Observations at Social Services

There may be services available, but they are far from "social" at least in the common definition of the word. I have no idea what kind of training or incentives LL Bean employees are offered, but couldn't social services pick up on that at least a little. If you think that social service recipients are leeching off the system, and getting something for nothing, try accompanying someone on a visit to the social services office. The saying that there is no such thing as a free lunch proves true here : the price is exacted in terms of human dignity, a commodity which, once spent, is difficult to regain, and self-perpetuating in terms of lack of self-respect.

Available benefits have so many different levels, each with their own set of protocols, I may be overlapping some with others, but essentially this is what happens: applicants are told to arrive within the framework of two time periods, say either 9:00 am or 1:00 pm. If you arrive later than the prescribed cut-off time , you must come back another day or at the later time. The applicants' promptness, however, does not affect the usually long wait for services. You line up outside the building---men, women, and children of all ages. (We went to Florida one time and found that kids were not allowed on the premises of the dog-racing venue, an inappropriate environment for children; too bad the same isn't true for social services. Keep the kids away; you don't want them to become inured to that! But of course, what else to do with the kids but to bring them along with you.) A security officer patrols the queue outside the building, weather permitting, and sternly advises that belts must be removed and metal objects taken out of pockets. A large metal belt buckle attached to a leather belt, removed and now carried in the hands, would seem to pose a much greater threat off than on, but no one seems to consider this. No one seems surprised or affronted by the shouting out o the rules --except maybe the newbies.
They don't want to do anything to rock the boat or rile the man. They're here to get stuff, not to screw things up.
I'm going to save the tale of passing through the security checkpoint for another time: I'm not ready yet for my family to ostracize me, so will forward to what happens upstairs.
Once you determine what floor to go to and which counter you need to be near, you sit and wait for an employee to slide out a sign-up sheet. Eventually your name is called and you go to the appointed area to wait your turn for what happens next. Often, there is not enough seating---times are tough, you know. At this particular area, you wait until---and this was hard to witness----a window is lifted, an anonymous hand extends itself and drops or strews a bunch of numbered cards along the window shelf counter. And this is where experience pays off----those who are savvy have arranged themselves in starting position, (as much as possible because you are required to stay seated, though if there are not enough seats, you have to stand NEAR the seats), and make a mad dash to pick a card off the counter. This does not make complete sense because the cards are in random order, unless you dare to surreptitiously sneak more than one card and opt for the lower number. Amidst the cloak of gloom and endless waiting, though, I suppose this little game of chance serves as a high point. When I first witnessed this sight, it reminded me of scattering grain to a flock of chickens. One more way to lower one's dignity, and reinforce dependence on the master.
I'm about blogged out now, and am going back to bed, but I'll close with one dictum:: Social Service employees do not like to hear that they must find their jobs boring. Nor do they seem to realize that if it were not for the deprived and the depraved or however you want to refer to the "clients", that they would not have jobs. Jobs I'd say they are lucky to have because they don't seem to be suited for anything else.
Yesterday we walked into a new state of the art medical facility just blocks away from social services and did not have to pass through any security checkpoints at all. People die in hospitals, survivors often blame doctors and staff, and someday something bad may happen to change present policy. For now, though, the doors are freely open, and we gladly take advantage of that freedom, though I do carry my Poland Springs water bottle in case I have the urge to assault somebody.