We were in the mood for a bookstore tonight and our local Barnes & Noble is still closed, so we were stuck going to Books-A-Million. After a couple hours there, I'm not sure if I should swear it off forever or spend the entire day there again tomorrow and every day thereafter.
It started ominously when Liz and I walked to the front door and noticed a rather unlikely pair consisting of a moderately hippyish-looking young woman and conservatively dressed elderly woman deep in conversation on the bookstore's outdoor patio. We arrived just in time to hear:
Hippy: I love everybody. I don't even know you, and I love you already.
Old Woman: (in thick Southern drawl) Well, the Bible says you have to love people and...
I wasn't quite sure who was trying to convert whom (or to what), but we walked in nonetheless, grateful in the knowledge that love was flowing on the patio. Twenty minutes later, as we sat drinking our coffees, hippy girl walks by.
"You guys have matching shirts! That's so cute!"
"Yeah, we noticed that we both had on green shirts as we were leaving," I said. "It's just a coincidence."
"You mean you didn't do it on purpose?" she said with a dejected look on her face roughly akin to what one would expect had she just watched her only child attacked by rabid porcupines.
"Nope, just a coincidence."
"Well, I think it's great," she said, somewhat illogically. "I think it's just great."
The moment we ceased talking about how awkward the interruption was, she was back.
"Did you know your purse is green too?" she asked Liz.
"Yes, I know what color my purse is."
"Well, I think it's great. (after a beat) How are you guys?"
We said we were fine, as she lingered by our table and considered pulling up the extra chair that unfortunately sat empty at our table. As she cast a few furtive glances into her gargantuan purse that appeared to contain enough published material to make her presence in a bookstore wildly unnecessary, I was expecting her to ask whether we had found Jesus or perhaps some more obscure deity. Instead, she asked us what time it was.
"7:20 already? Wow, umm... are you sure? How can it be....oh wow," she said in considerable dismay, in a manner somewhat reminiscent of the March Hare. This news seemed to alarm her even more than hearing that we hadn't intentionally matched our shirts. Though I can't imagine why; she clearly had no where else to be.
She continued:
"Is it hot out there? I hate it when it's hot outside. I have all this extra padding (pointing to her ample midsection). I just hate it when...
I tuned her out and resumed reading my book as she rambled on aimlessly. After about 5 painfully long minutes, another target mercifully walked through the door.
"How tall are you?" she asked, to which he thoughtfully replied, "How short are you?"
Clearly, she had met her match. The two continued in conversation.
Roughly five minutes later uproarious laughter broke out at the table next to us. The subject of this merriment was a 5-second clip of video being replayed endlessly by a group of three people bearing the unmistakable look of those who don't make it out much. The audio content of the video, which I never had the pleasure of viewing, consisted of 3 high-pitched "eeks." "Eek, eek, eek," it went, and the laughter, inexplicably followed. For the next 5 minutes. As the laughter and "eeks" continued, I spent considerable energy, failing miserably, in an attempt to come up with any possible visual image that might accompany this rather annoying sound that would account for any humor whatsoever.
Meanwhile, another woman who had been on her cell phone since the moment she walked in the store, began laughing hysterically while speaking on her cell phone.
"Gee, why aren't we having a better time?" I asked to Liz.
We decided that a number of people in the area must have living rooms bearing a striking resemblance to this Books-A-Million, accounting for the overly familiar behavior inside. As we came to this conclusion, yet another woman walked in, and noticing another customer dressed in her work uniform, yelled a series of questions across the store to this perfect stranger concerning the details of her job, including her salary and hours.
In the midst of the noise, the man who had been accosted by the hippy broke away from her to order coffee.
"Would you like a snack as well," asked the clerk.
"Well I would like one," said the man, but are you asking if I want to actually buy it? Cause that's a different story. Just so we're straight.
As this unlikely semantics debate continued, the hippy walked back into the store from the patio, enthusiastically accompanied by a similarly overweight man wearing a t-shirt that cleverly bore the imprint of a tuxedo on its front side.
I thought that was just great. If only she would have had one to match.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Why Work Days Shouldn't Begin Until Noon
Yesterday, I had one of those frazzled Monday mornings where I got up in plenty of time but everything went wrong and I ended up being late for work. In the midst of the chaos, I even forgot to shave, so I was not only late, I looked like a terrorist to boot. The whole episode knocked my day hopelessly off course and I never really recovered.
So in an effort to prevent a repeat of something like that today, I decided that I would start getting ready for work at 7:30 rather than my usual 8. (I need to leave by 8:40 to get the office by 9). Here's how it went:
6:20: Liz wakes up to the alarm (going off for the 3rd or 4th time) and exclaims how horrifically late she is.
6:25: Same.
6:34: See above.
6:40: Wake up, make coffee and deliver to Liz (who has impressively recouped about 30 minutes of morning prep time) on her way out the door 10 minutes later. Do a brief Internet search while drinking coffee.
7:30: Turn on water to take shower, but remember that I forgot to eat breakfast. Crap. This is not starting off well.
7:40: Quick breakfast complete, I turn on the water to take a shower. But my towel and change of clothes are upstairs, so I walk up to get them. Forget to put contacts in while I'm up there. Vision-optional shower begins, back downstairs, 5 minutes later.
7:55: Forget whether or not I've already washed my hair and decide to do it again just to be safe.
8:00: Get out of shower, put on pants and only matching pair of socks, and immediately step into a giant pool of showerside water, which I didn't see without my contacts.
8:02: How does one quickly dry a sock when one's dryer has just been destroyed in a flood? Hmm...
8:05: Microwave sock. Successfully.
8:07: Put in contacts and dress shirt and return downstairs.
8:10: Cat needs water.
8:12: Remember that I forgot to shave yesterday and, vowing not to repeat the mistake, go back upstairs to shave.
8:14: Remember that I left razor and shaving foam in downstairs bathroom, walk back downstairs to shave.
8:20: Shave complete, I remember that garbage pick-up is Tuesday and ours is overflowing. Walk to back door to take out trash. Remember that dress shoes are in my car, which is parked out front. Search unsuccessfully for downstairs shoes and return upstairs to grab a pair.
8:24: Our back door deadbolt can only be unlocked (from either side) with a house key. I have no idea where those are.
8:27: Key found, I unlock back door and take out the trash, hoping no one sees me rocking the dress shirt, slacks and slippers look.
8:31: Bathroom.
8:33: Vitamin.
8:35: Remember that I've only halfway packed my lunch. Frantically search for easily prepped food, as I need to leave in 5 minutes.
8:40: Lunch packed, and I'm ready to go, just in time to get to the office by 9. But I forgot to pack gym clothes. Run upstairs.
8:43: Remember that I packed gym clothes yesterday but decided not to go, so I still have everything I need in the car. Back downstairs.
8:45: Except the shoes I took out to wear to Target. Back upstairs.
8:47: About to walk out the door again, but really thirsty after all this activity, so I go to the kitchen to grab a bottled water. And that library book I was going to finish at lunch.
8:51: Finally leave the house for good, but notice a beer can a cigarette pack someone has thrown on my front yard, which I deposit in the trash bin.
8:53: Leave for work and realize there's only a 50 percent chance I have enough gas to make it to the office. Inexplicably, I decide I'm feeling lucky and take my chances.
9:05: Miraculously sputter in to my office parking lot, which of course, is completely full for the first time in recorded history. Finally manage to wedge into a small crevice and get to the office by 9:15 after the 10-minute uphill walk.
5:15: Stop by the gym after work and stopping at first available gas station. Find gym shorts, socks and shoes in the back seat, but an exhaustive search reveals no t-shirt. Which is curious, because not only do I remember packing one yesterday, I received an additional free t-shirt Saturday while volunteering that I'm positive should be in there. But it isn't.
5:31: After surveying the contents of my car and considering a workout in button-down dress shirt, rain coat or just topless, I decide to walk over to next door wine store instead.
I'd say I deserved it.
So in an effort to prevent a repeat of something like that today, I decided that I would start getting ready for work at 7:30 rather than my usual 8. (I need to leave by 8:40 to get the office by 9). Here's how it went:
6:20: Liz wakes up to the alarm (going off for the 3rd or 4th time) and exclaims how horrifically late she is.
6:25: Same.
6:34: See above.
6:40: Wake up, make coffee and deliver to Liz (who has impressively recouped about 30 minutes of morning prep time) on her way out the door 10 minutes later. Do a brief Internet search while drinking coffee.
7:30: Turn on water to take shower, but remember that I forgot to eat breakfast. Crap. This is not starting off well.
7:40: Quick breakfast complete, I turn on the water to take a shower. But my towel and change of clothes are upstairs, so I walk up to get them. Forget to put contacts in while I'm up there. Vision-optional shower begins, back downstairs, 5 minutes later.
7:55: Forget whether or not I've already washed my hair and decide to do it again just to be safe.
8:00: Get out of shower, put on pants and only matching pair of socks, and immediately step into a giant pool of showerside water, which I didn't see without my contacts.
8:02: How does one quickly dry a sock when one's dryer has just been destroyed in a flood? Hmm...
8:05: Microwave sock. Successfully.
8:07: Put in contacts and dress shirt and return downstairs.
8:10: Cat needs water.
8:12: Remember that I forgot to shave yesterday and, vowing not to repeat the mistake, go back upstairs to shave.
8:14: Remember that I left razor and shaving foam in downstairs bathroom, walk back downstairs to shave.
8:20: Shave complete, I remember that garbage pick-up is Tuesday and ours is overflowing. Walk to back door to take out trash. Remember that dress shoes are in my car, which is parked out front. Search unsuccessfully for downstairs shoes and return upstairs to grab a pair.
8:24: Our back door deadbolt can only be unlocked (from either side) with a house key. I have no idea where those are.
8:27: Key found, I unlock back door and take out the trash, hoping no one sees me rocking the dress shirt, slacks and slippers look.
8:31: Bathroom.
8:33: Vitamin.
8:35: Remember that I've only halfway packed my lunch. Frantically search for easily prepped food, as I need to leave in 5 minutes.
8:40: Lunch packed, and I'm ready to go, just in time to get to the office by 9. But I forgot to pack gym clothes. Run upstairs.
8:43: Remember that I packed gym clothes yesterday but decided not to go, so I still have everything I need in the car. Back downstairs.
8:45: Except the shoes I took out to wear to Target. Back upstairs.
8:47: About to walk out the door again, but really thirsty after all this activity, so I go to the kitchen to grab a bottled water. And that library book I was going to finish at lunch.
8:51: Finally leave the house for good, but notice a beer can a cigarette pack someone has thrown on my front yard, which I deposit in the trash bin.
8:53: Leave for work and realize there's only a 50 percent chance I have enough gas to make it to the office. Inexplicably, I decide I'm feeling lucky and take my chances.
9:05: Miraculously sputter in to my office parking lot, which of course, is completely full for the first time in recorded history. Finally manage to wedge into a small crevice and get to the office by 9:15 after the 10-minute uphill walk.
5:15: Stop by the gym after work and stopping at first available gas station. Find gym shorts, socks and shoes in the back seat, but an exhaustive search reveals no t-shirt. Which is curious, because not only do I remember packing one yesterday, I received an additional free t-shirt Saturday while volunteering that I'm positive should be in there. But it isn't.
5:31: After surveying the contents of my car and considering a workout in button-down dress shirt, rain coat or just topless, I decide to walk over to next door wine store instead.
I'd say I deserved it.
Tuesdays with FEMA
We just got our FEMA award letter and I'm more mystified than ever.
If you read any of my prior posts (and if you didn't, we need to have a talk), you may recall that I've previously complained about the refusal of three different FEMA workers to tell me what exactly I needed to do to qualify for assistance, and what items would be covered, at what rate, if I did. In another post, I questioned the necessity of FEMA sending me a supplemental Spanish copy of each of the 29,516 (give or take) documents it has mailed me thus far, given that I've conducted all of my considerable business with the agency entirely in English.
These petty annoyances could have at least conceivably been attributed to bureaucratic inefficiency. But after receiving my assistance letter, I'm convinced that FEMA isn't actually a government agency at all, but a cover for a hidden camera reality show that's secretly recording the frustrated exasperation through which it puts its applicants. I'm just hoping the payoff for the unknowing contestants prove worth it in the end.
Don't get me wrong. I am glad that a pool of our tax money goes to this sort of thing, and I'm thankful that we were lucky enough to receive even a small measure of assistance from it, even if it means subjecting ourselves to a comedy of errors and the snickers of a studio audience that must be watching this process unfold in parts unknown. I just wish FEMA would put as much effort into assisting people as it does into stupefying them.
We got a letter listing a dollar amount of our assistance, $754.04 (with copies in both English and Spanish, as one might have come to expect at this point). I'm happy for the help, even if it was less of a return than FEMA had led me to believe we might be getting. The inscrutably weird part was that the letter contains no explanation of where how the agency arrived at this precise amount (clearly, $754.05 would have been excessive!), which of our damages were covered and which ones were not, or why the award check didn't fully cover the things FEMA claimed it would. Curiously evasive throughout the whole process, FEMA did, after a whole lot of arm-twisting, begrudgingly reveal to us was that our replacement hot water heater and the wet vac we bought to clean up would be reimbursed. Instead, what we got would have almost paid for the new hot water heater, had we taken the damaged one to a plumbing junkyard and sold it for its parts at a premium rate, and then found a couple of twenties laying beside the road on the way home, while driving a car someone else filled with gas.
And we're left to wonder what became of all our other damaged items. Did FEMA forget to include them, were they not part of the reimbursement program after all, or due to budget limitations, did they just pay us pennies on the dollar for everything, water heater included? Is there any logical reason why FEMA doesn't want me to know this?
Conveniently, there is a fax number listed as to where to direct an appeal (I'm surprised they don't make applicants guess at the fax number as well), but, of course, FEMA provides no information as to what specifically, one might be appealing. If FEMA's letter had told me what items qualify for reimbursement and what doesn't, and what how much I get for each, I would just go about life, happily free from its enigmatic benevolency. As it is, I have no way of knowing whether FEMA shorted me or not. The decision letter contains no information other than: "here's what you get" with a dollar amount filled in, as if it were a number picked from a powerball tank. Which in fact, for all I know, IS how they do it.
I was so perplexed by the letter, that I actually read the Spanish version to see if it made any more sense, hopeful that at the very least, I might reference some obscure reality show on Telemundo recording this whole thing. But to no avail.
Make no mistake, I'm not complaining about not getting enough money to cover our damages; I didn't expect to. I don't want a cent more than to what we're entitled under the federal guidelines that cover these situations. I just wish FEMA weren't so careful about concealing what those guidelines actually are.
I have no idea whether we got the right amount or not. Nobody else does either. So I feel like I might as well appeal, just in case. But I have a sinking feeling that when I do, they are going to take away some of my award (without explanation, of course) just to provide a plot for next week's episode.
If you read any of my prior posts (and if you didn't, we need to have a talk), you may recall that I've previously complained about the refusal of three different FEMA workers to tell me what exactly I needed to do to qualify for assistance, and what items would be covered, at what rate, if I did. In another post, I questioned the necessity of FEMA sending me a supplemental Spanish copy of each of the 29,516 (give or take) documents it has mailed me thus far, given that I've conducted all of my considerable business with the agency entirely in English.
These petty annoyances could have at least conceivably been attributed to bureaucratic inefficiency. But after receiving my assistance letter, I'm convinced that FEMA isn't actually a government agency at all, but a cover for a hidden camera reality show that's secretly recording the frustrated exasperation through which it puts its applicants. I'm just hoping the payoff for the unknowing contestants prove worth it in the end.
Don't get me wrong. I am glad that a pool of our tax money goes to this sort of thing, and I'm thankful that we were lucky enough to receive even a small measure of assistance from it, even if it means subjecting ourselves to a comedy of errors and the snickers of a studio audience that must be watching this process unfold in parts unknown. I just wish FEMA would put as much effort into assisting people as it does into stupefying them.
We got a letter listing a dollar amount of our assistance, $754.04 (with copies in both English and Spanish, as one might have come to expect at this point). I'm happy for the help, even if it was less of a return than FEMA had led me to believe we might be getting. The inscrutably weird part was that the letter contains no explanation of where how the agency arrived at this precise amount (clearly, $754.05 would have been excessive!), which of our damages were covered and which ones were not, or why the award check didn't fully cover the things FEMA claimed it would. Curiously evasive throughout the whole process, FEMA did, after a whole lot of arm-twisting, begrudgingly reveal to us was that our replacement hot water heater and the wet vac we bought to clean up would be reimbursed. Instead, what we got would have almost paid for the new hot water heater, had we taken the damaged one to a plumbing junkyard and sold it for its parts at a premium rate, and then found a couple of twenties laying beside the road on the way home, while driving a car someone else filled with gas.
And we're left to wonder what became of all our other damaged items. Did FEMA forget to include them, were they not part of the reimbursement program after all, or due to budget limitations, did they just pay us pennies on the dollar for everything, water heater included? Is there any logical reason why FEMA doesn't want me to know this?
Conveniently, there is a fax number listed as to where to direct an appeal (I'm surprised they don't make applicants guess at the fax number as well), but, of course, FEMA provides no information as to what specifically, one might be appealing. If FEMA's letter had told me what items qualify for reimbursement and what doesn't, and what how much I get for each, I would just go about life, happily free from its enigmatic benevolency. As it is, I have no way of knowing whether FEMA shorted me or not. The decision letter contains no information other than: "here's what you get" with a dollar amount filled in, as if it were a number picked from a powerball tank. Which in fact, for all I know, IS how they do it.
I was so perplexed by the letter, that I actually read the Spanish version to see if it made any more sense, hopeful that at the very least, I might reference some obscure reality show on Telemundo recording this whole thing. But to no avail.
Make no mistake, I'm not complaining about not getting enough money to cover our damages; I didn't expect to. I don't want a cent more than to what we're entitled under the federal guidelines that cover these situations. I just wish FEMA weren't so careful about concealing what those guidelines actually are.
I have no idea whether we got the right amount or not. Nobody else does either. So I feel like I might as well appeal, just in case. But I have a sinking feeling that when I do, they are going to take away some of my award (without explanation, of course) just to provide a plot for next week's episode.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
70 Percent of a Blog Post
Nashville's mayor has just announced that, due to increasing water supplies, citizens can now return to 70 percent of water consumption that they maintained before the flood. This is great news! But for the non-mathematically inclined, it's also a nightmare.
For starters, who remembers how much water they used 2 weeks ago? And even if one does, how does one go about calculating something like this? Does anyone have an intuitive sense of what 70 percent of anything is? If so, can I borrow it? The prior edict, 50 percent, was easy. You just shower every other day, flush the toilet every other time and alternate hand sanitizer with soap and water. 70 percent is much harder. Do my former 12-minute showers now beome 8.4-minute showers? If so, how do I go about picking which 30 percent of myself not to wash on a given day? Instead of putting a stopwatch in the bathroom, can I just shower 7 days out of ten instead? If so, can I go ahead and shower for the first 7 days and hope the conservation order is over by then?
Whatever the answer, at least showering is a once-a-day activity that's easy to keep tabs on. I'm going to need to put a chart beside the toilet and sink to map out 70% of my prior usage of those (3 out of 10 times, I guess I just have to hold it).
Other mathematical mysteries arise: Can I wash 70 percent of my clothes, or should I just re-wear the same clothes 30 percent more often than I normally would? When I'm ready to do laundry, should I leave 3 out of 10 items in the dirty pile, given that different size of each item might screw up the math, or should I just wash 70 percent of each and every garment to ensure mathematical certainty? If I'm washing 70 percent of my car, can I round up to 75 so I clean 3 of my tires, or must I round down to 50 and clean only 2?
Mysteries abound. And don't even get me started on the dishes, which can now get 70 percent of a rinse before going in the dishwasher. Or maybe they get a full rinse and only 70 percent of a wash cycle. Or mabye its both. I'm not sure how the math works.
I would take the time to figure it out, but I'm 70 percent sure I should get back to work...
For starters, who remembers how much water they used 2 weeks ago? And even if one does, how does one go about calculating something like this? Does anyone have an intuitive sense of what 70 percent of anything is? If so, can I borrow it? The prior edict, 50 percent, was easy. You just shower every other day, flush the toilet every other time and alternate hand sanitizer with soap and water. 70 percent is much harder. Do my former 12-minute showers now beome 8.4-minute showers? If so, how do I go about picking which 30 percent of myself not to wash on a given day? Instead of putting a stopwatch in the bathroom, can I just shower 7 days out of ten instead? If so, can I go ahead and shower for the first 7 days and hope the conservation order is over by then?
Whatever the answer, at least showering is a once-a-day activity that's easy to keep tabs on. I'm going to need to put a chart beside the toilet and sink to map out 70% of my prior usage of those (3 out of 10 times, I guess I just have to hold it).
Other mathematical mysteries arise: Can I wash 70 percent of my clothes, or should I just re-wear the same clothes 30 percent more often than I normally would? When I'm ready to do laundry, should I leave 3 out of 10 items in the dirty pile, given that different size of each item might screw up the math, or should I just wash 70 percent of each and every garment to ensure mathematical certainty? If I'm washing 70 percent of my car, can I round up to 75 so I clean 3 of my tires, or must I round down to 50 and clean only 2?
Mysteries abound. And don't even get me started on the dishes, which can now get 70 percent of a rinse before going in the dishwasher. Or maybe they get a full rinse and only 70 percent of a wash cycle. Or mabye its both. I'm not sure how the math works.
I would take the time to figure it out, but I'm 70 percent sure I should get back to work...
Tax Dollars at Work
The majority of the time politicians rant about cutting "government waste," they are just using that line as a politically convenient cover to justify whatever new tax cut or spending proposal they like to promise in election years, without having to list any specific resulting sacrifice the new policy would require.
But in this case, they just might have a point.
When I called FEMA, I was almost immediately prompted to press 1 for English or 2 para Espanol. (For the record, I'm not among those who mind having to do this. I have a law degree and I still can't understand much of the bureaucratic double-speak that often accompanies federal forms and applications. If English is not your original language, then you don't even have a chance.)
So after patiently pressing the English option, I, as you might have expected, conducted my phone application entirely in English. When a FEMA inspector called me, we spoke in English to schedule the interview. When the inspector came to my house, I recounted our losses to her in English. When I called FEMA back with a follow-up question, I again asked all my questions in English (although judging from the responsiveness of the operator taking the call, I would have done just as well to have spoken in Swahili.) In short, I have never conducted any business with the federal government in any other language. It so happens that I've been taking Spanish classes up until this term, but there's no way FEMA should know this.
Since that call, I get daily a new packet of roughly 28,000 pages worth of information from FEMA. It would be 14,000 pages, but for no apparent reason, there is a duplicate Spanish version of every single page in the packet. Just the postage alone on this second set of documents must cost thousands. FEMA knows I don't need this. They even sent me a completed (English) copy of my application along with the Spanish documents that my application itself proves I don't need. Apparently they just think I need to see what all the same forms would have looked like if I had happened to have been from Argentina.
Let me repeat that I'm glad these documents exist in languages other than English. No one should lose out on the benefits to which they are entitled because they use the wrong preposition, or take too literally the question asking for an applicant's "gross income." But does FEMA really need to send copies of every single document in multiple languages to every single applicant? Is it really that hard to just ask the applicant what language they prefer? Or, given that I pressed the "English" option at the start of the process, couldn't the operator just note that on my file and proceed accordingly?
This seems incredibly simple. But since it isn't happening, there are only two explanations. Perhaps FEMA is wasting a whole lot of disaster relief money on the printing and mailing thousands of pages of documents to people that FEMA knows can't comprehend them.
This would be stunningly incompetent, even for a government that allows companies to drill for oil directly offshore even when they have no contingency plan if that oil should happen to spill. So perhaps the true explanation is that FEMA somehow knows that I didn't re-up for summer Spanish classes and now they are trying to make me feel guilty. "See here," FEMA seems to be telling me, "if you took one more semester of Spanish perhaps you could get FEMA relief in TWO languages when the next tragedy occurs!" Of course, they seem to be telling me the same thing in Spanish. (!Mira!, !Si tengas un semestre mas de espanol, puedes obtener dinero de FEMA en DOS linguas cuando el proximo desastre ocurre!)
Or perhaps FEMA knows that I don't have the energy to take formal classes due to the flood recovery efforts and just wants to help me bide the time until I get back on my feet with some free Spanish reading material. This would be a more charitable explanation, but I'm still a bit creeped out by the whole episode, I must say.
"Why would the government care if I take Spanish classes?" you might ask. But since you haven't, I'm just going to go on to my main point. There will be tens (perhaps hundreds) of thousands of FEMA applicants, just in Tennessee, just for this particular disaster. If each person needlessly gets thousands pages of documents that FEMA knows they can't read, that adds up to a whole lot of wasted trees and a whole lot of money that could more appropriately go toward FEMA's intended purpose.
Which is, of course, figuring out how to fit a French copy of all these documents in the packet as well.
But in this case, they just might have a point.
When I called FEMA, I was almost immediately prompted to press 1 for English or 2 para Espanol. (For the record, I'm not among those who mind having to do this. I have a law degree and I still can't understand much of the bureaucratic double-speak that often accompanies federal forms and applications. If English is not your original language, then you don't even have a chance.)
So after patiently pressing the English option, I, as you might have expected, conducted my phone application entirely in English. When a FEMA inspector called me, we spoke in English to schedule the interview. When the inspector came to my house, I recounted our losses to her in English. When I called FEMA back with a follow-up question, I again asked all my questions in English (although judging from the responsiveness of the operator taking the call, I would have done just as well to have spoken in Swahili.) In short, I have never conducted any business with the federal government in any other language. It so happens that I've been taking Spanish classes up until this term, but there's no way FEMA should know this.
Since that call, I get daily a new packet of roughly 28,000 pages worth of information from FEMA. It would be 14,000 pages, but for no apparent reason, there is a duplicate Spanish version of every single page in the packet. Just the postage alone on this second set of documents must cost thousands. FEMA knows I don't need this. They even sent me a completed (English) copy of my application along with the Spanish documents that my application itself proves I don't need. Apparently they just think I need to see what all the same forms would have looked like if I had happened to have been from Argentina.
Let me repeat that I'm glad these documents exist in languages other than English. No one should lose out on the benefits to which they are entitled because they use the wrong preposition, or take too literally the question asking for an applicant's "gross income." But does FEMA really need to send copies of every single document in multiple languages to every single applicant? Is it really that hard to just ask the applicant what language they prefer? Or, given that I pressed the "English" option at the start of the process, couldn't the operator just note that on my file and proceed accordingly?
This seems incredibly simple. But since it isn't happening, there are only two explanations. Perhaps FEMA is wasting a whole lot of disaster relief money on the printing and mailing thousands of pages of documents to people that FEMA knows can't comprehend them.
This would be stunningly incompetent, even for a government that allows companies to drill for oil directly offshore even when they have no contingency plan if that oil should happen to spill. So perhaps the true explanation is that FEMA somehow knows that I didn't re-up for summer Spanish classes and now they are trying to make me feel guilty. "See here," FEMA seems to be telling me, "if you took one more semester of Spanish perhaps you could get FEMA relief in TWO languages when the next tragedy occurs!" Of course, they seem to be telling me the same thing in Spanish. (!Mira!, !Si tengas un semestre mas de espanol, puedes obtener dinero de FEMA en DOS linguas cuando el proximo desastre ocurre!)
Or perhaps FEMA knows that I don't have the energy to take formal classes due to the flood recovery efforts and just wants to help me bide the time until I get back on my feet with some free Spanish reading material. This would be a more charitable explanation, but I'm still a bit creeped out by the whole episode, I must say.
"Why would the government care if I take Spanish classes?" you might ask. But since you haven't, I'm just going to go on to my main point. There will be tens (perhaps hundreds) of thousands of FEMA applicants, just in Tennessee, just for this particular disaster. If each person needlessly gets thousands pages of documents that FEMA knows they can't read, that adds up to a whole lot of wasted trees and a whole lot of money that could more appropriately go toward FEMA's intended purpose.
Which is, of course, figuring out how to fit a French copy of all these documents in the packet as well.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Truth Stranger than Fiction
Let me get this straight:
there was a localized environmental disaster caused by pollutants in the water;
there are no easy answers to fix it;
so the best idea anyone comes up with is to put a giant dome over the affected area to seal it off from the rest of the world.
This is what's happening on the Gulf Coast. It's also the plot of The Simpsons movie. I wonder if this is where BP came up with the idea...
there was a localized environmental disaster caused by pollutants in the water;
there are no easy answers to fix it;
so the best idea anyone comes up with is to put a giant dome over the affected area to seal it off from the rest of the world.
This is what's happening on the Gulf Coast. It's also the plot of The Simpsons movie. I wonder if this is where BP came up with the idea...
Monday, May 10, 2010
My Surreal Chat with FEMA
Setting: After inspecting our house for damage, a FEMA inspector couldn't answer one of our questions and referred us to the 1-800 number for assistance. The conversation:
Me: I'm calling because the inspector at our house the other couldn't answer this question but told me that you could. I was wondering if it was mandatory that I file a claim with my insurance company...
Operator: (Interrupting) Yes, definitely.
Me: You see, I don't have flood insurance so it isn't going to be covered anyway. I've already provided a copy of my policy where it shows that. And that last time I filed a claim, my insurance company dropped me, and I had to look for three days to find new coverage, and there's only one company who would even write that policy. If I file another claim, I may lose the ability to have insurance altogether. So, given all that, since the claim is going to be denied anyway, I was wondering if I still had to file it.
Him: What you need to do is call the National Flood Insurance Commission, and they can answer your question. But if it were me, I'd definitely go ahead and file that insurance claim. Would you like the number for the Flood Insurance Commission?
Me: I don't think you are understanding my question. I'm not asking about obtaining insurance, I'm asking if I still have to file a claim with my liability carrier to be eligible for FEMA assistance if I don't have flood insurance.
Him: Yes, I understand. You should call your insurance company and they can answer your question, or I can give you the 1-800 number to the National Flood Insurance Commission and they should be able to help you.
Me: Ok, but an outside organization is not going to be able to tell me what FEMA's own requirements are. I'm asking if you are going to deny my FEMA application if I don't file an insurance claim.
Him: Right...(stuttering) Look, an inspector has already come out to your house. (Editor's Note: So what?) We can't make you file an insurance claim but if it were me, that's what I would do, even though I understand why you don't want to.
Me: But is it required in order for me to receive FEMA assistance that my file actually show a denied insurance claim, or is it enough to just show you that my policy doesn't cover flood damage?
Him: Well, we recommend that everyone file an insurance claim. (after a beat) What you should do is just wait a few days and you'll see what assistance you will be receiving.
Me: But my application won't be automatically denied because I haven't filed an insurance claim?
Him: (stammering) Well, umm, hmm, I can't tell you whether that's required or not. What you need to do is talk to your insurance company and see if anything is going to be covered. But an inspector has already come to your house.
Me: Ok, do I actually have to file a claim, or is it enough if I just call and ask if I have flood coverage?
Him: Well, there's no requirement- your file does not indicate that any further action needs to be taken. I don't see where you have to do anything, I'm just telling you what I would do. But you should have your notification as to what assistance you are getting within the next couple of days. An inspector has already come to your house.
Me: Ok, thank you.
Him: Now, would you like that number for the National Flood Insurance Commission?
I wish I were making this up.
Me: I'm calling because the inspector at our house the other couldn't answer this question but told me that you could. I was wondering if it was mandatory that I file a claim with my insurance company...
Operator: (Interrupting) Yes, definitely.
Me: You see, I don't have flood insurance so it isn't going to be covered anyway. I've already provided a copy of my policy where it shows that. And that last time I filed a claim, my insurance company dropped me, and I had to look for three days to find new coverage, and there's only one company who would even write that policy. If I file another claim, I may lose the ability to have insurance altogether. So, given all that, since the claim is going to be denied anyway, I was wondering if I still had to file it.
Him: What you need to do is call the National Flood Insurance Commission, and they can answer your question. But if it were me, I'd definitely go ahead and file that insurance claim. Would you like the number for the Flood Insurance Commission?
Me: I don't think you are understanding my question. I'm not asking about obtaining insurance, I'm asking if I still have to file a claim with my liability carrier to be eligible for FEMA assistance if I don't have flood insurance.
Him: Yes, I understand. You should call your insurance company and they can answer your question, or I can give you the 1-800 number to the National Flood Insurance Commission and they should be able to help you.
Me: Ok, but an outside organization is not going to be able to tell me what FEMA's own requirements are. I'm asking if you are going to deny my FEMA application if I don't file an insurance claim.
Him: Right...(stuttering) Look, an inspector has already come out to your house. (Editor's Note: So what?) We can't make you file an insurance claim but if it were me, that's what I would do, even though I understand why you don't want to.
Me: But is it required in order for me to receive FEMA assistance that my file actually show a denied insurance claim, or is it enough to just show you that my policy doesn't cover flood damage?
Him: Well, we recommend that everyone file an insurance claim. (after a beat) What you should do is just wait a few days and you'll see what assistance you will be receiving.
Me: But my application won't be automatically denied because I haven't filed an insurance claim?
Him: (stammering) Well, umm, hmm, I can't tell you whether that's required or not. What you need to do is talk to your insurance company and see if anything is going to be covered. But an inspector has already come to your house.
Me: Ok, do I actually have to file a claim, or is it enough if I just call and ask if I have flood coverage?
Him: Well, there's no requirement- your file does not indicate that any further action needs to be taken. I don't see where you have to do anything, I'm just telling you what I would do. But you should have your notification as to what assistance you are getting within the next couple of days. An inspector has already come to your house.
Me: Ok, thank you.
Him: Now, would you like that number for the National Flood Insurance Commission?
I wish I were making this up.
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