Why the fuck did I get up this morning?
Can you tell me? Why survive day after day? Why let this stupidity, the hate, the downright low wash over you, over and over. It feels like I have a dark cloud over my head. Someone, somewhere hates me.
I get up, tired. I know today I have to go into FEGS SHITCARE for my meeting with my case manager. I wonder how this shit will go? I wonder? I go to the bathroom to take a dump.
Yeah, I have to tell you about this. I sit on the cold bowl and I'm careful to flush often so that nothing gets stuck and the bowl overflows. I come out of the bathroom and the door to the bathroom directly across the hall is open and one of Paula's Crows is inside combing her hair. She sees me emerge from the bathroom with a roll of toilet tissue in my hand. So what. Everybody has to use the john.Now it's time to get ready. I clean up, get dressed and as I'm on the edge of my bed, cutting my toenails, I hear a male shriek.
"WHO THE FUCK IS THIS SHITTING ON THE FLOOR OF THE BATH- ROOM!!!" The janitor, Nacho, is flipping out, marching up and down the hallway, screaming at the top of his voice. "If I find the motherfucker that's doing this, I'm going to fucking strangle him! I should leave the fucking bathroom like this so that you fucking get the message!"
Wha? I just left the bathroom spotless no more than five minutes ago. The culprit must have slipped in just behind me. My mind is racing. I'm the only one seen leaving the scene of the crime. But no. There is no way that they can believe it was me would they? I finish dressing. It's getting time for me to go to my meeting. I shoot out of to the building and Nacho is standing outside with another janitor hosing down the sidewalk with water. When he sees me he catches my attention. "Yo man, do me a favor. Look out for the fucker that's shitting all over the bathroom. If you see anyone coming out with toilet tissue in their hands, let me know." I nod. I'll wait before I point EVERYONE out. It's a fucking public bathroom, dood! But I didn't say anything other than ok and split.
Here's the problem with the entire thing. If you read back in my blog a couple of years when I lived in a men's shelter, we had the same problem of someone shitting all over the bathroom. Now I know this and so does Paula because she was in the same shelter. Now, how does this look? A known shit problem, moving from one institution to an SRO. They'll definitely think that I'm the mad shitter now!! I shake my head. Next, I know, the mad shitter will strike again, and the pressure against me will increase. I've got to find my dope connection.
I take the Way downtown to the Roach Motel and get to the seventh floor waiting room at 11:00am. I drop off my appoint- ment paper and I am told to take a seat. Already treated like a child. I take a seat. I wait, and wait. I do what time hates. I fall asleep. Suddenly my name is called. I get up and return to the reception desk. The tired and obnoxious woman behind the desk does not, at any time, take her fat ass off the seat. "Ms. Robot will see you at 2:30pm. Return then." She hands my appointment paper back, the time written on it that I am to return. I take out my dead cell phone that I use as a glorified watch and check the time. 12:30pm. Two entire hours. I had already slept an hour and a half. I didn't want to go into the waiting room and sleep again so I do the next best thing.
I walk. I step outside and head uptown in the glorious sunlight, marching North for an hour, then turn around and march downtown for an hour. That's a time killer. I re-enter the Roach Motel, my clothes covered with sweat, sticky, tired, angry. I drop off my appointment letter, find a chair in the crowded waiting room and fall asleep.
"Hobobob!" I open my eyes. Two women are standing a distance from me, beckoning me to them. I approach the attractive one first. "Hello, Hobobob," she says sweetly. "My name is Ms. Trainee and I'll be dealing with you today. Ms. Robot will be shadowing me, training me how to do the job." I nod. Ms Robot smiled, "Good Afternoon Mr. Hobobob." Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let's dispense with the pleasantries and take the masks off already. We march through the maze of cubicles until we get to hers, and little, cramped one that we all squeeze into.
They start off right away. "We see that you haven't been going to your WEP assignment or to the Vocational Center for several days last week. You have at least three days that have no excuse letters..." Oh yes there are, I tell them. I wrote one up myself, I didn't tell them. It excuses me from three days, I tell them. "No, sorry. You need a letter for every day." An individual doctor's letter for EVERY day? The both of these drones nod solemnly. "This will count as an FTC, Mr. Hobobob, that means Failure To Comply." I know that. They sigh tiredly, imitating each other. "We also notice that you are not going to your WEP assignment." Yeah. I noticed that too. "Is there a reason why?" Because it has nothing to do with my skillsets. I have skills and they have nothing to do with that silly church assignment. It's not even clerical work. It's ridiculous scuttlebutt. "But you have to go, Mr. Hobobob." No I don't. "You're scheduled to go there Monday and Tuesday of next week...." Look, save yourself all the trouble and FTC me now because I'm not going. "You can't do that." Sure I can. "I mean, you can't tell me that you're not going on an assignment. I can't put that in the computer. Besides my job is to help you in your work assignment." Ms. Trainee nods. "Yes, because this makes one FTC. If you get three..." Ms. Robot interrupts. "If you get three we might have to return your case to HRA and you would not want that." I frown. This will only be two, so you can put me down now as FTC because I'm never going to that church in this lifetime or the next. I actually said that. The LUVOX making me invincible.
They look at each other. Ms. Robot tells Ms. Trainee. "Schedule him for an appointment with his WEP developer." Ms. Robot looks at me. "We can change these things, Mr. Hobobob. You just can't NOT go. You'll end up getting three FTC's and after three-" Yeah, it goes to HRA. Let me ask you something. Can you show me that in writing that I signed? Ms. Trainee quickly reached for paperwork. Ms. Robot frowned. "I don't think it's in writing." It's not? Why? "I don't know why." To Ms. Trainee: "Call, Ms. Supervisor and ask her where the FTC rules are written down." Ms. Trainee gets to calling. To me: "But you have to go to these mandatory meetings because if you get FTC-ed three times your case will go back to HRA." Where is that written? I didn't agree to anything like that. "Well, you have to do it because we tell you so." If you tell me to jump out the window, does that mean that I have to do that to? Ms. Trainee hangs up the phone: "There is nothing in writing." Ms. Robot takes a paper from the paperwork on her desk and lays it in front of me. "But here are the procedures to avoid getting an FTC...." But not the penalty. Where's that? They get frozen for a moment.
"Well," Ms. Robot recovers. To Ms. Trainee. "Schedule him for a meeting with a Job Developer." These two women work on the computer for a few minutes, then Ms. Robot leaves and comes back with a handful of papers. She hands them to me. They are appointment letters. "We've scheduled you for an appointment with your WEP Developer in fifteen minutes, 4:00pm." Gee thanks. I really thought that I would be getting out of here at a reasonable time, since they spent most of my day having me wait like a jackass. But NO. They schedule me for a battery of meetings for next week.
"Goodnight Mr. Hobobob." Ms. Robot says. "Can you make it out?" Yeah, I know the door. 'Goodnight," Ms. Trainee chimes. I walk off, through the maze with Ms. Robot shadowing me, and exit, heading for the elevator and the fourth floor. There is a man and two women before the reception desk that's manned by one woman. I wait behind the people until the receptionist moves her chair to the side. "May I help you?" Yes, please. I'm here to see my WEP Developer. "Certainly. Can I see your appointment paper?" I hand it over. She writes my name in a book. The man and woman leave, leaving a smartly dressed woman still standing at the reception desk. "That's late," she says. "Who's that for?" The receptionist looks at the paper. "You." The woman, lets call her ASSHOLE. Ms. Asshole says: "You have to be kidding me." The Receptionist hands me the paper back. "Please take a seat." I do so. Ms. Asshole walks up to me, "Let me see the paper." I hold it up, she snatches it out of my hand, then returns to the reception desk. There is a hot exchange of words then she returns to me. "Follow me." I follow.
We enter her cubicle and I take a seat. "Where were you assigned to?" Some church uptown. "Holy Name Church...That's Elliot Finch. Let me call him." She picks up the phone and starts dialing but she calls someone else. "Why is it that I have to call you on three phones and none of you pick up?" There is another hot exchange of words. She makes another call, another heated conversation. This is not looking good for me. Then she dials up Mr. Finch but must have got his secretary. She demands to speak to him. Over her shoulder she says to me. "What did Finch say to you about your assignment?" Nothing. Never met the man. She blinks, slams down the phone. "Why do you have me calling him then?" I don't know. Why ARE you calling him. "He was your supervisor at Holy Name Church." Never met the man. "You said you did." No I didn't. "Yes, you did." No, I didn't. "Yes, you did." No...I didn't. "I'm not going back and forth with you." Thank you.
"I'm giving you a job in retail." I'm not doing retail. "Why not?!" It doesn't use my skillsets that I've taken years to develop. I want something in computer networking. "That's all I got." That's not my problem. She blows a gasket. Steam pours out of her ears. "Well then, you'll just have to come back here tomorrow." She types something on the computer, gets up and comes back with an appointment letter to see her tomorrow at 1:30pm. I was about to tell her that I have a psych appointment at 2:30. "I'm finished with you," she says, her back to me. I blink. I get up and leave.
If she thinks I'm wasting my time and showing up tomorrow she's more stupider than she looks. I guarantee you, this woman will never see my face again, unless she apologizes, either in writing or to my face. My tax dollars pay her salary. She works for me. I hate to say it like that, but these motherfuckers are hilarious. They treat you like children, ordering you around as if they have the power to do so. It is the institution that gives them the power, not they themselves. They need to realize that.
I ride the Way back home, confident that tomorrow I'm going to my psyche appoint- ment, get an excuse letter and fax it in. I also think I'm going to miss another string of days until they send me another letter telling me that I have to come in. Fuck them.
Why so defiant. Because I never signed anything stating that a certain number of FTCs will have my case return to HRA. And if that happens, I'm just going to take them to Fair Hearing and tie up the machinery. I'm a screw loose in the works. A bent cog. I'm going to not cooperate. I'm a hobo not a drone. I'm sorry, but I'm aiming to misbehave. It's about time that these people work for me. If they are going to get me a job, they need to get me a job and stop with this stupid babysitting shit. I'm tired of it. It's time to act like an adult, and they'll be forced to treat you as one. Their threats are meaningless to me now. If they win this fight, well they fucking win. I no longer care. I've gone completely through the machine before, I can do it again. And like I said, it's more fun than sitting around in a classroom dying slowly while you're supposed to be getting a job. Or a WEP assignment that has NOTHING to do with you and your skills, but rather because 'that's all that they have'.It's time to grow up and set people straight.
It's time to misbehave.
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/08/echoes-of-new-childhood.html
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