Pouring salt on wounds
Chapter 18
Pouring salt on wounds
Approximately a year before he quit, Nom got his first taste of Mrs. Cobb's sadism by proxy.
One of the countless repetitive tasks he had to perform was case recertification. Every six months each beneficiary had to be evaluated to see if they still qualified for assistance. The central office in Lansing would generate the next month's evaluation list by the tenth. By the fifteenth, they would have mailed out a REDET recertification packet. The client would normally receive it by the twentieth, and had to return it by the first of the month. Every month, on the first, Nom had to set aside his normal morning tasks, and check to see who had returned their packets on time. In theory, the clients had until the end of the month before he could close their account. In the meantime, he could call to check on their progress. If he had not received their REDET packets and logged them in by the fifteenth, Lansing would auto generate cancelation notices. The clients would then have until the end of the month to submit.
Nom had to check and see if the packets were properly completed, signed, and all the supporting documents supplied. Once he had verified everything, he would call the client and ask them several hundred questions the federal government mandated. He would then send the case to Mrs. Cobb for certification.
One Friday afternoon, Nom was sitting in his cubical. Monday would be the first of the month. He was trying to clear as much work from his to do list as possible. His phone rang, as to be expected, it was a client with a question.
George Waverly was a senior citizen African-American. Most of Nom's clients were pensioners whose pensions had been destroyed by the civil and corporate bankruptcies during the Great Recession. Social Security and food stamps were the only protection they had from starvation.
Nom loved working with seniors. Most of them reminded him of his beloved paternal grandmother: kind, intelligent, declining, and in need of help.
George Waverly had an additional problem. He had no immediate relatives left in the world. He was under the full retirement age and had been forced to take partial social security. Above all else, George was showing severe signs of dementia. He was scared and a bit on the paranoid side.
When he called, Nom took a moment to clear his schedule for the next hour before taking him off hold. He knew that this call would take a while to process.
"Hello Mr. Waverly, what can I do for you today?" Nom asked taking a sip of his tea.
George replied in a shaky voice. "Uh… Ya… Mr. Deplume… I got a letter from you…"
Nom nodded to himself and pulled up George's file on his computer. Just as he thought, George was due for a six-month redetermination and was on its last calendar day.
"Yes, Mr. Waverly. Our Lansing office sent you a redetermination packet about a month ago, and a cancelation warning letter about two weeks ago."
George sounded confused. "Oh… I thought it said my benefits are closed." He mumbled.
"No, sir, they will be closed starting Monday. That is unless we receive your recertification packet today." Nom replied.
George took a moment to answer "Well… The problem is that… I don't really get how to fill this thing out."
Nom pulled up the vital statistics section on George. While Nom was usually very good with facts and figures, he had almost a thousand clients. He found it impossible remember much about anyone he did not deal with on a weekly basis.
The vitals showed George was diagnosed with a cognitive impairment and had applied for both state disability and SSI with the Social Security Administration. The state disability was still pending, and the SSI had been declined. He lived by himself and did not have any family or friends listed in the system. Worse yet for a person suffering from dementia, he did not have an authorized representative.
Normally, Nom would not have even been talking to a person like George. A relative or friend would have had George sign a letter permitting them to represent him at DHS. Other people in George's position without friends and family would have one of the local non for profit advocacy agencies representing them.
ADVOMAS, for example, would have been a perfect fit for George. They didn't charge a dime, and they were great at getting results. Nom loved working with them, because they always had whatever information he needed to process a case or would get it within a day or two. Clients, especially special needs clients, could take weeks to get him information. In the case of George, a month or so had already passed.
"Mr. Waverly, I see from your file that you don't have an authorized representative. Is there anyone you trust that I could talk to about your case?" Nom asked.
George shouted back. "NO! Nobody is going to steal from me! Why can't you help me?!"
Nom kept his voice calm and measured. "Mr. Waverly, I would love to help you. But what can I do? Your file says that you cannot drive, and that you live twenty miles from my office. Even if you left your apartment right now, none of the busses could get you here by close of business."
"But I called you before the end of the month!" George protested.
Nom thought about it for a moment. It was true. The rules did say that so long as the redetermination interview was scheduled before the end of the month, the REDET packet could be processed. In theory, he should not schedule the interview before he had certified the packet. Still, there was no rule in the policy manual that prevented him from doing it, only a guideline from his manager.
"Mr. Waverly, can I put you on hold for a moment?" Nom asked.
"…I guess." George replied.
Nom pressed the hold button and stood up. He had learned from an early age to always stay in the good graces of experienced employees and, if possible, groom them to be his gurus. In every job he had held, within a week or so he had identified those people who just seemed to always have the right answers. A few strategic kind words, a bit of flattery, the occasional cup of Starbucks, and they were wrapped around his little finger. The question was who to farm this question out to. Each of his gurus had their fortes.
Some were masters of Bridges, the crappy, pain in the ass software that the state used as its interface. Others were masters of policy. Usually they all had been working for the state since before Nom had been born. The last kind were the most valuable: the screwballs, the kind of person who lived to challenge the rules. Screwballs knew every loophole and every contact in the bureaucracy that would let them get a case through. They could process cases when any other worker would have been rejected.
Nom settled on his favorite screwball and walked over to the cube of Celsy Kline. Celsy was an old fashioned, wonder bread, trailer park girl. Her weakness was a heart of gold. She had come from utter poverty and had made it her life mission to help others in similar situations. At five foot nothing, on a frame thinner than a wire, she could sweet talk a crying kid into calming down. If that wasn't enough, she would round house kick that kid's abusive sumo wrestler father into the next county, all in the same breath.
Nom knocked on her cube and waited when she held up a finger. When she finished the update she was working on, she turned and took off her head set.
"Hey. I need a work around for a dementia case." Nom said.
Celsy gestured to her guest chair and said: "What's the case?"
"FAP." Nom said, referring to the federal food assistance program, as he took the offered chair.
"What's the problem?" Courtney asked.
"Last calendar work day of the month, due for a REDET this month. The client has not submitted his REDET packet. Listed as disabled per a doctor's letter in the file. Pending State disability. Denied SSI, SSI appeal pending. Client is on hold." Nom said.
"What's the case number?" Celsy asked.
Nom handed her the sticky note where he had written it down.
Celsy spun her chair and logged into the case. After a moment she started nodding. "I see what you mean. He is disabled, but not on disability yet. You say he's on the phone right now?"
"Yep" Nom said. "He says that he does not understand the REDET."
"Have you called his AR?" Celsy asked.
"No. He doesn't have one. He's a bit on the paranoid side. I was hoping to bring him in and do the whole thing in person, but there is no way for him to make it by COB."
"And if you don't send Cobb his case by COB, then Lansing will close it on Monday." Celsy said. "I see." She scratched at her head. She logged out of the case and said: "Let's go see Koffee."
Mrs. Koffee was one of twelve supervisors in the district. The chain of command put her in as the backup manager for Mrs. Cobb's team. When Celsy and Nom got to her office, Mrs. Koffee was just getting off the phone with another client.
"What up?" She asked when she had put the phone down.
Celsy took the guest chair. "Nom has a special needs FAP case, and will require a certification extension."
Mrs. Koffee nodded. "And Mrs. Cobb would never give you that."
"Right." Celsy said.
"But what am I supposed to do?" Mrs. Koffee asked. "I can't make calls for her team unless she is out of the office."
Celsy nodded. "I was thinking that your wall clock there looked a bit fast. It says two in the afternoon, but it really feels like twelve thirty. Why I'm feeling so full, I think I just came back from lunch. Doesn't her lunch run from twelve twenty to one? Yours' from one to one-forty? All so that you two can cover the other?"
Mrs. Koffee chuckled. "I love the way you think, Celsy. Alright, we can say that we talked about this over lunch. I was too busy to make the case comment until now."
Celsy smiled and handed over the sticky note with the case number. Mrs. Koffee logged in and posted a case comment that she was authorizing a recertification delay.
Nom had managed to read between the lines of their conversation. When they returned to Celsy's cube he asked: "So all I need to do now is schedule him to come in on Monday, fill out the packet in person, and use our web portals to get his proofs right?"
Celsy nodded and flipped her braid with an air of satisfaction. "Exactly." she said.
"Celsy, as always, you are the best." He said.
She smiled, and Nom returned to his cubical. He checked the line indicator and saw that George was still on the line.
"Mr. Waverly." Nom said. "I think I have an answer…"
When George arrived on Monday he was even more confused than he had been on Friday. It was snowing, and he had come without a jacket. Shivering, he huddled in the chair Nom offered him in his cube. More than anything, Nom wanted to call social services, but to do so would be a breach of client confidentiality, and a crime. The best Nom could do was offer him some paper towel to dry and a cup of hot tea.
With that settled, Nom discovered that George had forgotten to even bring his REDET. This was only a minor inconvenience. Nom printed a fresh copy and set to work.
Over the course of the next hour, Nom coached George through the process. Technically, it was against policy for Nom to use a state computer to log into a client's personal accounts. The solution was to have George go with him to the guest computers in the front of the building. There, with George slowly and falteringly supplying information, they pulled up his bank accounts, utility bills, and SSA statement. A phone call to George's landlord covered the rent expense verification. They were off to the races. Nom reviewed the file and sent it to Mrs. Cobb for certification.
A week later George called Nom to ask why his food stamps had not been put on his Bridge Card. Nom took a look and saw that Mrs. Cobb had not certified the case yet. He shot her an email asking her to prioritize it and put a note on his calendar to check again in two days.
After four days Nom got an answer back:
Mr. DePlume,
Hello. Please tell the client that under BEM 100 I have thirty days to process a certification.
Thank you,
Mrs. Cobb
-Household Freedom Manager
Nom called George and passed on the bad news. The worst part was that Mrs. Cobb was correct, policy did give her that long to review the case. During that time the client would be ineligible for aid. There would be no going to Mrs. Koffee for a work around, not even with Celsy greasing the way. Unless Mrs. Cobb was listed in the system as off duty, Mrs. Koffee could only make case notes on her cases. Mrs. Cobb was not scheduled to be off duty until New Year's which was fifty days away.
For the next fifty days, Nom's work life grew progressively worst. Every morning he would come into his cube, only to find among the dozens of voice mails left for him were two or three from George. They went along the same lines every morning.
"Hi… Mr. Deplume?... This is George Waverly… I'm calling to find out if I can get my food stamps yet. The Salvation Army said that I've used up my quota for the year in their food pantry, and the local Parish hasn't opened theirs yet. Father Tom said that you might know when my stamps would be turned back on. I'm so hungry. All I have to eat is a jar of mayonnaise I found out by my building's dumpster last night. Thank you."
Every message was a knife to Nom's heart. Every day he visited his manager in person, and every day she said she would email him her answer by close of business. Always it was the same
Mr. DePlume,
I'm processing it.
Thank you,
Mrs. Cobb
- Household Freedom Manager
Once a month had passed. She changed her justification.
Mr. DePlume,
Per BEM 503 your client did not submit his redetermination timely. Please have him reapply.
Thank you,
Mrs. Cobb
- Household Freedom Manager
Nom, finally seeing a possible light at the end of the tunnel, called Mr. Waverly for the third time that day to give him news. His boss would finally consider his case if he reapplied. Mr. Waverly was distraught. His paranoia kicked into eleventh gear.
"What do you mean that I have to reapply? Did someone steal my food stamps? What happened to them? I went to the store this morning, and they said I didn't have any. Why won't you help me?" George pleaded.
No matter what Nom tried, Mr. Waverly could not be convinced to come into the office to reapply for benefits. After half an hour he hung up on Nom.
The next morning Nom received an email summons to Mrs. Cobb's office.
"Oh, hi, Mr. DePlume, won't you come in please?" She said when he knocked on the door frame.
"Mr. DePlume would you be a lamb and close the door?"
Nom was rather reluctant to comply. Mrs. Cobb had a bad reputation for saying things behind closed doors and then later writing emails that said the exact opposite when someone did what she had instructed. She would then use those emails to write "formal counseling" letters, the first step in requesting union sanctioned discipline.
"I would be more comfortable with the door open, ma'am." Nom said.
Mrs. Cobb stared at him with her manic bug eyes. Her gaze was so repulsive that Nom felt as if he hadn't bathed in a week. "Mr. DePlume, that wasn't a request. Please close the door."
Nom steadied himself and walked into her office. He left the door open and sat in her guest chair without being invited. "Ma'am, I do not feel comfortable closing that door. Setting aside that it is inappropriate given our differing genders, I have been studying the finer points of policy lately. Per BAM 107, I have the right to demand that any order from you be confirmed in writing. I am simply going to make that universal. You have a tendency to give your staff verbal orders and then use those orders against us by countermanding them in writing. Further, in the past when I have closed that door, you have been verbally abusive, since you knew that there were no witnesses. I am tired of that game." Nom stood and walked to the door.
As he left, he turned and said. "If you want a closed door meeting with me, you can contact the UAW shop steward and schedule one for the three of us. Outside of that, I will only communicate with you via email from now on."
"I'm not going to do that Mr. DePlume." Mrs. Cobb said.
Nom smiled. "The nice thing about rules, ma'am, is that I can wrap you up in them just by following the letter of the law. Non written orders from you… Well… They are not orders at all as far as I am concerned. Have a nice morning."
Nom started walking down the hall.
"Mr. DePlume, I did not give you permission to leave…" She called after him.
Ignoring her call, Nom walked past his cube, and paid Bosa White the UAW shop steward a visit.
The next few days were interesting exercises in office politics. Mrs. Cobb came by Nom's cube multiple times a day to give him verbal orders, when he refused to go to her office. Each time Nom simply put his earbuds in and handed her a legal pad.
By the second day he found himself in the district deputy manager's office for an "informal" counseling session. His bosses' boss, Mrs. Santiago, was a small Hispanic woman of middle years. She had a rather irritating habit of maintaining an utterly calm exterior, even when her words were causing the papers on her desk to spontaneously combust.
"Mr. Deplume," Mrs. Santiago said gesturing for him to take a seat. "I understand that you and Mrs. Cobb have been having some difficulties."
Nom took the offered seat and pulled out his note pad. "Not in my opinion, ma'am. I would say that I am simply ensuring that we operate within policy."
"Mrs. Cobb said that you have been refusing orders." Mrs. Santiago said.
"No, I would never do that unless the order was unlawful." Nom replied.
"She said that she ordered you to have Mr. Waverly reapply for food assistance, and you responded by resubmitting an expired REDET packet to her."
"Mr. Waverly submitted his REDET packet in person on the first of last month. He contacted me to schedule his interview on the Friday before. Since the REDET month had not expired when he scheduled, policy says that I had to accept the REDET."
Mrs. Santiago looked irritated. "Why did you refuse to take Mrs. Cobb's order?"
"I didn't." Nom said.
"She says you did." The audible ire in Mrs. Santiago's voice was rising.
Nom sighed, and flipped to the notes he had prepared for this inevitable meeting. "BEM 1094 says that I have a right to get orders in writing. Mrs. Cobb has a habit of giving verbal orders and then later, in writing, countermanding them, all while claiming she never gave them. There is an old saying: 'We deal in writing.' Well Mrs. Cobb and I deal in writing."
Mrs. Santiago raised a finger, but Nom cut her off. "Please don't try to give me that: 'You're being unprofessional,' speech again. I've already filed enough grievances to wall paper the pentagon against you. You can site your personal policy of: 'I do not grant transfers,' till you're blue in the face. Well, I have policy too. In this case it's departmental policy, which outranks both of you. So long as I wrap myself in that, you can't so much as open a formal disciplinary hearing against me."
Mrs. Santiago switched to her spontaneous combustion tone. "Mr. Deplume, I understand that you are angry, but you will take Mrs. Cobb's orders no matter how she chooses to give them to you. Is that understood?"
"No ma'am, it is not. Further, you might want to know that a demented senior citizen is literally starving because of Mrs. Cobb's refusal to even look at this case."
Mrs. Santiago seemed to be taken aback "What was that?" She asked.
Nom leaned back in his chair. "I said a man is starving. All because you refuse to leash Mrs. Cobb's sadistic appetites. The client is literally demented, paranoid, and incapable of comprehending another application. I got authorization from Mrs. Koffee to bring him in a day late for the interview. BEM 203 says that she can do that. Mrs. Cobb is refusing to even look at a valid REDET packet, simply because she likes it when people suffer."
Mrs. Santiago managed to once again maintain a pure exterior calm, all the while managing to convey a blazing rage. "Mr. Deplume, you are out of line."
Nom slapped his note pad shut and tossed it on the desk. "No ma'am, she is, and frankly so are you. The union contract says that you cannot have even an informal counseling session with me without first asking me if I want my union rep present. I don't recall you asking."
Mrs. Santiago blanched.
Nom continued. "Tell you what, Bosa White is only twenty feet from here. Why don't I go get her? You can explain to the pit bull of the UAW why you had me in here. Perhaps you might add in that you ordered me to take verbal orders from Mrs. Cobb when I have a right to get them in writing. Another order that I think I will need in writing."
Suddenly the tension seemed to go out of the air. "Mr. Deplume, did you say that a client with special needs received a management level REDET submittal deferral?"
"Yes, I did. It's in the case notes. It's in the grievance I filed. It's in the incident report you acknowledged two weeks ago."
Santiago folded her hands on the desk. "Well, then I must have missed that detail." The color began to return to her face. "Thank you, Mr. Deplume, you may go. I'll see to Mr. Waverly's eligibility."
An hour later, Nom got an email from Mrs. Santiago. She had personally certified the case for him. Nom dropped everything and spent the next hour getting George on the phone.
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