If you've ever had the displeasure and humiliation of dealing with the nonsense of that bureaucracy, then you will understand how I happened to lose my mind that day. I cried so hard my nose bled. I'm nearly positive that what I had could be classified as an emotional breakdown. I remember feeling both severe pain and a sense of relief when I let it happen. My sobbing was like a symphony of many movements, mostly the violent brass kind that proclaims doom to be just outside the city fortress. Alcoholics would call a day like that their "bottom." I doubt I realized it, but after that episode, there was nowhere for me to go but up; and I up I went, knuckling my way out of a rocky crevasse.
I look back at that person, and I feel for her, but I don't feel like her anymore. It wasn't long ago that I looked at that version of myself and felt dread and regret. I look at her now, and while it's not quite sympathy I feel for her, I do feel forgiveness. I believe that particular incarnation of my self finally gave up the ghost. It's true: I walked around like a haunted soul for a few of my years on this earth.
Earlier this week, I was forced to make another visit to this dreaded office of humiliation and red tape. I was taking a twilight walk the night before, thinking about the upcoming non-work week, and I felt dread creeping in. I looked at the beautiful sky and inhaled the fresh crisp air, and I told dread, "Nothing to see here, folks."
The next day, I set my alarm, I got dressed and off I went. I took a number. I took a seat. My number was called. I explained the issue I had, and. I was sent to the computer bank, even though I had already filled out all of the information on my home computer.
I looked around at the sea of frustrated and fearful faces, and I recognized their expressions, and instead of denying that I was one of them, I had a sudden need to help them. Most of them didn't understand how to fill out a profile. Most of them probably did not have a home computer. The person next to me raised her hand and waited for some assistance. I asked her if I could help. She was angry and rude, but at one point I got a look at her eyes, and I saw that former version of myself staring back at me. I walked her through the steps, told her it would be okay, that we're all here together in the Hotel California but that we will get out, and she relaxed. She even smiled a little.
I am just like these people. They had jobs and were downsized or outsourced. They worked and were released through no fault of their own. Like me, they feel scared, humiliated, at times hopeless, and as if we're being judged and measured harshly, especially by ourselves.
To be honest, things have improved at WorkOne since my last visit. The associate who helped me was bright and confident, and truth be told, slightly patronizing, and I don't know why, but it disarmed me and calmed me. She solved all the problems that were created by the computer program, which seemed to think that I was self-employed and was enjoying the payout of a pension (pension, pension, PENSION??? What is THAT?).
I was out of there in less than an hour. And I didn't holler. And I didn't cry. And I didn't bleed. In a few weeks, I'll be getting a whopping $390/week. Don't worry, I won't spend it all in one place.
Perhaps I have improved, too.
Goodbye, ghost.
"No Bad News" Patty Griffin
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