The Glory of Often Days

I rose before the sun.

Made my coffee, took a nice long shower read the New York Times Online and got dressed. I locked my door, and left the building, heading for the Way...oh, and taking my laptop with me. This is what it's like...this is how your day begins, when your are heading to the Social Services Department on Duffield Street. It's kind of like entering the Mines of Moria in Lord of the Rings. Dark, Foreboding, in sorry disrepair and packed jam full of half human Orcs. You know something...that describes Duffield street to a Tee! The Mines of Moria, catchy name. This fucking hellhole just got a new name. OH YEAH, I know, I named it already, but that name is too long and difficult to remember, besides it brings no images to mind, whereas this one does.

I get to The Mines of Moria just around 8:40 for my 9:00 appoint- ment. I hop on a rather long, slow moving line which snakes its way to a desk with one haggard person behind it. I read a book as I hear the banter of a score or more other people around me. Conversations like:

"This reminds me of parole" and "I'm holding down two jobs and I start school this semester and I can't do all that with the baby!"

I begin to fade, leaning against the wall, and actually fall asleep standing up when a big, booming voice causes me to stir. "WHO IS HERE FOR AN APPOINTMENT. WHO HAS AN APPOINTMENT LETTER??" Only a few of us wave paperwork in his direction. I'm one of them. He goes down the line, finally collecting up my paper and frowning: "What is this?" It's all they gave me, I reply. "You're here for an NOI." I am? "Wait right here," he says and continues down the line. I smile, I'm special. No one else is here for an NOI. Everyone else is inconsequential.

"Hobobob!" The gentleman yells from the other side of the distant counter. I break from the line and approach. "You belong upstairs on the sixth floor." He scribbles some kind of unintelligible scrawl on my paper and points off, "Sixth floor." Cool. I head upstairs, now surrounded by a score or more of mothers and crying babies. Preschool in the Mines. The sixth floor is truly a mine pit. Large...no a vast space, with numerous pillars, very few cubicle partitions, if any, and about two score plastic chairs set into rows just to the left of the elevator. Chairs filled with mothers and rambunctious children. Across from the elevator is a huge, female security guard in a huge blue uniform who looks like she just swallowed an adult human whole. Her pancake-like tits spilling over her distended stomach as if they were melted wax. "Child social care, have a seat; NOI's, put your paperwork in the basket!" She drawls tiredly.

I do what she says and take a seat, ready for the long haul. Coming from a stairwell off to the right comes a clone of the security guard, waddling over to the first one, looking like those sub-human guards in Star Wars. They make grunting noises at each other, and I'm almost about to ignore them when a well dressed man in a shirt and tie, approaches the guards and calls out: "Is there anyone here for an NOI?"

Now I don't know what the fuck this NOI shit is, but it must be pretty fucking important, right?? I'm the only fool raising his hand. I want to go to special class! "Get your paper- work," the man says, "And follow me." I do what I'm told and follow this guy into another large room, this one partitioned off into cubicles, rather large ones, where there are four desks to a cubicle, close enough for the people that sit next to their interviewers to touch. I go to the set on the end and take a seat dragged over to the side of the desk for me.

"Hello, I'm Mr. Robinson," he does not extend his hand. I greet him. He then spends the next five minutes shuffling papers on his desk. I shit you not. He sorts them, arranges them, taps them on their end on the top of his desk and paperclips them. Then they go into a folder on the right. Once done, he places his hand on the mouse of his computer, barely moves the damn thing, and then opens a drawer, producing more paper to play with.

Just when I could take it no longer and was about to take his fucking stapler and staple his ear to the side of his head, he reaches for his mouse in earnest. "You missed an appointment on January 14th." Yeah, you see, I didn't even know about it and when I did get the letter in February, THAT one was too late for me to make my appointment. Shit, I didn't even GET an appointment letter for THIS meeting. He swallows, looks around as if he lost his mind, and then comes from orbit to get back to me. "Yes, but I'm talking about the appointment on January 14th." Look, I'm trying to tell you what happened. I don't get my mail directly. You see, it goes to a mail drop first. Maybe it got lost there? He reads off my address from the computer. Yes, that's right. Mr. Robinson stands, walks over to a file cabinet, withdrawing a slip of paper and then goes to a desk directly BEHIND HIS DESK, where another is. Here another corn-fed woman sits, filing her nails, and then wiping the filings from the desk with her hand.

"He didn't get the mail...fair hearing?" Mr Robinson asks. "Yes," she says, "Fair Hearing." He returns to his desk with her in tow. She pipes up as if Mr. Robinson has just lost his voice. "I'm sorry but we do not have the resources or authority here to do anything if your address is right except send you to Fair Hearing." That's what I thought. There is a phrase that I haven't used in a long time, but it goes to describe these people...USELESS MOTHERFUCKERS. Mr. Robinson slides the paper across the desk at me. I take a gander and its the photocopied instructions on how to apply for a Fair Hearing with the Office of Administrative Hearings. That's it, huh? All of this coming down here, and waiting for what? To be told that the address is right and there is nothing that they can do. This shit could have all been done online. What is the purpose of paying these two numbskulls if they can't do anything except change addresses in a computer. And that's when I see it, a line with a URL on the paper. I can do this application online? I ask. "Yes, you can," the woman says. I snatch up the paper. Thanks I say, and walk off. Since these people can't DO anything, I guess they can't give me a bad mark on my case for being rude.

But like I said, the fun never stops!

Hobobob