May 10, 2009
Rose sat nervously in the large waiting room of the social services office, Lizzy sitting beside her in a hard plastic chair. Things had not improved much for the Dawsons as time passed, and she was growing desperate.
They hadn’t hit bottom yet—Mari had promised that if they were unable to pay their share of the rent she would pay it, and they could pay her back later, and she was more than willing feed Lizzy when money was especially short—but Rose hated taking charity, and she knew that Jack didn’t like it, either, although he rarely said as much. Neither of them would allow Mari to do more than pay the rent if it was necessary, and feed Lizzy—they wouldn’t let the child suffer if there was a way around it—but something had to change, and soon.
Rose had never cared too terribly much about money, but when it came to the point that their ability to keep a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs became questionable, she paid more attention to it. Pride and a desire to live life for something other than material gain were fine, and were what she and Jack both wanted, but they both knew that they needed to provide for the basic needs of themselves and their child.
It was this knowledge that had brought Rose to the Perris office of Riverside County Social Services today. She didn’t want to go on welfare, and wasn’t sure how much assistance they would even be qualified for, since Jack had a part-time job and was occasionally able to sell his art, and she sang whenever possible, but she had to find out. There was a growing child who needed to be fed, and she and Jack also needed food and shelter. Had they been a childless couple, or if Lizzy had been older, they might have taken to the road, looking for whatever they could find, but it wasn’t realistic to expect Lizzy to live that sort of a life at this age, and there was no one to help them.
They were living hand-to-mouth now, having exhausted what little savings were left after they had buried Paul five months earlier. Had it just been she and Jack, Rose would have looked upon the experience as an adventure, although possibly not the most pleasant sort. But having a child to care for had changed her perspective. She would do whatever it took to make sure that Lizzy’s needs were met, even if it meant going on welfare.
"Rose Dawson?"
Rose stood, taking Lizzy’s hand, as a social worker called to her. In spite of the wide variety of experiences she had had over the years, she had still been unsure of how to apply for assistance. She had arrived at Social Services not knowing what to do, much to the irritation of the receptionist, who had had to find her a social worker and had then sent her to fill out forms and wait.
As was often the case with the overburdened public services, it had been a long wait—almost two hours, during which time Rose had been grateful that Lizzy had found some other kids near her age to play with. The waiting area wasn’t designed with children in mind, but like youngsters everywhere, they had used their imaginations to create their own games. Finally, Lizzy had come to sit beside her mother, playing with the Barbie doll she had stashed in Rose’s purse. Rose had been grateful that her daughter was being so patient and well-behaved, although she had begun to ask when they could leave as time wore on.
Rose followed the social worker to a small, cramped cubicle, adorned with only a couple of pictures and a drooping plant, which she had to protect from the ever-curious Lizzy. Sinking into another hard plastic chair, she pulled the fidgeting child into her lap to keep her out of trouble.
"What are you here for, Rose?" The social worker sounded tired. She was faced daily with desperate people, many of whom had barely been making it when the economy fell apart and swept away what little stability they had.
Rose took a deep breath, wishing she didn’t have to be here. "I…my family is experiencing some financial hardship. My husband’s employer went bankrupt in February, leaving him without a job, and all he’s got now is a part-time work study job at his college, which will end when the quarter ends, because he can’t afford to keep going to school. Sometimes one of us gets some temp work, but not often enough to pay the bills. I have tried to find a steady job, but the only place I was successful at was Starcrest, and that…didn’t work out.”
The social worker looked at her sympathetically, having apparently heard about Starcrest more times than she cared to contemplate. Hugging Lizzy tighter, Rose went on.
“My husband and I both do freelance-type work—he’s an artist, and I’m a musician—but we can’t quite make ends meet, because there just isn’t enough demand for what we do."
"So you’re looking for assistance of some sort?"
Rose nodded. "Yes. Maybe welfare, or food stamps…something like that."
"Have you tried reapplying with Starcrest? I know they’re difficult to work for—I used to work for them myself—but under the circumstances, it might be worth trying until something better comes along. Perhaps your husband could try to find a job there as well. They are the largest employer in this town."
"They won’t hire me back, and they told him he was overqualified." Rose looked sheepish. “Also, I don’t think they want to take a chance on anymore Dawsons for a while.”
The social worker raised an eyebrow, wondering at Rose’s last statement. “It’s none of my business, but…”
"They fired me for trying to start a union. It’s perfectly legal to unionize, as long as you do it on your own time, which I did, but they don’t want a union there. They might actually have to pay people what they’re worth."
"If they fired you for an illegal reason, you may be able to go back."
"I can’t afford a lawyer to argue that, and they didn’t say it in so many words. It was more like it wasn’t working out—and they can fire you at will, with or without cause—but I could see the writing on the wall. I know the real reason."
"Have you looked elsewhere?"
"Yes…everywhere possible. But the economy is in poor shape, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, and I’m considered overqualified myself for many jobs—I have two Bachelor’s degrees and five Associate’s degrees. Not that they’re doing me much good these days."
"What about your freelance work?"
"I’m a musician, as I said—a singer. I sing and play the guitar wherever I can, but my type of music isn’t always popular. I sing folk songs and protest songs, and someone who didn’t like what I was doing took a shot at me back in January, which made people cautious about hiring me to sing. I was also working for a small film production company, but they went under after their last film was a failure in the art houses, and I’m not well-known enough to make it in Hollywood. As to my husband’s art, he’s a fine artist, but he’s not very well-known, either. He’s sold a few pieces since he was laid off, but the most steady work he’s been able to get is occasionally drawing political cartoons for small, local newspapers, which don’t pay much."
“You said you have some film experience. Have you tried signing up to be a film extra?”
“Yes, but I’m not getting much work, and as a member of Screen Actor’s Guild, I’m one of the more expensive extras to hire. I’m trying my hardest, but…right now, things just aren’t working out, and we have a little girl who needs to eat. It isn’t so much for my husband and I—we’ll get by somehow, I’m sure, if we have to. But we have a daughter." She gestured to the child in her lap, pulling Lizzy’s hands away from the wilted plant. "She’s only four years old. She can’t get any kind of job yet, except in film or modeling, and though I signed her up as an extra, too, she hasn’t gotten any work."
"Do you have any family members who can help you out?"
“None. My husband’s parents are dead, as is my father, and neither of us have any siblings. My mother and I have been estranged for years. We’re living with a friend right now and sharing the rent, but we won’t be able to afford that much longer.”
“So, it’s just you, your husband, and your daughter? No other children?”
“No. We…used to have a son, Paul, but…he was killed by a drunk driver last Thanksgiving.” Rose ducked her head, trying to hide the tears that had suddenly filled her eyes.
“I’m sorry.” The social worker passed her a box of Kleenex. "Rose, you are not qualified for welfare, since you have a husband and he has a job, however poorly paying. However, I think I can arrange for you to get food stamps and WIC, since you have a child under five. WIC is also available for pregnant women. Are you…?”
“No, and we’re making sure I don’t get that way. We can’t support another child at this time.”
“What are you currently paying in rent?"
“Five hundred dollars a month, since we share the rent with a friend.”
“You might qualify for low-income housing, if necessary.”
Rose nodded. “I’ll look into that if it becomes necessary.”
The social worker nodded. "If you will take these forms, fill them out, and bring them back to me, you will be able to receive the assistance I have told you about. Is this an emergency situation? Do you have enough to eat at the moment?"
"Yes, for now. My husband just sold some artwork on eBay, so we have a little money for food."
"Then it may be a couple of weeks before you start receiving assistance. Hopefully, you won’t be cut off by the state. There are some financial problems in California."
Rose nodded. “I know. I read the newspaper.” She set Lizzy down and got to her feet. “Thank you. I don’t want to see my daughter go hungry.”
“I try to do what I can, Rose. Unfortunately, times are tough for everyone. We may be facing layoffs and furloughs here ourselves.”
Rose shook her head sympathetically. “I hope things work out for you. Good luck. I’ll have those papers back to you soon.”
“If I’m busy, just put them in the box outside my cubicle.”
Rose nodded and took Lizzy by the hand, looking at the new pile of paperwork and sighing.