I'm not saying I was stressing out.
The train moved through the tunnel, milkman slow. I saw the streaked lights in the tube as a dance of lines and the commuters as blurs, smudges in my way. I went through Checkpoint Charlie in the Mines of Moria, and past their stupid guards. The time: 1:45pm.
I walk into the main hall, a frightening place filled with ex-cons, the homeless, single mothers, and a day care's worth of running, jumping, screaming children. Insanity ensues. I'm thinking to come early, before my appointment at 2:00pm and wait on a line of some twenty people. When I got there, there wasn't twenty people, but instead something like seventy five, on a line that wound around corners and down walls, wrapping around the entire hall like a halo. I got on the line, between two mothers and their uncontrollable brats. These children did everything imaginable, from throwing crayons, eating each others food, and pulling down each others pants. They ran in constant circles, screaming and shouting, having the time of their lives. Oh, yeah, the time? 2:30.
The line moved slowly, but it did move. We did a slow motion two-step, a maddening congo line that worked it's way without music. I got on the last stretch of the line and the mothers come back with dinner. Aromatic dinner. French fries, hamburgers...my stomach twisted from hunger. I didn't have a dinner yet, and couldn't leave the line now. The time? 3:30.
I inch to the third person on the line. The children are thinning out as their mother's leave the line and approach the reception desk. When I get to the head of the line I look down at my watch. It's 4:15. I'm called and I meet with the woman behind the desk, and she takes me aback. With a broad smile she greets me: "Good afternoon, sir." I'm stunned. Good afternoon, I reply. I'm here for my Fair Hearing. She nods. "You're not HERE for a fair hearing." Yes, I am. I show her the paper. She looks at it and then nods, scribbling on it, date stamping it and then looking up at me with the kindest set of eyes you can imagine. "Have a seat."
I head back into the main hall, where at it's center is a sea of plastic chairs, filled with...you guessed it, the riff raff of New York...like me. I join my people, taking a seat near to a raised flatscreen high on the wall and watched CNN. I watched as President Obama gave a speech and then commentators ripped it into small pieces. And then there was the Iraq war coverage. Suddenly my name is so badly called that I don't recognize it until she spells it out. Yeah, I say, raising my hand. I'm here. I approach the reception desk where there is a hyperactive woman waving around my paper. "You aren't here for a Fair Hearing." Yes I am, I tell her, It's right there on the paperwork you have there. "No, this is an MDR." She tells me what it is, I don't know what the fuck dribbles out of her mouth. "You have to go to the second floor. But only a supervisor can give you an MDR, and I don't know how long you're going to be up there until you're seen by one." I don't either lady. "You can just skip this meeting and make sure you make your Fair Hearing at Boerum Place." It says on the paperwork that this meeting is mandatory. "No, it's not. You don't have to make this one. This is just to AVOID a Fair Hearing." Well, I've been here for hours, if I can avoid a Fair Hearing, I'd rather do that. She huffs. "Awwright then, go up to the second floor. Don't get on the line. Just sit in the waiting area."
I grab my gear and head upstairs. Time now: 6:30pm. I walk into the second floor area. A small reception desk, no line and two score chairs in its center. The waiting area is moderately filled with screaming children, mothers and cons. The usual mix. I once again find a seat near a flat screen television and watch CNN. I wait. Coming from down a long hall that I remember leads to the case worker cubicles are caseworkers, dressed in coats and carrying their bags, saying goodnight to the four officers in the waiting area as they walk by. This flow of people comes in spurts. People waiting also give up, claiming that they'll be back on Monday to continue the self torture. The waiting room thins out to one woman and me.
The security guards put on their coats, leaving just one who comes up to me. "What are you waiting for?" A supervisor to give me an MDR. "Is one here to see you?" I don't know guy. They work here, not me. "Hey look buddy, I'm trying to help you." I shake my head, look at my watch. Time now: 7:45pm. He returns with a haggard looking old graying man in an open collar shirt, slack tie and baggy slacks. He looks as if he had been through the mill. He approaches the woman first, looks at her paperwork, then he turns to me: "What are you here for?" An MDR. Whatever that is. "Here come with me." He walks off and I and the woman follow.
He takes us back downstairs, through the main hall and smaller offices to an office in the back. Cluttered, with stuffed animals, plaques on the walls and piles and piles of paper on the desks, shelves and floor. He sits in front of a computer, presses a few buttons and then hands a form to the woman. "Here, fill this out," he tells her. Then he returns to his computer. "You...you do have an MDR today, but your case worker is not here. They should have told you when you came in." What are you talking about. I was on the line for two hours before even seeing someone. " They should have told you when you reached the reception desk. Your MDR has passed." What does that mean? "You don't get one." I want the MDR. I came here to avoid the Fair Hearing. "Well, your Social Worker is not here and the place is closed down. You'll have to go to Boerum Place on the Nineteenth when your Hearing is scheduled." FUCK!! He prints out a paper for me and I stalk off.
The entire afternoon to have my dick yanked. What the Fuck?? I head uptown to Madison Starbucks and find my brother busy behind his new laptop. I set up next to him and we get busy on the SHOUT OUT mails and paperwork. Soon, it is time to leave. Tonight OBSIDIAN does not ride the train uptown with me but instead stays in midtown. The evening is fair, almost spring-like.I make it home, tired and relieved. I have to the Nineteenth before eviction. On Monday I have my Evaluation for Employment at the Mines of Moria again. Let's see how this shit goes.
Melt another day down and tell me to come back tomorrow.
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/02/right-place-for-melting-time.html
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