Walking into a government office often feels something like entering purgatory. People sit quietly, staring, waiting, praying that their release will come quickly, although time is irrelevant in places like the DMV and the employment office. There is even a distinctive smell in these sorts of places. It's somewhere in between burning sulfur and Glade apple cinnamon. Though I have done my time in the DMV, at least until I have to get a new license, I had not yet paid my dues to the employment office until this past Friday.
I was not in need of basic job skills, unemployment benefits, or a degree from Ivy Tech, I just needed a simple bit of paperwork completed. I figured that I would stop by on my way to visit a friend, allowing about 45 minutes for bureaucratic piddling. Instead of dressing in jeans like a rational person, I chose to remain in my dress pants, sweater, and knee-length black coat, complete with heels for my little trip there. Upon opening the door, I immediately recognized that I had made a mistake. All 30 pairs of eyes belonging to individuals seated along the perimeter of the wall turned to look at me. They saw my clothes, the fresh middle-class appearance of my face. There is usually shame associated with visiting the employment office, and I felt embarrassed to invade the privacy of a group of individuals who were all in the same unfortunate situation. I took a number, and sat down next to a woman with a blonde mullet. The people sitting around me immediately felt silent, and I felt like a well-dressed alien. I couldn't make eye contact or conversation with anyone, so I contented myself by reading pamphlets on food stamps and job training.
This little piece of paper that I needed was apparently difficult to obtain, for I waited, and waited. Making myself feel invisible by burying myself in the pamphlets helped. The extreme tension in the muscles of my neck and shoulders left for the most part, and I felt somewhat comfortable in this particular level of purgatory. The people stopped staring eventually.
Unfortunately, I was not released from the employment office with the promise that I would not have to return. After the 45 minutes, the receptionist was still 5 people away from calling my number. I crumpled the piece of paper and realized that I would have to go through all of this again next week.
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Honestly, that was one of the most conceited blog-tales I have ever read. What makes you believe that you are so above the people you encountered- you have no idea what their stories are, what their experiences have been. What if that Ivy Tech education was the result of surviving an abusive, poverty-stricken childhood, working hard to attend the only school they could afford because they wanted to make their lives better, becoming the first in their family to earn a degree? They should be ashamed of that? And you assume that they were all staring at you and thinking how untouchable and fancy you must be, how clearly, clearly you are not one of them? How very Jesus-like your attitude is. I think you're a great writer, but have you read this entry and reflected on how you sound? It ain't pretty.
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