Discrimination

I am finding out first hand about discrimination based on appearances.  Let's be honest, I'm not particularly svelte or exceptionally attractive.  I wear glasses, and my eyesight is bad enough that I've given up wearing makeup as I get more mascara on the mirror than my eyelashes.  To use eyeliner, I end up hitting the mirror with the pen causing my winged eyeliner to careen off across my temple making me look like I'm a dedicated fan of Mike Tyson's tattoo artist.  With the limitations on my budget, I no longer get my hair cut or colored, and I find I look more like my well-in-her-60's mother, instead of the outrageous, fun, outgoing mom I once did.  I'm short, and more than a little overweight.  I don't normally worry about any of this.  I know I've got a lot else going for me.

It was quite the shock when an interviewer looked me in the eye, and waving his hand jedi-style at my face, told me he was looking for "a certain face for the company."  Since he himself was somewhat corpulent, I wasn't sure if that meant I wasn't quite fat enough... No, I knew what he meant.  He wanted someone younger, prettier, and more physically appealing.  I wonder how that worked out for him as 4 weeks after I interviewed with him, he was again advertising for the position.  I can't imagine the lost man-hours and cost of training and retraining young ladies who fit the look, but didn't possess the ability or desire to do the job.

Earlier in my job search I interviewed with a university research division.  This was the interview where not only was one person on the panel so against my experience with the local homeschool group, she was also very biased against my mobility issues. Somehow, having grant writing experience that benefits a group of people she fundamentally disagreed with made the leg much worse.  She managed to break all the rules that the university has in place to maintain a fair interview process.  I can never figure out why people would bother to interview someone they fundamentally disagree with.

The most recent and I think most disturbing interview discrimination took place yesterday.  It was an interview with the local school district for a paraeducator.  If this is an unfamiliar term, we called them teacher's aides when I was younger.  This was a typical panel of three interviewers, including a person sitting in for the director of the district's support services department, one was a principal of a local elementary, and one was the director of support services for a high school.  The interview seemed to go along reasonably well, and I was feeling okay with it until we got to that final question, "Do you have any questions for us?"

"Yes, a couple if that's okay.  The first is what is your decision making timeline?"

A typical answer of within a week was the reply.

"My second question is do you have any further questions or any concerns with my background or experience that you'd like to know more about?"

The principal offered, "Do you need the Praxis, or do you have at least 32 college credits?"  

"I do hold an associate's degree and I do have additional credits beyond that, so I don't think I need the Praxis."

The director of support services for the high school quickly jumped in, "I just have to know about the crutches?"

"Oh yes, I believe I self-identified on the application as disabled.  I use the crutches to walk."  This is more information than I was obliged to answer by law, but because I did self-identify, I feel comfortable with this explanation.

"You can't do this job!  We have stairs in the high school!"  This isn't just sitting around in a resource room! You have to be able to walk from class to class!"  

The district director of support services eyes widened, she quietly pointed out that the high school does have an elevator.  The high school director of support services continued on her tirade of how I would not be able to do the job.  The elementary school principal's face was wary as he pointed out that I seemed to get around just fine.  I said that with reasonable accommodations I have no problems.    

Now, I want to point something out:  This was the Director of Support Services for a local high school.  She works in Special Education.  This person with uncontrollable logorrhea on the subject of my physical abilities is actually in charge of helping students get ready to enter society.  I think I feel worse for those students than for anyone else she comes into contact with that needs assistive devices.  

One final point on this last interview, where I was very obviously discriminated against because of my crutches--the next applicant was waiting in the lobby as I left.  She was in a wheelchair.

Update:  I received the call today that I was no chosen for the role of paraeducator, something that I'm not in the least surprised about.

Disappointment

One of the biggest disappointments in life as a poor family is that we are in no position to help.  Where once as middle class people, it was our duty, and joy, to help others however we could.  That little bit of peace that comes from simple goodwill is lost to us as every other middle class dollar and moment we had before.  That joy of being able to do something for someone else is gone as we simply try to take care of ourselves.  There is a very real and very disappointing feeling that comes from not being able to offer anything. It weighs as heavily on my heart as the fear of disaster--this lack of ability to help; this inability to do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

It started with the dogs. It usually does for me. I followed along as a local animal rescue posted on social media that they needed fosters, adopters, and help for a number of Australian Shepherds.  I love Aussies, and have always wanted the chance to train one and incorporate one into our family.  But knowing how much a project dog costs, I sadly turned away.  Only a day later, the email came.  A couple of years ago, I had been involved in a breed specific group as we rehabilitated a dog. I love the breed, so when the email came that the rescue wanted to know if I could take in a local one, I was heartbroken.  Its not just the money, its the physical requirements of training a large, undisciplined dog.  My love of large, unruly, herding and farm dogs doesn't work well with a bum knee, tender shoulder and empty pockets.

I see needs everywhere that I cannot meet.  People need able bodies to help and I can only turn away.  People any number of things that I could have easily found at one point in life and I can't do anything to help.  Its an awful feeling to be so selfish.

Ah Yes, This Again

In addition to Poor School and free work, I am involved in Vocational Rehabilitation (VR), a program that is supported by the state.  This program has a lot of potential, and yet, it has a lot of frustration.  VR is supposed to help people with disabilities get back to work or to help pay for retraining.  In my case I have been referred to a job coach, who is supposed to help me find work.  VR also provides physical therapy for my injuries.

The job coach is paid a certain amount by VR to help me find a job. The brochures and written information sound good, and having a professional help me find something suitable is a great idea. So I was encouraged when I was accepted to the program.  My case manager at VR is a lovely lady who is genuine and caring.  She gave me some numbers and some unofficial advice on who to call in order to choose a job coach.  With that in mind, I chose a company that seemed to be proactive. We're going to talk about fraud and misuse of funds again.  Here is another case of misuse, and not by the end user.

My job coach does exactly what I do every week.  She looks for jobs for me to apply to.  She will also fill out the applications, submit my resume, and write my cover letters.  She will take the personality screenings that some employers require.  She will talk to employers to ask if they have any openings.  If I didn't have a resume, she would write one for me.  Here is my problem with these services:  I already do all of that on my own, and I don't want someone else to make up my experience and abilities.  I also do not want someone who can't spell submitting my applications.  I'm picky that way. Her services aren't incredibly helpful and they are served with a very strong dose of condescension.  Additionally, she has no problem committing fraud by lying on applications.  I have had to look over her shoulder and adamantly and repeatedly tell her that I do not have the experience that she claims.  I have gone back into applications after I've gotten home in order to change them since she has outright lied. I have been called for interviews for jobs that I have not agreed to apply for, without any idea what I'm being called about, and ended up looking like an idiot.  At the end of an appointment, I've seen her log that she has submitted my application for jobs that I submitted on my own time.

The moral questions are these:  Do I continue to let this fraud continue?  Do I allow applications that are not honest and truthful to go out in my name?  Do I continue to look increasingly foolish and put my ethics on the line, in order to reap the benefits of the physical therapy that VR is providing for my knees and shoulder?

And finally, at what point do I just stop caring about trying to be ethical?

Quicksand

So few things change when you spend each day trying to rise out of a bad situation, or more aptly, trying not to sink further.  Poverty is very much like quicksand, the more you struggle the deeper you sink.  Yet, you have to do something in order to stop the slow drowning.  Its just trying to figure out what to do without making the problems worse.  This is where we are now.

In our endeavor to keep a roof over our heads, and food on the table while looking for employment, as always, we have to fulfill certain obligations.  This week we had to recertify our information in order to continue to receive food stamps.  Let me take you on a trip through this process.

First, we receive the packet paperwork.  We see that it is due back very soon, with less than a full business week to take care of it.  We also see that we can recertify online.  This shouldn't be too big of a deal.  Except... when we first applied for food stamps the person at the health and welfare office filled the information in incorrectly.  Even though we had turned in paperwork with all of the correct information and all of the required documentation.  We had no idea of this until we went online to recertify.  To recertify online you have 48 hours from your first keystroke to finish the process.  So now the clock is ticking.

We have no reason not to be honest in this process.  We never have had a reason to falsify information.  But what do you do when you realize that your initial paperwork is incorrect? There is a huge amount of fear involved, because that is how the state works. The idea of having to pay back the cash amount of the food stamps and health insurance for our children over the past 5 months is too scary to make mistakes.  We decide to go to the Health and Welfare office to talk to a real person.  I had to take time off from free work in order to go to the H&W office. I also have not experienced any great supernatural healing as of yet and I still use crutches.

The waiting room is populated with some young families, a few women and children, an older couple and us.  They no longer have a receptionist, as they did a few months ago. They are short-staffed. There is a sign asking that people wait in line in order to receive a number.  My husband waits in line and I sit down.  A very disgruntled worker yells at me to remain in line.  I point and tell her that I'm with him, and he's in line.  She doesn't understand that we are together and she continues to yell at me to get in line.  He tells her that we are together and he's in line.  She doesn't understand and continues to yell at me to get in line.  She finally, while glaring smugly at me, gives him the next number.  She watches as he brings me the paper, and it finally dawns on her that we are together.  No apologies for yelling at us.  Poor people don't deserve to be treated with any sort of respect, and this is no more obvious than in the Health and Welfare office.

We finally talk to a person that while nice enough, really has no interest in helping us with the recertification process.  She does explain that the very short due date is actually a "target" date and not the actual due date. She smiles and tells us to use the incorrect information in our recertification.

Now, think about this.  We provided correct information to begin with, but it was entered incorrectly by a state employee. We were told to continue to use incorrect information on a state form, by a state employee.  We are treated poorly by another state employee.  If you are certain that fraud is rampant in the state system, how can you be sure its the people using the system, and not the people who are paid to help them?  If our application is found to be incorrect, we are the ones who will suffer because of it.  Nothing will happen to the employee who inputted the information incorrectly into the system.  Nothing will happen to state employee who acted inappropriately because I did not stand in the line.  Nothing will happen to the employee who told us to continue to use the incorrect information.

"Entitlement" rhetoric relies heavily on the supposed vast amounts of fraud in the welfare system.  Due to my experience as someone who is using welfare to help my family survive, and from others in the same position, I am beginning to see that wrong-doing in the welfare system stems more from the blatant mistreatment and purposeful misleading of those most vulnerable, by those who are supposed to help.

Under Pressure

We hear the words meant to encourage us.  Those who say we handle this all with such grace, but behind the computer screen and the behind the smiles, are the short tempers, the tears, and the shouting.  We have weeks where we plant a small seed of hope only to see it die as poverty viciously chokes it with pain and destruction.  We have weeks where the closest we get to a smile is a grimace that we hope passes as something close to friendly.  Some days we sit in the car and sob, with arms wrapped tightly around our middles to keep from splitting apart.  Some days we tiredly accept that the sink backs up, the dashboard is alight with various warnings, the household appliances work only occasionally, and that one signature that would unwind a small ribbon of stress isn't available.  Other days we kick the offending appliance and are later embarrassed by the dents.  Some days there isn't any grace to go around.

There is no "but" to this.  There is no "at least".  Some days the only relief is once the kids are quiet in their beds, and we have retreated to our own distractions.  Some days the fleeting relief doesn't come until the early hours of the morning when the worries and scenarios in our heads finally slacken enough to allow sleep to claim its place for a short while.  We don't give voice to the questions that overwhelm us.  The "how much longer?" type of questions.  They hang between us.  There aren't any answers to these questions anyway.  

We live knowing that we fall closer and closer to losing our home and any lingering dignity that bothered to stick around.  We struggle to grasp at the threads of hope knowing they are far more fragile than ropes thrown to the drowning.

Groundhog's Day

Life feels a lot like the movie Groundhog's Day right now.  I have an overuse injury to my right shoulder, which is the one that is responsible for the brunt of the support when I use crutches. So if you wondered if I won the lottery and I quickly forgot the last year not even pausing to share the joy with you--I'm sorry to say I did not.  Instead, I was doing my best to avoid adding to the injury by typing more than necessary.

Not much has changed as we continue, day after day, to try to solve the problems that plague us.  This is the worst part of our desperation: nothing changes.  My husband still works hard to build his business.  We both still search frantically to find a job that will pay a family wage.  We teach the children, do the chores, and try to figure out what's next.

So far, we still answer the phone and very diligently return the forms and paperwork that will keep us in our house until March first.  After that, I suppose the gentle-voiced gentleman who is our contact with the bank, might not be as kind and understanding.  We hold onto the faintest sliver of hope that something good will happen soon.  That somehow we'll get through this.

Even though this isn't anything close to our idea of how life was supposed to be, we do still count our blessings.  A dear friend blessed us with dinner out last week.  The kids were ecstatic.  I think that they were as excited by this chance to eat out as they would be to go to a science museum.  Other friends have encouraged us lately too, and I cannot express just how thankful we are.