Been to the unemployment office lately?
For me, this is a relatively new thing. I hadn't set foot in such a place in more than 22 years, so we're talking about some serious learning curve.
This visit to the Employment Security Commission became necessary after I was laid off from work. I'd mentioned this in another post (and in Twitter). Kind of a bummer, but let's move on, shall we?
Now, the unemployment line isn't on my Top Ten Favorite Places To Go. To put it bluntly, I'd rather gargle razor blades than visit that place. I don't care for government offices in general, but off my experience the unemployment office is probably the worst of the worst in Civil Service Land. Last time I was in the unemployment line was in San Bernardino, and I spent most of that time standing up and wondering if the line would move any time soon. Just for fun I'd calculated how many feet I had to travel from back to front of the line, noted the time I was there, and figured out how many miles per hour I was moving. Actually, hours per mile. Back then, you wrote out your claims on paper and mailed them in, and the staff showed great aptitude and unmatched creativity in screwing things up.
This time, I came in prepared. Had my laptop with me. A bottle of water. Cell phone. MP3 player. "Divine Justice," the latest of David Baldacci's Camel Club series. At 523 pages, I was ready for some serious waiting.
My first act going in was to take a number. I had #917. I looked at the screen up front; now serving #880. Only 37 to go. I just might finish that novel, I thought.
To my amazement, my visit was much quicker than expected, and the staff was actually helpful. That's the good news. I really didn't see anyone, though I'm not sure whether that is good or bad news. I'm not even sure I got anything done. The only one who interviewed me was a computer.
I guess if you're computer-illiterate, you're really going to need a paddle when going for unemployment benefits. For a minute I considered amusing myself by telling the staff I was Amish (which I used to do in grocery stores during those off hours when the only open checkstands were the self-serve automated kind), but the MP3 player and headphones hanging from my neck would have blown my cover.
Seriously, in the public area I only saw three employees. There was a receptionist at the front desk, and two people -- one male, one female -- in the room where I applied. All of them looked about 12 years old, and none of them seemed to mind working with the public (I thought the redhead who guided me through the application database was particularly cute even though I've got a few decades on her). I never saw the other office, the one with the cubicles populated by aging timeserving civil servants and all the accoutrements you usually find in unemployment offices. Don't want the walk-in public to see the thumbscrews and branding irons, I reckon.
Once you get the knack of entering your stuff on the database, you're doing all right. It takes very few minutes to get your claim in. All the garbage. Where you worked, why you're no longer there. The real time eater is registering for work through the South Carolina Job Bank, a required step. Figure a little less than an hour to get all that stuff in.
(Which reminds me, I've never heard of anyone actually getting a job through job services at the unemployment office. I'm taking it on faith, though, that it does happen.)
It turns out that in South Carolina you can do the whole application process online, and not even see the inside of the unemployment office -- at least not in the early going. In fact I started to do this during my lunch break on Friday, but was stopped short when asked to enter my driver's license number. I never can remember it, and I never carry my license. When on a bicycle I'd rather use something else for identification if I need it.
The last page view of the database was an information sheet with my confirmation number (which I wrote down; it looked important) and instructions to the next step in the process. It's printable, so I hit PRINT and waited.
And waited.
And called the cute redhead over one more time.
"OK, joke's over. I'm waiting for this to print. What's the story?"
"It's not hooked up to a printer," she told me.
Oh.
She handed me a manila envelope, which has all the phone numbers and Web addresses to file the weekly claim. That's the next step. My day to call is Sunday, any time. Even at 4 a.m. It's automated, the cute redhead explained.
And it is. I'm looking at the instructions right now:
- Call the TelClaim computer.
- Enter your social security and PIN numbers.
- "Did you work?" Press 1 for YES or 9 for NO. To repeat a question, press 0. If you worked, enter how much you earned and press the STAR key.
- "Did you quit a job or were you dismissed from a job since filing your claim?" Press 1 for YES, 9 for NO.
- "Were you able to work, available for work, and looking for work as instructed by the claims office?" Press 1 for YES, 9 for NO.
- Press 1 if all these answers are correct. Press 9 if you want to change an answer.
- If these answers are correct, do not hang up until the computer tells you, "your claim has been accepted."
Gee, no wonder no one's working.
Despite those disquieting anticlimactic feelings, I was in and out of there in about 90 minutes, which was about half the time I'd expected. I only got to page 54 of the novel -- and that's only because I read some on the bus.
When I left, I didn't bother to check whether #917 was called yet. Probably not.
Oh, by the way ... "Divine Justice" is good so far. But then, I recommmend the whole Camel Club series.
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