Lessons in groveling
Oh joy. It’s that time of year for Social Services to review my case, to evaluate how lazy and moochy I am, in order to determine what level of benefits are to be allowed. In this county, where such things are under the tender mercies of the all-republican board of county commissioners, it’s always an unsavory experience. Thanks to disability and health issues I am in my third decade of dealing with these offices, and in all that time there has been exactly one occasion on which I was addressed by name. And, as if reducing clients to mere numbers isn’t bad enough, they dispensed with “case worker” and replaced it with “technician” thereby cementing our status as “things” to be dealt with instead of humans to be treated with compassion.
So, they sent the forms, which I dutifully completed and to which I attached the required documentation. They disputed the bank information because they no longer accept a downloaded printout (a new policy they do not apprise of until it’s violated, apparently), thus necessitating a trip to the bank to obtain an original; seriously, they seem to believe that I’m hiding something in Switzerland or the Cayman Islands. Then they demanded full information about my prescription expenses, then wanted to know how my copays were determined even though I’d included the most recent EOB from the insurer. As always, their form contained the notice that my information was sharable to Homeland Security. Because.
To be sure, I’m extremely thankful to my fellow citizens who via their taxes fund the assistance I receive, including the roof over my head and the food in the fridge. But I gotta say, the delivery mechanism is the mental equivalent of a mandatory and brutal cavity search. If I’m a ‘welfare queen’, the rhinestones fell out of my tinfoil tiara a very long time ago.
.
= new reply since forum marked as read
K&R for exposure
