I was able to get the two first pieces of mail from them about a couple years ago: The handbook which is basically, "What To Expect When You're On The Dole," and the determination of how much money I would get a week. They came on back-to-back days, a Friday and a Saturday, I think, and I thought I was in the clear.
But a couple weeks ago I got blindsided, horribly. I was just applying for benefits for my waiting week, the first week of unemployment where, by law, I cannot get any money (don't know why that is). When I submitted the questions I thought I would see something like, "You get nothing!" and that's OK. But instead I got a message to the effect of, "There are lingering issues with your claim."
Oh, fuck. I knew what that meant: There are some other things they need to check up on my application. I'm not worried that I won't get my money, although that sucks. My main worry was that the determination on whether I should get money would be sent in the mail ... and that raises the possibility that my parents would see that I am (actually was) unemployed.
So I've been furtively getting home as early as possible in order to be the one in the family to get the mail so I could get that dole correspondence before they see it. I have altered plans to make sure I get home late in the afternoon so I could get it. But of course there were complications. Working, for one thing. The sudden arrival of spring, which makes it easier for my folks to just walk down to the driveway, for another.
---
Today at the test scoring place I was given a curse in the guise of a blessing. For the first time ever, this project was allowing overtime. That blows in the sense that I would not be able to work Saturdays, when they would open up the testing center. (Man, just my fucking goddamn luck that I would have a chance to make time-and-a-half but on two consecutive weekends where I have plans.) But I then came face-to-face with the crossroads: I would be able to work till 6, but would that be so late that my parents would get the mail by themselves? Or should I forsake overtime pay just so I could get home and check the mail just in case that letter from the unemployment comes?
I was wrestling with that the rest of my work day, until another surprise came from my supervisor. The work that he thought was going to be lined up for us turned out to not be there. Wasn't supposed to be there, in fact. So, there might not be OT after all -- OT that I would have had to miss. That's good! Also good: I didn't have to figure out a work schedule that would balance maximizing overtime with timing the potential days this letter (and another one that probably would be ushered after I stated online late last week that I worked the previous week; determinations where I worked, like, a week also come through the mail) would come. Checked online that this first letter was sent on the 5th. If it didn't come by now, maybe they weren't going to send this letter?
Nevertheless we were released early, so I had no angst just driving home because I would be doing as much as possible to intercept the mail. So I get home at 4:45, only to see the minivan gone from the driveway. Oh, shit. That means that Mother probably is gone somewhere, and depending on when she left, she could have thought it convenient to go the mailbox and get the mail.
Only one way to find out. I turned off the car and opened the mailbox. And it was empty.
And I looked into the house and imagining My Fucking Father just tooling around inside, waiting to pounce on me after what he saw come through the mail.
At this point the only hope I had was that it didn't come. I opened up my bedroom door -- if they get the mail, they just throw what's mine on the bed -- and the letter on top was from the Minnesota Unemployment Insurance Department.
God. Fucking. Damn.
Mother isn't home. Father is. Both probably saw the letter. I'm trying to concoct a story that, like, there was some hacking incident or otherwise there was a mistake and I should not have received a letter from them. (To try and cover my tracks I just shouted aloud in my room, "What the hell is this?" in a vain attempt to convince My Fucking Father this was a surprise to me.) It probably won't matter. One of these days, while we're sitting down for dinner, one of them will bring it up and the walls will fucking come crashing down on me. Again.
Fuck my life, I hate it.
But a couple weeks ago I got blindsided, horribly. I was just applying for benefits for my waiting week, the first week of unemployment where, by law, I cannot get any money (don't know why that is). When I submitted the questions I thought I would see something like, "You get nothing!" and that's OK. But instead I got a message to the effect of, "There are lingering issues with your claim."
Oh, fuck. I knew what that meant: There are some other things they need to check up on my application. I'm not worried that I won't get my money, although that sucks. My main worry was that the determination on whether I should get money would be sent in the mail ... and that raises the possibility that my parents would see that I am (actually was) unemployed.
So I've been furtively getting home as early as possible in order to be the one in the family to get the mail so I could get that dole correspondence before they see it. I have altered plans to make sure I get home late in the afternoon so I could get it. But of course there were complications. Working, for one thing. The sudden arrival of spring, which makes it easier for my folks to just walk down to the driveway, for another.
---
Today at the test scoring place I was given a curse in the guise of a blessing. For the first time ever, this project was allowing overtime. That blows in the sense that I would not be able to work Saturdays, when they would open up the testing center. (Man, just my fucking goddamn luck that I would have a chance to make time-and-a-half but on two consecutive weekends where I have plans.) But I then came face-to-face with the crossroads: I would be able to work till 6, but would that be so late that my parents would get the mail by themselves? Or should I forsake overtime pay just so I could get home and check the mail just in case that letter from the unemployment comes?
I was wrestling with that the rest of my work day, until another surprise came from my supervisor. The work that he thought was going to be lined up for us turned out to not be there. Wasn't supposed to be there, in fact. So, there might not be OT after all -- OT that I would have had to miss. That's good! Also good: I didn't have to figure out a work schedule that would balance maximizing overtime with timing the potential days this letter (and another one that probably would be ushered after I stated online late last week that I worked the previous week; determinations where I worked, like, a week also come through the mail) would come. Checked online that this first letter was sent on the 5th. If it didn't come by now, maybe they weren't going to send this letter?
Nevertheless we were released early, so I had no angst just driving home because I would be doing as much as possible to intercept the mail. So I get home at 4:45, only to see the minivan gone from the driveway. Oh, shit. That means that Mother probably is gone somewhere, and depending on when she left, she could have thought it convenient to go the mailbox and get the mail.
Only one way to find out. I turned off the car and opened the mailbox. And it was empty.
And I looked into the house and imagining My Fucking Father just tooling around inside, waiting to pounce on me after what he saw come through the mail.
At this point the only hope I had was that it didn't come. I opened up my bedroom door -- if they get the mail, they just throw what's mine on the bed -- and the letter on top was from the Minnesota Unemployment Insurance Department.
God. Fucking. Damn.
Mother isn't home. Father is. Both probably saw the letter. I'm trying to concoct a story that, like, there was some hacking incident or otherwise there was a mistake and I should not have received a letter from them. (To try and cover my tracks I just shouted aloud in my room, "What the hell is this?" in a vain attempt to convince My Fucking Father this was a surprise to me.) It probably won't matter. One of these days, while we're sitting down for dinner, one of them will bring it up and the walls will fucking come crashing down on me. Again.
Fuck my life, I hate it.
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