Cows Before The Slaughterhouse

It started early this morning.

I had just stepped out my room when I heard my name called from down the hall. "Hobobob!" I turn around to see Paula waving me down. "Hobobob, would you happen to have two dollars on you?!" Sorry Paula I don't. (Well I do in the room but I'm already standing in the hallway with a towel, a bar of soap, and a washcloth. Besides the door to my room had closed, locking it...whatever, it was too much of a bother for Paula).

That was that. I take my shower, get dressed the Hobo way, and scuttle off to WEREALLY- DONT- FUCKINGCARE. I wade through the cloud of apes at the front door and elevator up to the seventh floor like the obedient chattel that I am.

I knew today was going to be a bad day when I woke up this morning. I had absolutely no idea what happened to me last night. None. I woke up face down on my bed with my glasses on, my headsets not much farther away. That's not good. For the life of me I had no clue what punched me the fuck out like that. The entire night just vanished. Then it came to my still foggy brain...LUVOX. That LUVOX was stronger than I gave it credit. Even this morning, everything was slowed down and in a heavy cloud. It was time to stop taking it.

Yesterday, I could not stay awake, my head constantly nodding in front of the computer. I found it difficult to form sentences, or whole thoughts. It was just that difficult to get shit together. I was murky, a very black cloud in my head is the only way that I can explain it. Today I was foggy. It was time to leave LUVOX the fuck alone.

So there I am, asked for my paperwork from the woman at the reception desk. She takes it, finds the paper that she is looking for, stamps it, and hands it back to me without looking up. "Have a seat." So I stroll into the waiting area. "Hobobob!!" Someone calls out. I look around to see Paula stand and raise her hand. I was going to walk on and act as if I didn't see her, but how can you miss a woman as large as me, standing and waving her hands in the air, calling your name out?

I take a seat next to her and don't say a fucking word, other than Hi and Goodbye. She DOMINATES the conversation, like Michael Jordan dominates basketball. The horror story that she relates to me is how she has been fighting WESCARE and their vocational training, which is basically three weeks down on the fourth floor playing with computers. (hmmmm, that's not too bad) How she came in one day with a sandwich ate it around lunch time, then fell asleep at the desk and nobody bothered her. Really? Yes, and she stopped going and they NAILED her. Stopping her benefits. That was being nailed alright.

Shortly they call her name and she is gone. My ears are happy. My name is called and a woman leads me through a rat warren of cubicles, moving through the maze deftly. We reach her cubicle, and I take a seat (and I wonder, why do they call them CUBICLES? Why not cuBIGables? Or something like that). "Hello, I'm Drone Number One..." Basically, she lays it out for me. Report in tomorrow at Nine O'clock on the dreaded fourth floor, or we'll cut your benefits. The day after that, room 4D, or we'll cut your benefits; the next day, room 4A or we'll cut your benefits; after that 4K or we'll cut your benefits, then 4N, or we'll..." I fucking shit you not. These room numbers are REAL, but I think I get the message. I cannot miss a day without a written excuse from someone covering the days missed. I cannot come in LATE any of the days without a letter explaining why I'm late. Any infraction and we'll...you guessed it.

She gives me a paper with so many acronyms that I thought that the fogginess of my head was playing games with me, but this shit was real. I am to report in at 9:00AM tomorrow. Drone Number One informs me that I'll be meeting Drone Number 2 tomorrow. I am led out to the waiting room and the minute that I get out in the center of the room..."HOBOBOB!!" Paula pops up shouting at the top of her fucking lungs, as if I was miles away from her. Jesus Paula, relax. These people have you too strung out! She begs me to tell her what happened, and I do.

I ask her what happens if you get your benefits cut, do you lose your medical assistance and your apartment? She doesn't know. Our names are called again, and we sign off on our metrocards and leave. Paula encourages me to walk with her to the box. OH Fuck No!! You couldn't drag me there dead with my nails dug into asphalt and concrete.

I hop on the Way back home. The moment I get home, I set up my laptop and sit behind it. The LUVOX has me constantly nodding off, like a smack addict, that it makes writing this post DAMN near impossible. I would say it took me around three hours to do something that normally takes thirty minutes. I think about sleeping some more, but that will only fuck up my hours and I have to wake up on time.

I think I'll stay up on the Internet, like I'm going to do tomorrow if Paula is right. I don't see the difference in my life now and tomorrow. I would laugh if the LUVOX would let me. Instead I droop like a dying flower.

HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/06/cows-before-slaughterhouse.html
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