The staff at the local unemployment office could not have been more friendly.

 

“Hello,” said a pleasant-looking woman after I’d walked into the lobby.

 

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Todd Wellington.”

 

“Oh,” she said smiling. “I listen to you every morning.”

 

I waited for a few seconds as my brain processed the awkward nature of the situation. I silently wished we could have started the conversation over …but I was well-aware of the stark truth. There was simply no other way to handle it.

 

“Not anymore you don’t,” I responded..

 

I then watched – somewhat squeemishly – as she realized the implication of what I had just said and that I was there on official employment security business…not official radio business.

 

Her expression then rapidly changed from pleasant to a point where you’d thought the police had called to report that her car had been stolen and used in a bank robbery by a gang of naked piano tuners.

 

“Oh,” she then said, sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”

 

That’s a conversation and a feeling that I’ve had a lot in recent days.

 

Most seem to think I’ve been on vacation.

 

But not this time. I’m now officially…a statistic. One of the countless American workers to have fallen victim to this wretched and hemorrhaging economy.

 

And in addition to being a statistic, I am also about to become part of The System.

 

Some – who have been through this before – already know the system. They understand the way of the Department of Labor and Employment Security Benefits. They understand it like students of the martial arts might understand The Way of the Dragon.

 

But I am but a white-belt at this, at best.

 

I filed my claim by telephone using a special claims hot-line. It took a while to get through and eventually got a guy who seemed very nice and eager to help.

 

But he was also clearly obsessed with getting every nuance of the script he seemed to be reading correct. I pictured him as a retired Army Sergeant.

 

Someone who had spent a career dealing with people who already knew the all the important questions.

 

That meant, not really having to ask them in their entirety.

 

Instead of “Name, Rank, and Serial Number”… it was a rapid fire “Where, How long and Address.”

 

This went along okay until he hit me with…

 

“Direct deposit?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Direct deposit.”

 

“I don’t understand…..are you asking how I got paid? …”

 

“You want your check to be direct deposit?”

 

“What check? …”

 

“Your benefit check…you want it to be direct deposit?”

 

“Oh…right…the check…”

 

 

But we muddled through and did fine as long as I didn’t ask too many any questions that were obviously outside his designated area of responsibility. All those could be answered, he said, when I got my paperwork in the mail.

 

I hung-up the phone and felt better for a moment because despite my situation I had gotten out of bed and done something. Completed a task. Taken action on something that was within my control. So that felt good.

 

But then I began to realize that there were still so many, many, questions that needed to be answered. Answers I hoped to find in the paperwork I would soon receive.

 

Over the next few days I came to the realization that while I did have many small questions there was just one really big question that needed answering.

 

One that many people who are forced to deal with The System are likely asking.

 

“What am I supposed to do next?”

 

 

The paperwork did come – just like they said. But it didn’t take me long to realize that the answer I needed wasn’t in there.

 

I’m not saying it definitely wasn’t in there – in some form. It just wasn’t displayed in a way that a neophyte to government programs and paperwork could easily understand.

 

Government forms, I realized, had their own language and set of assumptions. It was definitely based in English…but the kind of English you hear when trying to understand what the heck Ozzy Osbourne, or Henry Paulson, is saying.

 

So I took my big question and a briefcase full of paperwork and went down to the local unemployment office where I met some very nice people including a pleasant-looking woman who used to listen to me every morning.

 

They were extremely helpful. And I did in fact find an answer to my big question..

 

Unfortunately, the thing that I was supposed to do next was to call the Department of Labor again – this time on a different hotline number.

 

“The lines are very busy these days,” said the guy at the desk. “You’re going to get frustrated. Just be aware of that and keep dialing.”

 

Good advice, I thought. And at a time like this a person needs all the good advice they can get.

 

 

 

 TW

 

 

 

 

Next Up:

 

The Call, The Fillibuster & The Church Lady