Whew! New York has been hot!
Hot with temper- atures over 85 degrees. I was walking outside and it was 88 degrees halfway through my walk. I felt faint and dizzy and weak trudging through the heat. I stopped at a magazine kiosk and bought an ice cold water. It refreshed me but it certainly did not take away the bone weariness of my body. When I reached the The Spot I literally staggered through the door, my shirt covered with sweat, and went into the office to tell Snow White that I was home. She said that she would be up tomorrow to check my room. Fine by me.
I stumbled down the hall and ran into Roberto who was coming out of his office. I stopped him, asking if I could get a copy of my lease because I needed it for a mandatory meeting with HRA on Monday. He nodded. This was Friday, so he had three days. I jumped on the elevator and a scraggly old man walked in behind me. I had my headsets on, so when I saw his mouth move, I ignored him. But that was not enough for him. He reached out, waving at the air in front of my face to catch my attention. I pull one of the budsets from my ear canal. "Hot day, right?" He says to me with a grin. What the fuck are you bothering me for with this stupid assed small talk? Who the fuck cares what you think about the heat outside? I nod tiredly and stick my headset back into my ear. Dejectedly he walks off the elevator on his floor. If I'm lucky he'll remember me as an anti-social type of guy and never bother me again.
I just hate small talk with these mental midgets. It's their way of making new friends, which means once you respond to them once, they'll run up in your face every time they see you to say hello, as if suddenly you've turned into a close friend for years. It's an open door to stupidity. Firstly, when I get home, I make a light lunch and then I go through my paperwork, sitting on the edge of my bed, sorting this out and compiling that. HRA documents on my left, 911 documents on my right. It takes fucking hours to make sense out of everything, putting them in date and thematic order. I feel sorry for individuals that lack a decent education trying to deal with this shit because it's quite complicated.
Presently I find myself in my damn elevator again, waiting as it descends. It stops on a floor and an elderly lady walks in, taking a spot in the corner and rides silently. I breathe a sigh of relief until I see her lips move in the corner of my eye. I feign not to see her lips, but she takes a step from the corner and waves her hand in front of my face to catch my attention. I pull the headset from my ear and look at her. She smiles, returning to the corner of the elevator: "It's hot today isn't it?" I want to paint the walls of the elevator with her blood. No, actually I was going to go out and build a snowman. I nod. The elevator door opens and I walk out, not saying a word. It's time for another walk downtown.
Shit yeah it's hot out, but I make the best of it. I get back achy and in pain. Today is Monday and I have my Mandatory Meeting today. I ride up in the elevator and stepping in with me is a tall, Black dude who looks like he should be in the fucking NBA. He towers over me. I stare at the door to the elevator. His hand waves in front of my face. I take the headset bud from my ear. "Wow, what a hot day." He says with a hit in the head with a hammer grin. I stare back at him for a moment, then nod. I put the headsets back in my ear and watch him leave on his floor.
Just my fucking luck. I mean it. Every needy psychopath in this fucking place has to catch my attention for this silly small talk. It's enough to drive you to bloody murder. It seems that every time I take the damned elevator there will be someone waving their hands in my face to catch my attention. I mean, do my headsets have a big sign on them that pleads to bother me? I mean really, if I was living in a decent residential building, riding up the elevator wearing headsets I bet you a million dollars to your one that a tall, long legged, attractive woman with blow-job lips wouldn't wave her supple hand in front of my face to ask me about the weather. Trust me.
But I bet you some neurotic chick with her hair standing on end will. I go downstairs again and speak with Roberto in his office and get a copy of my lease and bring it upstairs to photocopy it on my little photocopy printer, gather all of my evidentiary paperwork together for my mandatory meeting and a book to read while in the stupid waiting room. I attack the heat a second time today and this time the weakness hits me immediately. My head swoons and I stop at the entrance to my building. This is new. I say to myself, if I feel nauseous I will go back upstairs and lay down in the air conditioning. If not, I'd better drag my corpse to this meeting or they will have a field day on my ass. Hell, they're blaming me for not going to meetings that I have gone to, and I'm going to NOT show up to one?
I gather my wits about me and hit the Way, grateful that the train car is air conditioned. I get off at 215th street and walk uptown to the Job Center and get on a long line. The line moves fast, and I am given a sheet of paper with a number on it 'PM1004'. Walking into the crowded waiting room I take a seat, reading my book. After twenty minutes, and several numbers are called a weak female voice calls out from behind the reception desk a distance away. It sounds like "Ho..." and then some kind of unintelligible, heavily accented garble as if this bitch had marbles in her mouth. Then I notice no one standing up to the name. She calls the long name out again, but this time it sounds like it's emanating from her puckered ass instead of her opened mouth.
I stand up, craning my head to direct an ear at her from a distance. She notices me and calls out: "Are......?" Again, the mouthful of cum reply. I walk up to the counter, look lady, I don't know what the hell you are saying, I can't understand a word coming out of your head. Who are you calling? She walks off, back into the building and I stand there for a moment before going through the glass doors on my left and meeting her just inside of Cubicle Hell standing next to a Big, Black, Burly security guard. He looks as if he's about to punch in my face just for walking though the door unannounced. In a heavily accented West Indian accent she asks in a low tone, "Are you Hobobob?" Is that what you were saying outside? I ask her. "Are you?" She asks again, tiredly. Yeah. She turns and walks off.
I follow behind her, trying to calm down. This is how they mark you as not attending one of their silly meetings when you can't hear your name called out because you are waiting for a FUCKING NUMBER!! And the bitch refuses to call it out louder than the multitude of voices in conversation in the room, even though they have a big, digital board on the wall that's supposed to display the latest number called, but guess what? The shit doesn't work. Typical inanity, right?
I walk into a double cubicle, with two desks, two chairs and four visitor chairs on the other side of the desks. There already is a woman and a mother and child on the setup on the right. I take the setup on the left, sitting in front of the West Indian's lady's desk. I place my heavily filled valise on my lap and wait as she regards her computer screen, then turns to me. With a lifeless smile she says, "You did not attend your drug and alcohol screening on the third of June." Second of June, I correct her. She looks at the screen, presses a few buttons, then returns to me with the lifeless smile. "Oh yes, the second of June."
Super. I zip open my valise and go through the stack of paperwork therein in search of the confirm- ation letter from the examiner at the screening, stating that I was there. "You'll have to provide the court with documentation explaining why you didn't make the screening that is an acceptable excuse," the West Indian says with a crocodile grin. "Have a great day." I freeze, my hand stopping cold in the valise, not finding the paperwork yet. I look up at her, what?
"That's it Mr. Hobobob. You can go now." I don't have to produce the paperwork here? She shakes her head. "That will all be taken care of at the Fair Hearing." But on the confirmation paperwork for my Fair Hearing it also says that I didn't bring verification for eligibility. I root around for the letter. "That's taken care of at the Fair Hearing, Mr. Hobobob." I stop again, look at my watch. It's been just a little less than five minutes. And that's it? "That's it, Mr. Hobobob, you can go now."
I zip up my valise and walk from the cubicle and then exit Cubicle Hell. I step out of the building into the hot summer day shaking my head as to just how silly Social Services is. They actually pay a person to meet with me and tell me that the meeting has absolutely no bearing on my Fair Hearing. The sole purpose of the meeting is to cut my benefits if I did not attend it. Makes sense doesn't it? I burn all the way back home on the train. They actually pay someone to sit in a chair and spend five minutes just to play attendance keeper so that they can delete you from aid. Wild.
I get home and lay across my bed, my entire body wracked with pain from the long walk in the heat. I am really punishing myself with these walks, but I'm feeling the benefits already. I have energy and I can walk and deal with my fellow humans on a daily basis. Stepping out of my front door for any reason is a win/win for me. It really is. Also, I have time to think and think hard, to ruminate. To go over things over and over in my tight little skull to come up with answers to my many predicaments. It's all good.
There is a pounding sound reverberating against my walls and doors. I look around. It's the pounding beat of a drum in a pop song. Billie Jean, by Micheal Jackson. Loud, really loud. I open my front door and the blasting beat is rocking from Paula's door right across from mine. What the fuck? Did she get a new multi-watt stereo recently? And she's playing Micheal Jackson? Who plays Micheal Jackson any more?
Thriller comes on next. I crawl into bed and think of a building full of zombies. Fucking Skeksies! I close my eyes.
Hobobob
July 2nd Aunty Cindy's Launch Party for The Wild Irish Sea will be a 
blarney-filled blast.
July 7th Nancy chats with Patricia Rice about her new historical, The Wicked Wycherly, the first in the Rebellious Sons series.
July 9th Tawny hosts Josie Brown, who will be chatting with us about her latest novel, Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives.
Young adult debut author Holly Cupala will be joining us on July 21, hosted by fellow YA writer Kirsten. Holly's book, Tell Me a Secret, is a gripping emotional story that's sure to attract adults and teens, and has gotten great reviews. We hear the bubbly and delightful Holly can't wait to hang out with a bunch of romance readers, so it should be a great time!
by Jo Robertson
