by K. Frank

I line up with about twenty others in the waiting room. Each one of us is holding a white envelope containing information and forms to fill out to apply for food stamps. We’re escorted by a uniformed police officer through the door, down a hallway, past cubicles where workers have photos of their families, potted plants, and sweaters hanging over chairs. Social services looks like any other office I’ve been in except for the armed police officer’s presence.

We’re ushered into a classroom with rows of tables. In front of each chair is a numbered file folder. The police officer stands at the doorway after we are all assembled and gives a small speech on the seriousness of the process, the need to follow directions carefully and the necessity to fill out all forms honestly.

A young woman sits at the head table with clipboard in hand. She takes roll call. Another young woman, standing next to her is looking over the room. Papers in hand. She is dressed casually, jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. This is the woman who will teach the class.

She begins by telling us to put our photo identification, social security card, and any other documents we may have to verify residence, income, medial condition, etc., in the file folder in front of us. She gathers them up, looking in each folder to see what is there. She hands the folders to the roll call lady who disappears to make copies. The instructor continues.

“Listen up! This is the class for food stamps. Please follow instructions carefully and DON’T JUMP AHEAD! You will make mistakes if you do, trust me, some of these forms are difficult to understand. I see groups like yours every day filling this room and there’s always a few who don’t follow directions.”

The first paper we are told to take out of our packet is the one entitled, “Early Fraud Prevention and Detection Information.” The class instructor says, “This is the government. All of our systems are linked. We can find out anything we need to know about you. If you lie or withhold information, we will find this out. Trust me. The government can cross-check everything now. If you are caught trying to scam the system, you will be prosecuted up to twenty years in prison.”

A gasp goes round the room. We are told to sign the document and put it aside.

“Now,” the instructor asks, “how many of you have a permanent address? Raise your hand!”

I raise mine. I look to either side and in front of me. No one has their hand up.

“Okay,” the instructor responds while holding up a new form, “Take this one out of your packet now. It’s blue. This is the one for those who do not have an address.”

She looks at me, “You’ll have to be patient while the rest fill out this form.”

I realize that I am the only one in the class who has a place to call home.

It takes several minutes while she makes the rounds to answer individual questions. Everyone has a different circumstance and needs help with the form.

The next form to fill out is titled, “Statement of Shared Housing.” There are boxes for putting in the names and relationships of everyone you live with. Questions follow as to how much you contribute for rent, food and utilities. Spaces are across the bottom for everyone to sign who lives in the household over the age of eighteen.

“The next form has questions about your health, your job and if you go to school. The instructor announces, “Again, I ask that you follow me as we answer each one. Don’t jump ahead.”

We get to a question about convictions for felonies including drugs. It’s a two-parter. The first is a short yes or no, have you ever been convicted of a felony; the second part has several boxes to check with questions about drug rehab programs, possession charges, and other details. A few people in the class jump ahead and check off various boxes. The instructor reprimands them as she tours the room.

“Just because you have been in rehab doesn’t mean that you are a felon. But by you checking these boxes under the question on felony convictions, you are placing yourself in that category. I told you not to jump ahead. So now, you have to draw a line through those answers.”

There’s a collective groan in the room.

“By the way, if you are accepted into the food stamp program you will be tested for drugs.” she states, “You are automatically disqualified if you fail the test.”

We get to the question on school.

“If you are in school and not working, you will be automatically disqualified.” she explains, “I know that doesn’t make much sense, but that’s how it is.”

I am in school and not working. I feel confused. I am diligently looking for work but have not found anything. There are no scholarships available right now for the holistic healthcare training I am taking. My family is helping with the modest tuition until I get a job. I fill out the form truthfully adding a small note about my situation and leave it at that.

We get through the entire packet of forms in about an hour and a half. Toward the end of the class, the instructor says, “I know you guys are getting tired of all this. I can’t wait to get out, too. It feels like jail in here,” she remarks.

A guy in the front row says, “Well at least you got a job and with benefits, too.”

The instructor looks at him, “Yeah, I got a job, but I don’t have benefits. They upped the premiums and I can’t afford ‘em anymore.”

Class is dismissed and we’re told to sit in the waiting room until our names are called to get our next appointment time.

I am riveted by her words. The irony is too much. Later I mentioned this to a friend.

“That’s probably her own damn fault for not managing her finances well. I’m sure she could afford her premiums if she got rid of her cable TV and cell phone,” my friend says.

I reply something about how insurance premiums can be several hundred dollars a month these days, often more than a cable TV, cell phone and internet service combined. My friend agrees that premiums are high, but sticks to her argument that the woman should be able to afford healthcare above anything else.

I leave the conversation at that. Maybe it’s true. Maybe this woman is a lousy money manager, but then again, maybe she has huge medical bills that she’s still trying to pay off, or student loans, or other debts that she’s whittling down in an effort to hang on to her credit rating, and she could have children to feed, aging parents, disabled family members, who knows, all I know is that I’ve got to get my forms ready for my general assistance appointment the following morning.