Jobs in Knoxville

This morning I realize that I have no Parmalat for my coffee.

Shit, and I like my coffee rich. I make a pot of some heavy stuff. So heavy that it should be brought up with an oil derrick. I drink this sludge as I hop online and start up with my keyboard but in less than ten minutes my eyes start to cross and my head starts to swim. That damn hard coffee that I made was making me woozy. As soon as I started to get nauseous I crawled back into bed and closed my eyes. I slipped into an easy dream that didn't last long. The rattling pipes awakened me and I got back online, feeling good and swearing off the rest of the coffee for today.

I head out after I talk to someone named Daffodil in CID-NY.

I called her up using my SKYPE account, which is a fucking blessing in disguise, let me tell you. Daffodil either has a horrible fake accent or a speech impediment. She comes out garbled, but when asked questions she began to repeat herself. Basically, I am to do what I'm doing and have my addressed checked at Social Services to make sure that the mailing address is correct. Then I'm supposed to get in touch with both social workers, the one in Social Services and the one here at The Spot. Great. When I tell her that I've done all of that and they still haven't contacted me through the mail, she tells me that she has to speak to her supervisor and to call back later.

Already I have a sinking feeling about this one.

I go downstairs to Snow White and hand her over the paperwork from The Spot that I got last night regarding the payment of rent. She looks at it, turns it over in her hands a few times and then gives them back. "Go and check that out with, Roberto," she says. Cool. I find Roberto and show him the paperwork, he turns it over a few times in his hands and says,"You've got this already when you first came here." Yes, that's right. "Well, you don't need another do you?" No, I have one. "Well, I'll keep it for you if you want, or you can have two. It's up to you." I look at the papers and then take them back. I'll keep them. You can never have too much paperwork from these guys.

Two down, two to go. I returned to my room and checked the subway map for the quickest route to Boerum Place. This too is in Brooklyn. Brooklyn. I wonder why people in Manhattan must go to Brooklyn for Social Services? Maybe because like garbage dumps...the 'not in my backyard' syndrome has set in.

Something tells me that I should check the online form once more, and so I do, comparing it to a print out of the same form from the Internet through a PDF file. Something intrigues me. That there is a similar notation for a 'notice' of some sort, which I haven't gotten. Or have I? I may not have a notice officially, but I do have the computer printouts from the shitheads that I had talked to every time I went to Social Services. If anything had the pure information, they would. I re-check the site, and call up the e-form, and fill it out but this time I guess in some of the portions of the form that I was not sure of. Using the printouts, it was an educated guess. When I was done, the fucking form went through and was accepted. I merrily printed out a copy for my records, sat back and would now wait for mail confirmation of my request for a Fair Hearing in about three days.

Shit, that is some bullshit. But that was now three down and a call back to CID-NY would make four. Again, Daffodil had nothing new to offer. Her supervisor was an echo down a long hall, repeating her over and over again. I thanked them numerous times, said goodbye numerous times and finally disconnected these Useless Motherfuckers also. How does anything get done with so many people knowing nothing. Finally I took the Social Services paperwork downstairs to Snow White.

Can you believe that she does THE SAME THING? She takes the paperwork, flips it over a couple of times in her hands, then asks several of the same questions that I had given an explanation for and concludes with, "Wait out a week and lets see if they contact you or terminate you." I thought my coming to you was to deter termination? I thought that you were supposed to take charge, give me some direction, kick me in the ass, SOMETHING!!! No, I didn't say this to her for fear she might pick up the phone, cry rape and all of the New York Police department comes rappelling down thorough holes in the ceiling and do a Rodney King on my ass. Instead, I ask her if that is it? "Yeah, that's it. We'll see what happens. Just go down there and speak to a Social Worker and see what they do." BUT YOU ARE A SOCIAL WORKER!!!

Aren't you supposed to be exposed to this shit over and over again until it's second nature to you? I give up. I walk out and head back upstairs. If this is going to be done, it's going to be done by me and me alone. I have an army of Useless Motherfuckers who introduce themselves as Case Workers, but in reality, they take up space and breathe usable air.

I am tired of this when I return to my room. I have decided to devote the rest of my day to blogging, the Internet, and trying to get some sleep at a decent hour. I have a feeling that two out of three will not be bad.

Hobobob