When his company called him to New York, he invited her to come live with him. There was no answer other than “Yes” ever considered.
The reality of life in Long Island was not the bucolic scene that either expected. Beautiful, yes, but expensive! He worked hard and so did Janine. The pediatrician at North Shore University Hospital who hired her on was thrilled with her work, sometimes taking her and her colleagues out for drinks at a pub in Port Washington.
It lasted two years. Her man – for that’s how she thought of him – was abruptly transferred to Seattle. Instead of inviting her along this time, he moved alone… and slowly stopped calling and returning her calls. She’s still not sure what happened or why, but she suspects that the new job is his new girlfriend. She threw herself into her work, hating the idea of returning to Chicago’s suburbs in winter, determined to make it on her own. But when the pediatrician sold her practice, some staff trimming was done, and there was Janine: single, no income, alone and one month away from being behind on every bill.
She filed for unemployment and got the maximum – $405.00 a week. This would keep her and Angus, the cat she’d gotten for company, fed. It would put some gas in her rickety Toyota, and keep her able to go on interviews. It would not pay her rent of $1800.00 a month, nor her utilities, nor her modest credit card bills beyond a minimum. Then her employer filed a request for a hearing with The Department Of Labor, and even that meager income stopped instantly.
She decided what to do after a long, tear-filled conversation with the cat. She needed some help, and she needed it fast.
Janine showed up at the Nassau County Department Of Social Services the following Monday. She had downloaded the application for TA (Temporary Assistance) and filled it out neatly, and had copies of all her bills with her. The clean, modern building promised efficiency and hope. It lied.
The man in front of her on line was nodding out on heroin. A woman with screaming children ignored them while texting on her iPhone. Two young ladies commenced a fight resulting in both of them being arrested. There were posters and messages on large TV screens: “Never shake a baby.” “Get tested for HIV.” “Do you know a child who is being abused?”
After a woman who looked like a prison guard went through her bag and ran a metal detector over Janine, she was directed to a “check-in line”. She handed in her application and was given a number and told to wait until she was called.
TVs mounted above the circular waiting area counted the numbers down and blared FOX News as unsupervised children ran rampant, drug addicts snored, and loud women yelled into phones and at each other.
“I don’t belong here.”, Janine thought, and it must have been true because a lot of people stared at her. She silently cursed her former lover and tried not to cry. But a random thought of her childhood home – a stone colonial in Oak Park, IL – made her eyes well up. “What would my parents think?” And then there was the not-small matter of Angus the cat, counting on her to be smart about this and make sure they both didn’t end up in the snow.
She pulled it together. Her number was called.
Her social worker was a simply dressed woman of indeterminable age named Miss Ellis. She looked at Janine like Janine was full of shit before Janine even said a word. And Miss Ellis commenced to lie, herself. She told Janine that it would take 45 days to process her application, which was a half-truth. Certain items could be processed right away, but she omitted this tidbit. She also told Janine that there was no emergency assistance available. This was a patent lie – Janine’s utilities and phone were about to be shut off, and normally, this is stopped by the case worker with a phone call to the utility. Janine had seen this on the webpage, and when she brought it up, Miss Ellis looked at her with something like hate. She took the bills, copied them, and told Janine: “We’ll call them.”. Janine was not convinced. “You can always call me if they start shutting things off.” said Miss Ellis when a supervisor walked by. But Miss Ellis would never answer her phone, and her voicemail was always full.
Janine was sent over to the Medicaid area to pick a Medicaid HMO. This went fairly smoothly and the worker was a lot nicer. But she was told that coverage was immediate, and it wasn’t, as she found out when she arrived at a gynecologist appointment the following week.
Food stamps were instant, but she was only allowed $200.00 per month for food. And only food was covered – no soap, toilet tissue, toothpaste, or anything like that. She shopped carefully, switched the cat to inexpensive store-brand tuna mixed with a feline vitamin supplement donated by the local shelter. A friend gave her paper goods, hygiene products and cleaning supplies. And so Janine waited.
Janine’s phone and lights somehow stayed on – she got another shutoff notice, but supplying it to Miss Ellis via a document drop-off system seemed to do the job. She looked for work every day. She’s still looking. Sometimes she looks around the apartment she once shared with her man and wonders if she’ll ever see him again. She wonders how much she could get on eBay for some of her personal items she doesn’t use anymore.
45 days passed, and she became eligible for Temporary Assistance. Some of this is cash. Some of it is dual party checks. And she has to fight Miss Ellis for every goddam penny of it. When Janine gets home from these bouts, which she describes as dueling with a robot, she is exhausted and depressed. When told that her family, friends, and neighbors would be interviewed by Miss Ellis, she bursts into tears in the office, but gets a bit of her own back: “Miss Ellis? No one interviewed them when they were taking the money out of my paycheck to pay for this.” Miss Ellis is a bit stunned and regards Janine once again with stupid hatred.
That was last Thursday. Miss Ellis wants to talk to me about Janine, since I live down the hall and Janine and I sort of know each other. And I have a LOT to tell this leathery old government bitch about Janine… and about herself and her employer.
Because if I ever have to go in there for myself, which could happen to ANYONE, I want it to be different. And at Janine’s next appointment, she’s going to have company. I pray for those who do not.
The next time you hear someone who calls himself conservative going on about taxation and waste and fraud and lazy poor people… print this out and hand it to him with the words: “I hope it never happens to you.”
*****
This is not a “leftist Christian” post – I did not focus on religion, social justice, or the tenets of Christianity as applied to the unfortunate. But being that so many people who are opposed to programs designed to help people like Janine identify themselves as “Christian”, such a post is overdue. While I write one, I leave you with this, from the 1979 edition of the Episcopal Book Of Common Prayer:
For the Poor and the Neglected:
Almighty and most merciful God, we remember before you
all poor and neglected persons whom it would be easy for us
to forget: the homeless and the destitute, the old and
the sick, and all who have none to care for them. Help us to heal
those who are broken in body or spirit, and to turn their sorrow
into joy. Grant this, Father, for the love of your Son, who for
our sake became poor, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
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