Whenever I hear conservatives (and others) sing the praises of private charity and how it is so much more appropriate and effective than "government handouts," I remember my own situation three years ago. If it had not been for the Texas Workforce Commission, as flawed as it may be, I would have become homeless. Follow me below for my story.
In the fall of 2005, I pissed off my then-department chair (education dept.) by saying out loud in a meeting what everyone else was thinking (that's a story for another day). Subsequently, I was demoted to part-time status on a semester contract for the next spring semester (I teach college). As a result, I barely made my mortgage payments, which were usually late. Sometime during the spring semester, I was informed that I would get no summer classes and only one class in the fall. As a justification, Dr. F. (a.k.a The Toad from Hell) pulled out an evaluation from a disgruntled student from two years earlier. She said she would give me the one class as my last chance before she outright fired me.
In the meantime, of course, I had gone job hunting. The most promising interview I had with the department chair of the Writing Program at the same university. I expected to make the switch to that department in the fall, but at this point, it was not official yet. As I was watching class enrollments for the coming fall, it became obvious that my one class (unpopular time and location) would not make.
All the while, I was already struggling to pay my bills. In fact, I went three weeks without electricity in order to pay for an operation that saved my cat's life. At some point, a person from my mortgage company suggested that it might be time to put my condo on the market. I was reluctant to do that since my credit rating was in the toilet (I once had a car repossessed under unusual circumstances -- again, that's another story). Besides, there was no way I could come up with the downpayment for an apartment. I decided to "take it to the Lord in prayer" and told our then-Associate Pastor about my problems. After he was done making fun of my priorities (pootie over City Public Services), he took my plight to the then-Senior Pastor, who agreed to a one-time loan, under the condition that he would not give me the money but send it directly to the mortgage company. That's fine, but I could have done without his lecture on "choices."
The loan kept the proverbial wolves away from the door, but it didn't take care of the underlying problem. By the time the next paycheck arrived, it was already spent, and I ended up not being able to pay back the church when I had said I would. The expression on the business manager's face became a constant reminder that I was a deadbeat and a loser.
I was worried about the summer since no employment was forthcoming.
My colleague for whom I had stood up during that fateful meeting the year before gave me less than useful advice. She said that it was all my fault for not keeping my trap shut, and if I didn't know how to teach, I should go wait tables or flip burgers. Well, a) flipping burgers didn't pay my mortgage, and b) on top of everything I had also been hit by a car that year and was in less than ideal condition for a job that demanded physical labor. Nothing but excuses, Dr. K. said.
Another colleague, however, said something I had not even considered. She suggested I should file for unployment benefits, which she had done in the past. As a then-non-citizen, I wasn't even aware that the option was available. I didn't even know that such a beast existed in Texas.
Professor M. explained the procedure to me and also warned me that my application was likely to be denied the first time around. You see, there is the rule that teachers who are under contract for the fall cannot file for unemployment for the summer. I therefore had to prove that I was not guaranteed employment for the fall. TWC set up a telephone conference between them, The Toad, and me to verify that I was not under contract for the fall semester.
Lucky for me, The Toad a) hates my guts and b) misunderstood what the hearing was about. She thought I was suing over my employment status and went on and on (in the most venomous tone of voice) how I was a part-time instructor on a semester contract, there was no guarantee for future employment, and it was unlikely that my one class would make. When asked if I had something to say, I replied, "I think Dr. F. made my point for me." Good thing this was on the phone, so no one could see my ear-to-ear grin. Also lucky for me, the HR office didn't know about my upcoming job with the Writing Program yet.
Subsequently, I was informed by TWC that I was not only entitled to unemployment benefits, but I would get the highest rate. Mind you, the highest rate isn't all that much (considerably less than what I would have earned teaching summer school), but the check came every two weeks and allowed me, for once, to pay my bills on time. Once a week, I had to provide evidence that I was job hunting; there were a few times I had interviews with very shady insurance companies during which I was secretly praying, "Please don't let them offer me a job!" My prayers were answered, and I got through the summer on "welfare" until I had another full-time job with the Writing Program in the fall.
All the while, friends and former colleagues berated me for accepting "government handouts." Dr. K. said it was "immoral" and "un-American" and she had more respect for prostitutes than for "welfare queens." Whatever. If it had not been for Professor M. (may she rest in peace), I would indeed have applied for burger flipping jobs and lived in my car (which at the time wasn't paid off either and therefore also in jeopardy). Professor M. pointed out that no one would have benefitted if I had become homeless.
My story had a happy ending. At the end of that long summer, I had a good job, the kitty had recovered, and I was up to date with my mortgage payments. Since I was not behind with my bills, I did not accumulate any more late fees while waiting for my first paycheck. I notified TWC that I had a new job and paid taxes on my benefit payments. The last three years, I have given a considerate amount of money to charity. I have also since been able to save some money for the next "rainy day." I understand that not everyone is as lucky as I was. But no one can ever convince me that help from the government is a bad thing.