Scrambled Eggs (or, WTF with the OVR?)

Several months ago, I wrote about an unfortunate experience with the Pennsylvania Office of Vocational Rehabilitation, whom I had contacted seeking help in trying to find a career/training which would support me for the rest of my life.  I tried to write humorously, mostly to help me get over the despair I felt after talking to my counselor.  I can find no humor in how things have turned out, none whatsoever.

I was assigned a new counselor, a young woman who, unbeknownst to me, was new on the job.  We got off to a good start, I thought - certainly better than CL and I had done back in February.  AS, the new girl (well, she's at least 40 years younger than I am), told me I was eligible for OVR services and asked me what I hoped to accomplish with their assistance.  I explained that, given my age (62 at the time) and my inadequate education, I had concerns that I wouldn't find full-time work (currently employed part-time) which would provide enough income for me to live and be able to keep my house.  I explained that I had no savings, no health insurance, no retirement fund and was looking at a pretty bleak future when I reached retirement age.  I needed additional training or education, with documentation of some sort - degree or diploma - which would help me compete against younger, better educated applicants.  Although it is against the law in the US to discriminate on the basis of age, it happens all the time in the corporate work arena.  My hope was to acquire a position with the state or federal government agencies where age is not a factor, but skill set is.

We went over some options for me, including the option of returning to college.  As it turned out, a community college in Gettysburg offers a Professional Bookkeeper Diploma program, obtainable in 18-20 credit hours, which I could finish by the end of 2011, going part-time.  I was excited, and began feeling hopeful again, after several months of despair and serious depression.  AS encouraged me to apply for admission to the college and to apply for state and federal financial aid.  She stated that OVR could help with tuition, depending upon how much funding I could secure from state and federal sources.

I applied for grants through FAFSA, which stands for Free Application for Federal Student Aid, and was awarded, initially, enough funds to almost completely cover my tuition, fees and books for the coming school year.  This was great news, because I have absolutely no money to cover anything, after using paychecks from my part-time job to pay bills, put gas in my car, buy food - and medicines I need to keep me going.

The first thing that disappointed me, but is completely understandable, is that my grants were reduced because I will be a part-time (under 12 credit hours per semester) student.  Well, that's okay, I thought, because AS had said OVR could grant up to $2,000 per semester, depending on how much remained after grants were awarded.  I didn't need the full amount, so things were looking very good for my starting classes at the end of August.

(Aside: Now, understand that becoming a bookkeeper is NOT what I want to do.  It is what I can do, and must do, in order to provide for myself over the next 10 or more years, hoping, of course, that I have that much time left.  I've made peace with bookkeeping, but if I had my druthers, as my Mom used to say, art and creative writing are my first choices for more education at this stage in my life.  I've always wanted to be an artist, and was toying with taking those courses.  Except that reality reared its ugly head and bit me in the butt, real hard.  Earning a good living as an artist is a serious challenge, even for the gifted artist...and I do not believe I have that gift.  So, bean-counting it is for me.)

I called AS and asked for an appointment to go over what to do next to acquire the education assistance she told me would be available through OVR.  Her response surprised, shocked and depressed the hell out of me all within the few seconds it took to realize what she was telling me.  OVR will fund my training only if I am a full-time student.

What?!?  We had discussed, frequently, the fact that I could only go to classes part-time because I needed my job to pay the bills, pay for food, gas, meds, et cetera.  At what point in those discussions had she planned to fill me in on that little tidbit of necessary info?  I ended the call stunned, couldn't even think of what to say to her that was polite and could be said in church.  I called back the next day to set up a face-to-face to learn what I could do next.

Oh, it gets better.

Turns out, she shouldn't have taken me on as a client in the first place, despite meeting the eligibility requirements, because I have a job.  Because...I...have...a...job. (Where had I heard that before?!)  Six months into this, and she tells me she shouldn't even be meeting with me because I am employed.

And they wonder why they are sued?  Well, I do not intend to sue OVR for the ineptitude of their employees.  I do, however, intend to fight this all the way up to the federal level, if I must, because nowhere on their web site does it say that their services are available only to the unemployed.  Their web site promises compassionate, professional counseling, with every possible effort made to help clients find or maintain adequate employment, through counseling, physical rehabilitation, education and/or training and a whole laundry list of other possible services.

Look out, OVR; I has a mad, and you is it!  (Quote from a LOL Cat picture.)

My Personal GPS

The Sower

“Conscience is a man's compass”
Vincent van Gogh
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As Ye Sow, So Shall Ye Reap
Jeremiah 1 - 19

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Something has been bothering me for awhile, but came to the surface of my conscience when I spoke with CL's supervisor earlier this week. Yesterday, I figured out what was nagging me about this whole episode with CL.

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I only wrote about the things I found humorous during my interview, but that wasn't the whole picture. The experience was worse than I depicted, as was the follow-up phone call. I left the office after our interview feeling confused and disturbed, but I couldn't name what it was. Now I can.

...

CL reminded me of myself, during the last four months of the past year, when I was falling into a very deep depression, coming unglued and frantically trying to hold onto my sanity. I couldn't focus on my work, I couldn't remember where I put things at the office and at home, and my life, both professionally and personally, was in chaos. I needed help desperately and didn't know how to get it, despite the fact that I have a therapist I see on a regular basis every few months. Nothing made sense to me and I was easily confused by the smallest problems or surprises to my routine. Routine, in fact, was my only salvation, was something I could focus on consistently, make sense of in all the internal turmoil.

...

I watched CL doing what I had done in the few weeks before I hit bottom. She was able to speak coherently as long as she was doing the mundane part of her job: handing me forms to sign, explaining the services offered and the qualifying process, asking questions from a form in front of her. It was when the interview became interactive, when she had to deal with this other person in the room personally, that she became discombobulated, confused, distracted and illogical.

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She told me her last job had ended suddenly, when new management came in. She hadn't been working with OVR for very long, she said. Less than a year, if I remember correctly. She had been trying to find work in the private sector, but had faced age discrimination. She advised me to apply for work with either Federal, state or local governments, because "they aren't allowed to discriminate," she said, several times.

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I've mentioned how, at times, she seemed to forget there was anyone else in the room. What I left out was how startled she was when she became aware, surprised to see me across the table from her.

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She rambled on about how some clients seemed to think they could call her whenever they felt like it, that the counselor who had her job before allowed his clients to call just to talk, without scheduling an appointment. When she made the comment about my being so focused, she went on to tell me that so many clients talked on end about their disabilities, about what kind of work they had done before, what they wanted OVR to do for them - in short, exactly what they were supposed to talk about during the intake interview.

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I know it felt like watching an accident happening, going through the interview with her. That sort of impending doom feeling where you can't turn away - the watching the train wreck syndrome. I knew there was something wrong, but, as Lindsay suggested, too, I thought perhaps she was just having a bad day.

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I fully recognize that I am not responsible for C's disintegration, or what followed after our interview and her follow-up call. There is nothing I could have done to help her, mostly because I didn't comprehend what she was going through in time to even try to help.

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My conscience isn't picking at me for those reasons. It is chastising me for making fun of someone while she was falling to pieces, even though I didn't see that happening at the time. I laughed at her behavior when compassion is what was called for, not ridicule. She didn't intend to screw things up, I'm certain of that. She wanted to do a good job. She wasn't coping well, but probably thought she was. She was losing it, right before my eyes...and her own.

...

She deserved better treatment from me than what I gave her. I didn't use her name, nor did I post her picture. She'll never read my posts. None of you know her. For all you know, she might not exist. But I know she's real, and I now know she is more like me than not, and if I deserve the support and compassion of others, that is the very least I could have shown her.

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A conscience is a blessing, although a prickly one at times. I'm still growing up, and my conscience is my most valuable tool and guide along the journey. I hope I will remember CL, and my response to her, should I ever face a similar situation. Or, worse, should I ever be in her shoes again, as I was very recently, and have the misfortune to encounter someone who will treat me as I mistreated her.

The Crow and the OVR, Chapter 4

Vacant Desk

Last Friday (2-19), I called to speak with my counselor at OVR, following the guidelines for settling disagreements as outlined at OVR's web site. If after trying to work out an agreement and meeting with no success, applicants are advised to then contact a liaison group which will act as an intermediary.

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When the receptionist answered my call, I explained that I wanted to speak with C.L., my counselor, about the status of my application.

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"Let me give you her supervisor," said harried sounding receptionist.

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Hmmm.

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I eventually had to leave a voice mail message on the supervisor's phone, outlining what I hoped to accomplish and that C.L. was my counselor. I gave my work number and cell phone, stating I could be contacted any time during the day.

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Over the weekend, I began writing an account of my experiences with C.L., in case I had to forward it on to the liaison organization. I wrote it as a straight report, no smart-aleck comments from my brain. I decided to try speaking with C.L. one more time before mailing my request for an intermediary.

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First thing Monday morning, I called OVR again, asked for C.L. and was again directed to her supervisor. I was placed on hold for several minutes, and had to leave another voice mail message.

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Double hmmmmm. What is going on here? This is a state government office, underwritten by the Federal government. Even the dreaded IRS gets back to you faster than this.

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I waited all day for a return call and was half-disappointed, half-angry when quitting time rolled around and there had been no response. Actually, I was more than half-angry; I was ticked!

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This morning, I awoke determined I was going to speak to someone other than the receptionist, or I was going down to their office and not leaving until somebody answered my blooming questions!

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Had to take care of some domestic issues before I could call, and I wanted to find my voice recorder so I could tape the conversation, in case I needed it .

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As I was paying the oil man for yet another delivery, my cell phone buzzed and chirped in an unknown tone. The call was from the cell phone C.L. had used when she last called me. Good! Maybe we could get this mess ironed out without having to resort to arbitration.

...

"Hello, C."

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"This is S.N.," the voice answered. "I'm C's supervisor here at the OVR. C.L. is no longer working for us. I'm calling everyone in her case load to catch up with what's happened lately."

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(No kidding!? said brain, stunned at this not-entirely-unwelcome turn of events. There is justice in this world, after all. Be quiet, I warned. No funny stuff today.)

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Seems my counselor left suddenly, didn't show up for work as scheduled, left all her files and others papers in disarray and hasn't been in contact with OVR since sometime the week before last. By my reckoning, that would be shortly after our final conversation.

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S.N., the supervisor, is the polar opposite of C.L. - professional, coherent, organized, efficient. She had taken a folder of client files and was trying to put them in order, to assess just what needed doing next.

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She said it was difficult to determine what C.L. had told me based on her notes, so we spent a few minutes where I told her the gist of the interview and the following phone call. S.N. said it looked like C.L. hadn't contacted my doctors for medical information, so that was the next thing to be done.

...

She also said that because C.L.'s cases were having to be taken up by her short-handed staff, the process might take a little longer than normal, but that the office would stay in touch and keep me apprised of their progress. As soon as a new counselor was assigned to my case, he or she would call me, probably within the next two weeks.

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She apologized for what she termed the "unfortunate experiences" I'd had and assured me that that would not be the case in the future.

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I believe her. For one thing, she knew my name without prompting from me. Always a good sign.

...

So, we'll see what happens.

Out in the OVR Cold

One day last week, I heard the phone ring downstairs, but was in the middle of fighting a fever so I didn't get up to answer it. I forgot about it until two days later, when I was finally well enough to go downstairs. There was a cryptic message from the OVR counselor, about needing to speak with me about my application.

Anticipating that CL had news regarding the vocational evaluation tests she said would be scheduled for me, I called her back. I had difficulty speaking above a whisper, and was exhausted trying to talk. Pneumonia takes a lot out of you, I've discovered.

She called to tell me, she said, that there was nothing she could do for me. She might be able to help me find a full-time job, but there would be no vocational evaluations nor any training or any other services provided.

Why? This isn't what she had said just a few days ago, so what happened, I asked.

Well, you have a job, she said. If you were unemployed, or homeless, or on welfare or certified disabled by Social Security or something like that, we could help you.

That isn't what it says on the OVR web site, which is why I applied to them in the first place. I certainly wouldn't have wasted my time with them if I didn't believe I was eligible for their help.

Besides, dammit, she herself had told me I was eligible at the conclusion of our meeting.

Now, one of the things she had me do at that initial meeting began to make sense. I thought it odd at the time that she would have me sign a paper stating I had been informed about how to sue the OVR, before she would tell me how she could help me.

Turns out that might be the best thing she could have done for me. I have no desire to sue them, but I am going to lodge a complaint and ask for a hearing. Something isn't right here, and I intend to find out what happened.

Grump! What a bummer, man.

OMG at the OVR

I don't know what I expected when I went to OVR on Tuesday, but I expected better than I found. There were a couple of moments when I heard my brain think, "Oh, no!" and I wondered if I had stumbled into an alternate universe with a different set of rules for interview behavior.

The woman I had spoken with a few weeks ago to set up the appointment sounded like she might be in her early twenties. We spoke for almost half an hour and she went over most of the material in my application. She told me then that it was the most fully completed application she had ever seen. She was taking notes, she said, as we spoke, so that when I came in for the interview, we could finish quickly. We set a date and time and the call ended.

Tuesday, I arrived about ten minutes early. Right at the appointed hour she opened the door to the office and said to me, the only other person in the place, "I'm expecting...oh, what is her name?...would you be that person?"

I am if the person you expect is Martha McLemore, I answered.

"Hmmm...maybe," she said. "But come on in. If the right person shows up, you can wait out here again."

(Oh, no, said my brain, in a tiny voice, barely audible. But I heard it.)

This was the same person who had left a voice-mail message last Thursday to inquire if I had written down the hour of our appointment, since she wasn't certain when I was scheduled to be there. She had written down 1p.m. and 2p.m. for appointments but she couldn't remember which was my slot. I thought that odd at the time, but figured she was young and new to the job, so I would cut her some slack. Besides, I forget things all the time, so who was I to judge her?

She isn't young, by the way. Only a couple of years younger than I am.

She ushered me into her office and said to make myself comfortable, but not to sit in the chair on the other side of the table, because that was her seat.

Oh, I thought, you mean the one where your coat is draped across the back, there where your laptop is set up and where you have your briefcase and portable file sitting? Okay, I'll be sure to avoid that chair.

(Oh, no, said my brain. Be quiet, I answered.)

"Okay, so who are you, again," she asked.

(Uh, oh, said my brain.)

I gave her my name again, and reminded her I was her 1 o'clock...just in case.

We settled into our respective seats and she began fumbling through her briefcase and the portable file.

"I know I have your application here somewhere," she said. "OH! I forgot! My name is C---- L------; did anyone tell you who you'd be meeting today?"

I reminded her that we had spoken a few weeks earlier and that she had introduced herself to me at the time as my case worker.

"Of course, of course," C---- said. "And you are Martha McLemore."

(Oh-no, oh-no, oh-no, said my brain. You're right, I answered, but we're here now, so let's just be patient. She knows her name and now she knows mine, so we're off to a good start. Just be cool.)

C---- found my application, and took out a handful of other papers for me to sign before we got started. The next part of the interview went okay, while she was explaining the forms I had to sign. She had this part down pat.

At some point she realized there was a second copy of my application paper-clipped to the one she was reviewing.

"For heaven's sake," she muttered. "What is all this? Did my secretary make a copy of your application? Why would she do that?"

I sat there quiet, but my brain was beginning to buzz with a string of oh-noes.

"This is my handwriting!" she exclaimed. "These are my notes! How did this happen? Why do I have two copies of your application, and why is one of them scribbled on in my handwriting?"

I suggested that perhaps she had written on my application those weeks ago when we spoke on the phone.

"Why would I do that?" I think C---- was speaking to herself.

"Got me," my brain retorted, before I could stop it.

C---- took a deep breath, shuffled all the papers together, and we began again. A few minutes into the next part of the interview, she stopped speaking and looked at me in surprise.

"Why, you remind me of a sister!"

Of your sister?

"No, you remind me of a sister - a nun!"

This time, my brain had nothing to say. Neither did I.

"Oh, it must be your tops. You know, the navy blue and the white collar. And you're so clean!"

And here I was worried because I didn't take the time to shampoo my hair this morning, I said, trying to make a joke - more for my sake than hers. I really needed to lighten the moment.

(I'm out of here, said my brain.)

C---- chuckled, a good sign. She recognizes humor, or pitiful attempts at it, anyway.

"And you are so focused!"

(One of us has to be! my brain smarted off.)

Well, I'm here to learn as much as I can today, I answered her.

We got back on track, until C---- had to look through her portable file for another set of forms. She wasn't having much luck, and her frustration was increasing. Her professional demeanor, such as it was, began to slip.

"Dammit," she said, "if my assistant forgot to put those forms in here, I'm going to be pissed!"

Brain and I were stunned. I don't have any prudish ideas, as you all know, about cursing, but there is a time and a place for such things, and this was neither the time nor the place, to my way of thinking. I mean, we hadn't even had coffee together, yet!

"You know," C---- continued, more to herself, because she didn't seem to remember there was anyone else in the room. "I've had just about enough of this bullshit!"

"Well," said brain, out loud again, "I guess it's a good thing I'm not a nun, after all, isn't it?"

C---- looked up at me in shocked surprise, caught the joke, slapped her ample thigh and let loose with a laugh that echoed around the room like a thunderclap.

"Oh, I guess not!"

It took another fifteen or so minutes for us to conclude the interview. Someone from her office will call me in a few days to set up the vocational tests early next month. Once they have the results, she and I will meet again and we'll go over my training or education options.

If she can remember my name. I think I'm changing it to Sister Sofie.

(It just dawned on me that perhaps the interview was the Personality Test, mentioned in a previous post. If so, I think I might have passed that one, after all.)(c) 2010 Martha McLemore