I had to go in to the unemployment office to sign some paperwork today. I figured it would take me an hour, give or take a bit. Instead it took the whole ruddy afternoon.
First I needed something that was actually from the Social Security Administration with my ssn on it, and no, my paystub was not adequate proof of social security number. I have not had a physical social security card in my possession since I memorized the number when I was about 16. I never saw much point in replacing it, either. I mean, no one can steal what isn’t there, right? Well, now I need one, so I hied myself over to the SSA branch office across the street from the unemployment office.
And waited. I had brought my little notebook with me (it lives in my purse), but no reading material. I discovered that there actually is a limit to how much writing I can manage to do. I did get in some wonderful people-watching (or in some cases listening), though. There was the woman behind me, complaining bitterly that the BMV had suspended her license for lack of insurance, and didn’t give a damn about the circumstances. She was ascribing personal malice to the State of Indiana, and seemed remarkably clueless about how this horrible thing had happened to her. I had no trouble resisting the temptation to enlighten her, as I was afraid she would then ask me to fix it. The notion of personal responsibility did not seem to be anywhere in her worldview.
I found myself remarkably grateful to have been able to leave my son home with our housemate as I watched a little girl about 4 years old who had her mother and grandmother surrounded and outnumbered. She was very quiet, as Joseph would not have been, but she was under chairs, on tables, and attempting to climb any adult in the path she happened to have chosen. I watched her mother remove her from attempts to scale no less than 5 unrelated mountains, none of whom was me.
There was the young woman cuddling her infant son, alternating between the usual cooing and pleas to stay awake now and sleep at night. Her tone did not shift in the least between the two messages. The baby, of course, kept on sleeping. He was utterly oblivious to everything except the fact that he was warm, on mommy’s chest, and hearing mommy’s voice. He was in newborn nirvana, and no amount of maternal cajoling was going to wake him.
And then there was the two-tone convertable/ boy about 11 or 12. His hair was cut very short around the sides and back, and longer on top. I’ve seen that a lot, but I have no idea what it’s called. The noteworthy aspect of his coiffure, however, was its coloration. The short part was forest green. Not gaudy, but decidedly green. The top was a combination of shades of blond, none of which have ever been seen in nature. He had a game-boy, and never looked up from it. There might as well not have been another human present for all the notice he took of the other occupants of the room. Even the inquisitive 4 year old left him strictly alone.
Finally my number was called, and I handed in my application, got my verification letter, and left. Once I was called it took under two minutes. Sigh. Then it was back to the unemployment office, there to go through no less than 5 people before I concluded that they had no concept how to handle someone whose job went away due to political reorganization. I finally made some suggestions on how to handle the problem I presented, which were seized upon. In the end, I wrote out the entire story long hand, with time-line. It ran to 3 pages. That will be sent to someone with more authority – someone in a position analagous to that which I used to occupy, I suspect. And then my former agency will have to figure out how to respond. That used to be my job. I’m enjoying the irony.
Once this battle is won, you’ll have written proof to cite from a neutral source that you were not fired for cause.
I know you feel like leaving things alone, but once you have this in hand you might drop a Letter To The Editor about it….
And, of course, have it with you at any and all job interviews.