Jumping Through the Hoops

There are other new faces, but his anger swirls around him like a cloud of cigarette smoke.  I've already installed myself into a seat and laid my crutches behind me.  My binder is open and I'm ready to take notes.  Its job club, which is mandatory.  They hype it up with promises of employers coming in to give pointers or interviews, but today there is just the job counselor, discussing interviews and something else, which I've already forgotten.  We go around the room giving our name and a success this week; a few of us snicker at the twelve-step meeting atmosphere today.  Some of us have gone to the trouble to wear interview clothing to the class for the extra points.

The angry man refuses to answer the questions.  I get it.  None of us want to be here, and all of us know the fear of being sanctioned and losing the food stamps that our families rely on.  He's new to this though, and he's mad that he had to bum a ride from a friend to get there, and he had to walk through the ice and snow.  He's so angry that they threaten to take away the food stamps for his family if he doesn't comply with the program.  We all know the feeling, some of us have been involved longer and have resigned ourselves to the program in order to keep food on our tables and our children covered with medical insurance.  Most are working diligently to get out of the program, and won't be here long.  We all know we have to clear the hoops like dogs in an agility competition.

I smile across the room at the woman next to him.  She's distraught since her oldest just shipped out to boot camp. She has so much worry in her heart for her son, and she's so afraid that he won't come home once he's sent to Kuwait after boot camp.  Food, shelter, work, the Navy, clothing for the younger kids... today, she's overwhelmed by everything and her eyes turn red and tear up.  Its stuff like this that no one tells you about when you hold your first baby in your arms.  That some day you might not know what to do or how to hang on.

We get through the class, and I pick up my crutches, backpack and coat in order to move on to my next appointment with my caseworker.  The angry man starts with surprise when he sees the crutches and asks what happened.  I retell the general story with a shrug, and smile that its just part of life for now.  He asks how I've been getting around in the ice and snow, and I laugh and say very slowly.  He grins slightly, still holding onto his offense, but not as tightly.  He tells me that he has to come because they'll take away his mother and brother's food stamps, and his brother is mentally disabled.  That's how it works, though.  The state wants every able-bodied person to work, so if you have someone in your house getting food stamps, the state requires everyone else to be employed or involved in a program like this.  He can't live with family to avoid being homeless, and get back on his feet, without the state getting involved and telling him to get a job (which he was already working on).  So while he may never eat there, and he only sleeps at the house, he has to comply with the state or be responsible for his brother and mother losing their food stamps.

Its humiliating to be forced to look for work according to someone else's way, when you were already looking on your own terms.  But as we've already discussed, the state of Idaho isn't in the business of acknowledging the humanity of the poor.