Social Working

So I finally had my appointment with a social worker today. You know, to prove I'm so fucking broke I qualify for the free clinic. And, since I am The Blogger Who No Longer Can Be Embarrassed, I share these things with you people.

I had a appointment for 2pm, so I showed up, signed in, sat down and waited. You can imagine the crowd that I was with - I thought about asking "Did we all just get off the Chinatown Bus together?" Sigh. Luckily we were provided with some entertainment - a woman from the Upper East Side nearly lost her shit when she was told the doctor wouldn't be able to see her. I don't know what planet she thought she was on - IT'S A FREE CLINIC!! They can make you wait 7 hours and then say "fuck you, I'm going out to go play Hungry Hungry Hippos," and you're just shit outta luck. The woman was bitching and then actually said that she was going to get her lawyer on the phone. What? We all were looking at her like...you have a lawyer? And you're at a FREE clinic??? OUR free clinic?? Bitch.

Of course, I couldn't help but chuckle when I overheard that the reason she hurt her leg in the first lace was she was hit by an ambulance. Damn.

Nothing bonds a group together faster than being able to look around and say "well, here we all are...The Uninsured." No judgements in that room, believe me. Finally they call me and I go up, and my social worker is straight out of young, new, frightened social working typecasting 101; like she was on her first day and feeling that if she digs in she can change the world while the world-weary receptionists make fun of her...and scared to death of me as I lumber into her office after having climbed a flight of stairs. Typical. I tell her about my gout - that it's reoccurred for a few years, but nowadays it's almost constant, and for the last two months it's been in my knee, which has made life excrutiating and unbearable, so I finally broke down and came in for treatment.

"Ironically, " I said "this is the first pain-free day I've had in months. (long pause while she gives the appropriate sympathetic look) boy, you guys are good! (wait for laugh...no laugh; you can see her thinking 'has it been the appropriate amount of time, can I knock off the sympathy look?')

"So...we need to see if you qualify for the free clinic..."
"Okay"
"So, what do you make in a week? (opening 3-ring binder with requirements)"
"(I tell her)"
"(Closing binder without looking at charts) oh yeah, you qualify."

Then she starts telling me about Medicare. Or Medicaid...whichever - I tell her well, I just wanna get treatment for the gout, I'll pay for any medicine, I don't really wanna be a ward of the state or anything. There's people in more dire need than me, I just need to quit drinking beer and foie-gras Slurpies. She looks like she's gonna burst into tears, so I say "well, you never know" and took the info she was trying to give me. Maybe she owns stock in Medicare (ba-da-bing!)

The whole meeting with her took about 90 seconds. It took barely a minute and a half for a professional to declare "yep, you are indeed a poor motherfucker." And that includes waiting for my heaving panting from climbing the stairs to stop. Jesus christ.

QUITE a life I'm putting together over here, people.