Social Work

& LIMINAL GOVERNMENT SPACES.

Today I walked into a large, unoccupied government building. I went to drop off a paper so my government aid will not be pulled. To be more exact, I received a letter in the mail saying both my health insurance and ebt funds were in risk of being discontinued because I apparently made too much money on my last paycheck. I had volunteered to work some extra hours at the museum I work at and made an extra $300. Something I noticed recently was that at least three people I personally know also recieved the same news. These people, like me, do not live lavishly. One of them is a mother of four. They are working paycheck to paycheck; as am I, and were just as surprised when they recieved the harrowing letter in the mail. What a weird coincidence that all four of us should make “too much money” in the same month as each other.

SIDE NOTE: When I got the mail in the letter I did call my social worker. I was answered by a machine. I was told it would be extra difficult to find my file because there was a recent “breach of security.” I was never able to talk to my social worker so I left a message which I have yet to hear back from. This is why I decided to go down to the office instead.

When I walked in to the large entry lobby I noticed there were no numbers on the doors, or shown on the floor map posted on the wall. Every door was locked. The windows were tinted as to be able to look out but not in. “How obvious" I thought to myself.

I stared blankly as I looked for the suite where I was to drop off my paper. I found “suite 100” in fine print near the door which was the office where I was to drop the one sheet of paper that decided whether or not I would be able to go to the doctor in America.

There was a Ring device at the door where I had to explain why I was here before being buzzed in. There was a large, empty waiting room standing before a desk where a lone woman sat. It looked like a scene from a zombie movie. The large room completely empty, the desk which could seat 7 receptionists all without a trace other than 1 where a short lady was watching some Netflix show on her phone.

I knew at some point (before COVID) these waiting rooms would have been filled. I could see office doors down the hall but couldn’t hear a single peep. She seemed surprised to see me, the receptionist. I don’t know if her eyes were wide from being startled of a visitor or from taking too much of someone else’s prescription but she was fidgety and couldn’t help but stumble over her own words. She was a nice lady. She gave me a receipt, showing proof I made it to the office (it actually felt like I should be rewarded for the effort it took to find this place) and sent me on my way. I wanted to ask her why the doors were locked? Why was this large building mostly empty? What does she do all day in here alone? How are the government benefits? I just drove by the city community center and it didnt compare to the vastness of these government offices. Does she lock the doors because she feels unsafe? Is it that social workers were being constantly targeted or threatened? Did they need to lock themselves away for protection? Why are so many people upset with them? They don’t make the policies, why do they need to fear for themselves?

I walked out with more questions than answers. I couldn’t help but feel frustrated with how vague the whole process felt. Here I drove 25 minutes to plead with someone to help me keep my government cheese and yet, there was nobody I could talk to about my case. There was nobody to point my finger at. Nobody to hear how important these government benefits are for my life right now. They are on a conveyor belt always shifting with the weight of my sorrows

. I know not to yell at the woman but when she is literally the only person I see inside the building, she must be the one person to hear my worries, roll her eyes over my choices I regret. A significant portion of my independence depends this aid (which I guess makes me not so independent) and when there is no phone to call, no human to hear, no door without a lock, I can’t help but come with desperation. I’m not mad at the lady. I’m not mad at the woman who didn’t give me a genuine smile. But if they step on my toes while they run back behind their desks, I cant help but turn the bull’s horns toward their pale, doughy bodies.

Is it done intentionally this way? Do they make it impossible to find someone to talk to so the only way you are heard is by yelling so loud they have the ability to kick you out?