I'm Studying You

Patience

It's not just a Guns 'N Roses song.

Anyone who knows anything about me knows I'm not normally a patient person. For instance, on Thanksgiving I'm ready for turkey before The Macy's Parade is even close to being over. Or waiting in line...it gives me hives standing there dancing like I haven't peed in three days. Patience...not one of my virtues.

The unemployment office Job Center, as it's now known as, is on one of the busiest roads in the area, but it's pretty much a straight shot about 20 minutes from my house. I'm actually glad I didn't try to bike there, because the construction was ridiculous. And if you didn't know, Buffalo has two seasons: winter and construction season.

Eddie upstairs said he'd be back in 15 minutes when he dropped me off and went for coffee. I get called into this guy's cubicle in the back (it's set up like a maze that you can't win) and have a seat at his desk where I'd say 4-6 of his coworkers and their similarly unemployed clientele can hear my business and I theirs. Not fly y'all.

I recognize this dude's voice from the few times he's called me about unemployed-folk matters but could never remember his name. He was Mr. So-and-so from the job center. Today I got his first name...Bert. Easy enough to remember, but I hope in twenty years' time I don't look quite as, ummm, ahhh...unhealthy(?) and twenty years older than I should.

Asks me where I've applied and if I've documented it. Oops. Told him I did but it got stolen. Psst...that's a lie. I didn't document anything, but for good reason. They want the place, address, phone number, a contact person, what kind of job, the date, a stool sample and your mother's maiden name. All of which kind of makes no sense if the adress is a URL with no contact person because you did your applying online.

Then he explains benefits have been extended for three months and hands me a piece of paper with a phone number and a whole list of instructions with how to get through on the phone to see if the suspension of my benefits has been lifted, but it's an overnight process and I have to wait until 8am tomorrow. Man, fuck that! I'm sittin' on no cash and now you want me to wait on top of it? Ohhh boy, it's gonna be a long night and I'm just about out of smokes. Not cool. Not cool.

I figure after midnight I'll call and check the balance on my UI debit card. If it's an automated thing maybe they'll have the funds transferred first, if they even lifted the suspension at all. But The Bert-who-isn't-me seemed pretty optimistic, so I'm trying not to get my knickers twisted up over it. But damn, 12 more hours of waiting? Either I'll explode over anticipation, or I'll have one hell of a clean apartment. The house money is on me exploding, so place your bets. You have until 8am.

Between that, the Brett Favre nonsense happening and all the pasta I could eat from The Bert-who-is-me's kitchen, I've got a lot of somethin' goin' on in this riot of a head. Gonna go run some laps, count the ceiling tiles and see how many rotations per minute the blades of the oscillating fan in my living room makes. Word, by 11:30 tonight I'll be wound tighter than a spool of thread, count on it. So if I get a little edgy later, ignore the short kid in the corner hummin' showtunes to himself and flingin' newspapers at imaginary rabbits. Stay occupied and peace out.