In early March, a neighbor suggested that I call the Department of Senior Affairs for our city. They had been bringing food for her pantry and she had found it helpful. She gave me the phone number - [505-674-6400] and I did call them and left a message.
A couple weeks later, a man returned my call, took all kinds of information from me, told me "someone" would call me back about the food, and then I waited. I never heard from anyone, so on April 3rd, I called them and again had to leave my telephone number.
About a week later, a different man called me back this time and asked me what I wanted, as if he hadn't a clue, despite my having left a detailed message, so I told him. He had absolutely nothing to tell me but only said that "they" had not given him any information about my request, "they" being another department that was in charge of the food distribution. He was cold, distant, unfriendly.
Talking to him was like pulling teeth. No matter what question I asked him, he repeated the same answer - like a machine: "They haven't given us any information."
It was upsetting to be talked at, like a machine. I asked him if his department was in communication with THAT department and whether or not he could communicate a request to them, and he just repeated the same phrase. "They haven't given us any information."
I explained to HIM that I understood him the first few times he repeated that phrase, but that he was not answering any of the questions I had asked him. His response? Yep. He said, "They haven't given us any information."
It was infuriating to be talked at like this. It felt belittling, this condescending script with the oddly passive language that doesn't answer any question.
"Could you PLEASE speak to me like a human being and answer the question I am asking you?" I asked him. "If you don't know the answer, that's fine. You can tell me that you don't know - but please just stop saying that same weird sentence with the passive language. It isn't helpful."
His answer? "This is what they told us to say."
I never heard back from anyone after that conversation, so I called the Department of Senior Affairs again today.
First, they said they had no record of me, that they never spoke to me, that they do not distribute food, that there are no men in their office that would be returning phone calls and they hadn't a clue what I was talking about.
I told the woman that their number is in my cell phone record for each time I spoke with them. I was looking right at it on my Consumer Cellular telephone record on the computer. She connected me to another woman who was supposedly in charge (but she isn't really. She is a middle management supercilious type, I later realized.)
So, the second woman claimed I had not talked to them but that I had talked to a different department. She read some notes back to me that confirmed what I had said all along. I had called them in early March, then again on April 3rd. Evidently, they're connected in some way. She made no effort to enlighten me. Then she said that they HAD been distributing food but that they had run out.
It was all very weird. First they don't know me and never heard of me, then they DID know me and had heard of me but word salad, word salad, word salad.
It was all very weird. First they don't know me and never heard of me, then they DID know me and had heard of me but word salad, word salad, word salad.
One wonders why on earth some people decide to go into one of the "helping professions", except perhaps to lord it over the less fortunate and thereby make themselves feel superior. I really don't know.
Completely depleted from the effort of dealing with these double-talking people, I decided to just give up and pray that the "stimulus" payment comes to me soon. The working people - those who aren't disabled, are not poor and are in much better condition than I am - these are the people who get the stimulus checks first. The poor get them during a later 'run.' Everything has been delayed a little bit because of Trump's sudden insistence that he wants his name on everything.
I hadn't eaten since breakfast, so I put together a meal of the last of my rice, stir fried beet greens from some beets I had cooked last week, and tofu with mango chutney on top. It took a long time to pull it all together, and I was exhausted and famished when it was finally ready at 10 pm. I sat down and tucked into it and immediately came up with a mouth full of pieces of ground glass. I had inadvertently swallowed some of it and spit out the rest.
I had no way of knowing which food item had been adulterated so I had to throw out my entire dinner, as well as a new bottle of mango chutney. I can only pray that the little bits of ground glass that I had originally interpreted as some grit from poor rinsing of the greens doesn't cut my insides.
Typically, I have some sort of positive message or teaching in my blog posts - at least I TRY to do that - but I have nothing to offer about this slice of life except that experiencing the way people treat the poor is a heck of a lot different than reading about it in a Dickens novel.
Of course, there is always the underlying reason for most of my blog posts, which is to present my experiences as an example of how vulnerable populations live in modern America, in an effort to help others feel compassion and empathy toward vulnerable populations as a whole.
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UPDATE:
Four days ago, after I posted this item, I received a telephone call from yet another person involved in getting food out to the seniors. I explained to her the mind-bending runaround I had gotten, which really surprises me because there is a neighbor on the property who has been getting little boxes of food from these people, and she behaved as if the process was really easy. She called once and asked for help, and they came right out.
Anyway, the lady said she would look into it and get back to me. She didn't.
But, this afternoon, a sweet girl named Valerie, from the Aging and Long Term Services Department, called me saying that someone had called them and given them my number, but she doesn't know who. She wanted to know what I want! Incredible. I told her my story and she looked me up in their records. She said that if a food box had been arranged for me, the notes would have said "action taken" but it remained blank. She was concerned, since I had been calling since early March...and she said she would notify her boss, whose name is "Joe." This is the same thing the gal told me last week.
Evidently, they have a lot of volunteers who have dropped out. She talked about "spread sheets" and distributing "spread sheets" to "the different locations." I was humorously snarky and said something to the effect that instead of distributing spread sheets, perhaps they should distribute food instead. It was a joke. I asked her if they were all trying to drive me crazy. That wasn't a joke.
After exerting so much effort and being treated, at times, like dirt, I am beginning to wonder whether or not other poor, disabled and isolated seniors have just given up.
The dog-and-pony show to which I have been subjected, complete with haughty middle-management bureaucrats talking down their nose to me, has made me feel that I need to be a lot hungrier before I ask any government agency for help again.
This whole thing has been a tremendous learning experience for me. I had no idea that poor people were treated like characters out of a nightmarish Victorian novel. The price one has to pay in humiliation is close to being too expensive.
I could stand to lose some more weight anyway.
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Second update:
April 23, 2020
I originally wrote this blog a week ago. It has been several days since the last person called me and I wrote the last update. No one has come from that department.
Fortunately, as is usually the case, I was rescued. A lovely friend, whose family I adopted some time ago, brought me some gorgeous fruit, a bag of really fresh potatoes (which is rare in the markets of New Mexico) and some dog food that my little Charlemagne needed. I feel terribly grateful.
My overriding concern is for other seniors who find themselves isolated and needing help but who do not have my luck. THIS is exactly why I write my personal experiences. With every little "slice of life" anecdote that I recount, I hope to fuel enthusiasm for reaching out and helping the millions of American seniors who are not getting many of their basic needs met. Seniors who have worked and supported themselves their whole lives typically receive, on average, $1,100 per month in social Security - but you have to make LESS than $1,000 a month to qualify for most of the helping programs. The programs, on the other hand, are minimal.
Consequently, there are millions of seniors, caught between a rock and a hard place, with income that is too low to attend to their basic needs but too high to qualify for help. Only the bottom third of poor people get assistance and the dog-and-pony show that the bureaucrats demand is exhausting. All the while, the "helpers" are looking down their noses at those that need help and muttering about means testing.
I am praying every day for all God's people, especially the poor that Jesus loved so much. Please join me.
Of course, there is always the underlying reason for most of my blog posts, which is to present my experiences as an example of how vulnerable populations live in modern America, in an effort to help others feel compassion and empathy toward vulnerable populations as a whole.
------------
UPDATE:
Four days ago, after I posted this item, I received a telephone call from yet another person involved in getting food out to the seniors. I explained to her the mind-bending runaround I had gotten, which really surprises me because there is a neighbor on the property who has been getting little boxes of food from these people, and she behaved as if the process was really easy. She called once and asked for help, and they came right out.
Anyway, the lady said she would look into it and get back to me. She didn't.
But, this afternoon, a sweet girl named Valerie, from the Aging and Long Term Services Department, called me saying that someone had called them and given them my number, but she doesn't know who. She wanted to know what I want! Incredible. I told her my story and she looked me up in their records. She said that if a food box had been arranged for me, the notes would have said "action taken" but it remained blank. She was concerned, since I had been calling since early March...and she said she would notify her boss, whose name is "Joe." This is the same thing the gal told me last week.
Evidently, they have a lot of volunteers who have dropped out. She talked about "spread sheets" and distributing "spread sheets" to "the different locations." I was humorously snarky and said something to the effect that instead of distributing spread sheets, perhaps they should distribute food instead. It was a joke. I asked her if they were all trying to drive me crazy. That wasn't a joke.
After exerting so much effort and being treated, at times, like dirt, I am beginning to wonder whether or not other poor, disabled and isolated seniors have just given up.
The dog-and-pony show to which I have been subjected, complete with haughty middle-management bureaucrats talking down their nose to me, has made me feel that I need to be a lot hungrier before I ask any government agency for help again.
This whole thing has been a tremendous learning experience for me. I had no idea that poor people were treated like characters out of a nightmarish Victorian novel. The price one has to pay in humiliation is close to being too expensive.
I could stand to lose some more weight anyway.
---------------------------------------------------------
Second update:
April 23, 2020
I originally wrote this blog a week ago. It has been several days since the last person called me and I wrote the last update. No one has come from that department.
Fortunately, as is usually the case, I was rescued. A lovely friend, whose family I adopted some time ago, brought me some gorgeous fruit, a bag of really fresh potatoes (which is rare in the markets of New Mexico) and some dog food that my little Charlemagne needed. I feel terribly grateful.
My overriding concern is for other seniors who find themselves isolated and needing help but who do not have my luck. THIS is exactly why I write my personal experiences. With every little "slice of life" anecdote that I recount, I hope to fuel enthusiasm for reaching out and helping the millions of American seniors who are not getting many of their basic needs met. Seniors who have worked and supported themselves their whole lives typically receive, on average, $1,100 per month in social Security - but you have to make LESS than $1,000 a month to qualify for most of the helping programs. The programs, on the other hand, are minimal.
Consequently, there are millions of seniors, caught between a rock and a hard place, with income that is too low to attend to their basic needs but too high to qualify for help. Only the bottom third of poor people get assistance and the dog-and-pony show that the bureaucrats demand is exhausting. All the while, the "helpers" are looking down their noses at those that need help and muttering about means testing.
I am praying every day for all God's people, especially the poor that Jesus loved so much. Please join me.
May God bless you all.
Silver Rose
Sannyasini Kaliprana
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