Food Stamp Saga

It's Monday. As I type this I am sitting in a chair in the corner of the living room, the chair next to a set of large windows over-looking the backyard. This place is such a change from the life we knew in Philadelphia. Since we have been here he haven't once had a single police car, sirens roaring, scream past the house. In Philly we had become accustomed to busyness and crowds, cars loudly passing by and sirens at all times of the night. Here the afternoons are filled with children playing on their scooters in the street and the evenings are stone silent. I had forgotten that life could be like this.

I had an interesting experience last week. I spent the better part of a day standing in line and later sitting in the waiting room of the local social service food stamp office. This was the first time in my life I'd ever had to be in such a place petitioning for help. It was humbling, to say the least. I entered the austere government building, not quite sure what to expect. I stood in line with other people, waiting patiently as the slightly bored-looking workers behind the thick glass up front shuffled through what appeared to be reams and reams of forms. Finally it was my turn.
"I'm here to find out about food stamps!" What else could I say? Do they simply hand them too you? Did I need to offer a pint of blood? I had no clue.
The disinterested government worker in front of me pointed to the rear of the room. "You need to fill out the form and get back in line. Next!"
So it began. I left my precious spot in the queue and trudged to the rear of the waiting room, took the form, and sat down in one of the uncomfortable vinyl chairs. It took me about thirty minutes to fill out the twelve sheets (front and back) of requested data. Who lived with me? How much did I make? What were my expenses? I stood and obediently took my place at the back of the line which, miraculously, had diminished somewhat by this time. I waited again. To my right a baby was crying. There was the impatient sound of children as a young mother behind me struggled through the form I had just completed. An elderly couple to my left sat quietly in some chairs against the wall. They knew what to expect. Finally it was my turn again. The all-powerful Man Behind the Glass took my form, looked through it, stamped a few pages, then asked me to sit down and wait. Back to the uncomfortable chairs. I waited, and waited, and waited, and watched some TV, and waited, and waited, and read a bit, and waited, and looked around at the other folks. A young father to my left was trying to console an infant. And I waited. Most people avoided eye contact. At last I heard my name called. "Troy Fuller?" I stood.
"We got your form," the young lady who greeted me said. "You'll be receiving a letter in the mail with your appointment date in about 4-6 days."
And that was it. That was it? After so patiently waiting for hours and standing in line and enduring the uncomfortably intrusive forms, that was it? The young woman disappeared down the hall and I was left standing in the middle of the waiting room. What could I do? I took my hat (yes, I wear a hat in public. I know that fashion fell out of popularity about 60 years ago. I think it should be brought back) and I left the building. So ended the beginning of my experience with government social help.

I did finally get that promised letter. I have a meeting set up with a social counselor this coming Friday. It should be interesting.

I'll keep you posted.