I finished the online weekly claims form for Unemployment, and it informed me that since I'd quit my job, I needed to call and talk to an actual human being. Sighing with annoyance, I did so.
"Unemployment," A tired voice said. "Can I have your social security number, please?"
I rattled it off.
"I'm sorry, sir," The voice said, now clearly annoyed. "There's no record of a claim for you for this week."
I looked more carefully at the form telling me to call, and noticed that it said to wait two or three hours before doing so. Apparently it takes a while for data from the online system to trickle into the phone operators' system. I explained my error, and said I would call back in a few hours.
"Don't bother," said the voice. "It's a Monday, and the system is really slow because of all the claims coming in. I wouldn't try back until tomorrow if I were you."
I did so. This time, the "unemployment specialist" had my info available to her. I explained my reasons for quitting my job--bounced and missing paychecks--and she dully informed me that someone would get back to me within twenty-one days.
"Ok, thank you." I said, about to end the phone call. "...did you say twenty-one days?!"
"Yes, sir." She responded, betraying only the barest trace of interest in the conversation. "Someone will call you, or you will receive a letter in the mail."
Inwardly viciously cursing, I again thanked her and got off the line.
Twenty-one days, I thought. And that's not even until I get paid. That's when someone will begin investigating my claim.
That was two weeks ago, yesterday. My only response from unemployment thus far has been automated responses from the online claims system. I've continued to file for benefits in the interim, and each letter I receive in the mail informs me that my benefits are being held pending the results of the investigation.
Meanwhile, my savings are dwindling. I'm spending as little money as possible, but I still have bills to pay. My former employer owes me more than two thousand dollars, and shows absolutely no signs that she'll be giving it to me without a lawsuit.
I'm to the point that I'm selling things I don't need to make some extra cash. Megan, a friend, and I had a garage sale on Saturday, where I made about a hundred dollars. I sold a Wii game yesterday for a fiver at PrePlayed, and I sold a box of books to Half Price Books this morning for another fifteen. I've been searching through closets and boxes to find things of value I don't mind parting with, but I'm starting to run low on them.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Sunday, August 16, 2009
August 16, 2009
I'd just finished reading The Dead Zone by Stephen King. I got up from my bed, which is the only piece of furniture in the apartment comfortable enough for me to read in, and walked into the living room.
Even though I knew Megan had gone to watch movies at a friend's house a few hours ago, I thought she was sitting at the computer in the nook we use as an office. I felt a shock when I realized the chair was empty. Her half-full water glass was still sitting on the desk, in the same place she'd forgotten another yesterday. I sighed with annoyance and picked it up. If left to sit long enough, one of the cats will stick its head in the glass to drink the rest of the water, then shatter the glass on the floor when it's done.
I dumped in the kitchen sink, and a sudden wave of tears blinded me. It had nothing to do with the the melancholy ending of the book I'd just finished. The ending is moderately sad, and the main character dies, but I never really identified with him enough to really care.
Very soon, I'm going to see Megan's shadow hundred ways every day. The ugly pink makeup case hanging from the towel bar that I've always hated, missing. Her chaise lounge gone from the living room and replaced with my ugly, worn recliner. Her friendly, funny cat no longer leaning against me, watching her adoringly. No more quiet Sunday breakfasts sitting across from each other at the greasy spoon down the street, where the food is cheap and the coffee is terrible. Even the damned half-empty glasses of water I keep reminding her not to leave out.
She's moving to Seattle next month.
I sat down at the computer desk and began to cry. The last time I cried hard was when Megan and I "broke up" nearly two years ago. I say "broke up" because our relationship has never become just "friends" or "roommates." She's still my best friend. I still kiss her goodbye and give her a backrub when she's feeling sore. I still ask her how her day was while we make dinner together. We get drunk together and laugh at bad zombie movies.
I don't think I'm crazy for still thinking of her as my girlfriend. For brevity's sake, I'll sometimes refer to her as such with people I don't know very well, rather than waste time explaining things. "Roommate" is someone you split the rent with, and it doesn't encompass anything close to how much she means to me. It is, however, the way she introduces me to people. I don't think she's noticed that I wince slightly every time she does it. Maybe she has, and that ought to be a clue for me.
The crying became sobbing... and I can't even remember the last time I did that. I put my head down between my elbows and let my tears drip down my face and onto the desk.
"What am I going to do if I lose her?" I thought desperately.
"You already did, idiot." An angry part of my mind replied. "A long time ago. You broke up with her, remember? It's been years. You think she'll take you back now? Is that even what you want? Would that ever even work?!"
I cried for a few minutes, hoping that she would surprise me by coming home early and seeing me looking like hell. I was equally horrified by the idea.
Does she love me? Do I love her? I don't know. They're questions I've been afraid to ask, things I'm not sure if I can handle. I do know that the thought of having most of a continent between us is more than I can take.
She moved across the country for me once, leaving behind her friends, family, and job. It's time that I did the same thing for her. I don't know if it will work out. But I know I have to try.
If you'll excuse me, I need to send a few hundred resumés out to the Seattle area.
Even though I knew Megan had gone to watch movies at a friend's house a few hours ago, I thought she was sitting at the computer in the nook we use as an office. I felt a shock when I realized the chair was empty. Her half-full water glass was still sitting on the desk, in the same place she'd forgotten another yesterday. I sighed with annoyance and picked it up. If left to sit long enough, one of the cats will stick its head in the glass to drink the rest of the water, then shatter the glass on the floor when it's done.
I dumped in the kitchen sink, and a sudden wave of tears blinded me. It had nothing to do with the the melancholy ending of the book I'd just finished. The ending is moderately sad, and the main character dies, but I never really identified with him enough to really care.
Very soon, I'm going to see Megan's shadow hundred ways every day. The ugly pink makeup case hanging from the towel bar that I've always hated, missing. Her chaise lounge gone from the living room and replaced with my ugly, worn recliner. Her friendly, funny cat no longer leaning against me, watching her adoringly. No more quiet Sunday breakfasts sitting across from each other at the greasy spoon down the street, where the food is cheap and the coffee is terrible. Even the damned half-empty glasses of water I keep reminding her not to leave out.
She's moving to Seattle next month.
I sat down at the computer desk and began to cry. The last time I cried hard was when Megan and I "broke up" nearly two years ago. I say "broke up" because our relationship has never become just "friends" or "roommates." She's still my best friend. I still kiss her goodbye and give her a backrub when she's feeling sore. I still ask her how her day was while we make dinner together. We get drunk together and laugh at bad zombie movies.
I don't think I'm crazy for still thinking of her as my girlfriend. For brevity's sake, I'll sometimes refer to her as such with people I don't know very well, rather than waste time explaining things. "Roommate" is someone you split the rent with, and it doesn't encompass anything close to how much she means to me. It is, however, the way she introduces me to people. I don't think she's noticed that I wince slightly every time she does it. Maybe she has, and that ought to be a clue for me.
The crying became sobbing... and I can't even remember the last time I did that. I put my head down between my elbows and let my tears drip down my face and onto the desk.
"What am I going to do if I lose her?" I thought desperately.
"You already did, idiot." An angry part of my mind replied. "A long time ago. You broke up with her, remember? It's been years. You think she'll take you back now? Is that even what you want? Would that ever even work?!"
I cried for a few minutes, hoping that she would surprise me by coming home early and seeing me looking like hell. I was equally horrified by the idea.
Does she love me? Do I love her? I don't know. They're questions I've been afraid to ask, things I'm not sure if I can handle. I do know that the thought of having most of a continent between us is more than I can take.
She moved across the country for me once, leaving behind her friends, family, and job. It's time that I did the same thing for her. I don't know if it will work out. But I know I have to try.
If you'll excuse me, I need to send a few hundred resumés out to the Seattle area.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
August 11, 2009
I quit my job on Wednesday. I don't feel that I had any choice.
My paycheck from July 10th bounced. Because I deposit my checks at ATMs instead of actually going to a bank, it takes nine days between an ATM deposit and the bank yanking the money back out of my account.
I didn't notice that my paycheck had bounced until several days after it happened. At the same time, I realized I hadn't gotten paid the day before. Until then, I'd had my weeks mixed up, and thought I was getting paid next week.
A coworker and I showed up at the office the next day to confront the owner, who was in on a Sunday for some reason. My coworker hadn't received his paycheck either--in fact, no one had. Instead, the owner had given him a $20 bill and said she hoped it would tide him over for the weekend.
She had been expecting my coworker, but not me. This was intentional, we were trying to throw her off guard and outnumber her. I showed her the NSF paycheck the bank had mailed me and demanded a replacement. She spent some time lying to us, which we tolerated with blank, unconvinced stares. After she seemed to finish, I told her that I didn't care why my checks were bouncing. She reprinted my previous paycheck plus an additional $25 to cover bank fees for the returned check, my missed paycheck from the previous Friday, and my coworker's missed paycheck. Both were post-dated for the following day, and she warned us not to deposit them before then because the funds wouldn't be in the account yet. We left without thanking her.
On the way back to my car, my coworker said that he was never coming back. I couldn't blame him. If it had been possible, I would never have gone back either. But unfortunately, in order to get back on full unemployment benefits I needed iron-clad proof that I was fully justified in quitting. There was still a small chance that these checks would clear. If they did, I'd be unemployed without any income whatsoever. I had no choice but to return to work the following Monday.
I deposited my checks at the ATM down the street from my apartment the next morning. I called my now-former coworker to see if he'd had any luck cashing his check--he'd first brought it to an Associated Bank, the bank NobleLogic uses, and they refused to cash it because of insufficient funds. He eventually managed to cash it at Wal-Mart. If his check was no good, my checks were almost certainly rubber, too. Still, I had no proof. I finished out the week.
By this point, the office had all the vitality and energy of three-day-old roadkill. Everyone's paychecks had either bounced or never arrived at all, and we knew we were going to be out of a job very, very soon. We grudgingly worked, expecting that we wouldn't be paid for our efforts.
Nine days went by. Late on Wednesday afternoon, I performed a now-daily ritual of logging in to my online banking account to see if my checks had bounced yet. They had. I was now fully justified in quitting. I was free. Poor, angry, and cheated... but free. I packed up the few belongings from my office I hadn't already taken home, and left.
My paycheck from July 10th bounced. Because I deposit my checks at ATMs instead of actually going to a bank, it takes nine days between an ATM deposit and the bank yanking the money back out of my account.
I didn't notice that my paycheck had bounced until several days after it happened. At the same time, I realized I hadn't gotten paid the day before. Until then, I'd had my weeks mixed up, and thought I was getting paid next week.
A coworker and I showed up at the office the next day to confront the owner, who was in on a Sunday for some reason. My coworker hadn't received his paycheck either--in fact, no one had. Instead, the owner had given him a $20 bill and said she hoped it would tide him over for the weekend.
She had been expecting my coworker, but not me. This was intentional, we were trying to throw her off guard and outnumber her. I showed her the NSF paycheck the bank had mailed me and demanded a replacement. She spent some time lying to us, which we tolerated with blank, unconvinced stares. After she seemed to finish, I told her that I didn't care why my checks were bouncing. She reprinted my previous paycheck plus an additional $25 to cover bank fees for the returned check, my missed paycheck from the previous Friday, and my coworker's missed paycheck. Both were post-dated for the following day, and she warned us not to deposit them before then because the funds wouldn't be in the account yet. We left without thanking her.
On the way back to my car, my coworker said that he was never coming back. I couldn't blame him. If it had been possible, I would never have gone back either. But unfortunately, in order to get back on full unemployment benefits I needed iron-clad proof that I was fully justified in quitting. There was still a small chance that these checks would clear. If they did, I'd be unemployed without any income whatsoever. I had no choice but to return to work the following Monday.
I deposited my checks at the ATM down the street from my apartment the next morning. I called my now-former coworker to see if he'd had any luck cashing his check--he'd first brought it to an Associated Bank, the bank NobleLogic uses, and they refused to cash it because of insufficient funds. He eventually managed to cash it at Wal-Mart. If his check was no good, my checks were almost certainly rubber, too. Still, I had no proof. I finished out the week.
By this point, the office had all the vitality and energy of three-day-old roadkill. Everyone's paychecks had either bounced or never arrived at all, and we knew we were going to be out of a job very, very soon. We grudgingly worked, expecting that we wouldn't be paid for our efforts.
Nine days went by. Late on Wednesday afternoon, I performed a now-daily ritual of logging in to my online banking account to see if my checks had bounced yet. They had. I was now fully justified in quitting. I was free. Poor, angry, and cheated... but free. I packed up the few belongings from my office I hadn't already taken home, and left.
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