Sound and Fury

There’s more about this at the end of this post.

I waited a day to write this because I knew I was too pissed off. What happened should have been expected: the fed govt denied me SSI (the I stands for disability?) but it means that the promises that were made during my original intake were bull and they knew from my social security alone that they were bull.

But there they sat, nursing, social worker, financial, shrink, and a few others saying that I should be eligible for SSI which would make up the gap between my Social Security ($1250) and their cost (including tv) $3003 plus put $250 spending money in a separate account.

Well, after nearly three months, it turns out that I had to return to Finance to find out why nothing was being processed. Was given more b.s. about who in SS was assigned the case: apparently no-one.

Why hadn’t Finance at least followed up since they could see the rent checks were still coming from my old bank account?

Because it could take 1 – 3 months to be processed.

But we were in the middle of the third month at that point.

Well, these things take time.

Finance made a call to SS while I was there. Nothing had been started on my case, but now it would be.

Two weeks later, I get a flood of mail denying SSI.

The reasoning, as best as I could see it: a) I wasn’t blind (which explained why there were so many blind people here and b) my Social Security was more than the $770 they allowed for SSI.

So Finance knew at that meeting that they were handing me a load of sales bunk. That was what pissed me off. I can’t stand that sort of car salesman bunk.

Btw, “bunk” is an olde word for bullshit. And it is used in a Preston Sturges movie, I think Christmas in July? I’m not sure. But a guy enters a slogan contest for a coffee product and wins with the slogan: “If you can’t fall asleep, it’s not the coffee, it’s the bunk.”

Okay, I may have messed that up.

So now finance asked me for more olde bank statements that they already have, and I just was told that as soon as whatshername finishes breakfast, she’ll look at the papers.

And she was a real bitch with me, but very cordial to my sister who has a Dr. in front of her name.


Two floors below me is a blind probably demented man with a lot of money. I hear him day in and day out, as well as all night because his voice travels up two floors to my kitchen ventilator.

I wasn’t going to post audio from this place but I decided to take the gloves off. Probably because of the previous story. So yesterday, I went to his floor, with my cell phone recorder on, just audio, and stood outside his door for a few minutes as he did his “help me” thing.

He doesn’t, as far as I can tell actually want help. Tho he could use it. But it seems to me more like a nervous twitch. And it can literally go on for 20 hours at a time.

It’s no secret. Everybody in the building including every case worker and blue coat, every corporate guy and corporate gal, from the highest person in the building to the woman who cleans his room, knows about it.

The only thing they’re surprised about is that I can hear it two floors above him. It begins softly, as I’m walking down a long hallway.

Help Me

Published by Dave

My name is David Beckerman. I am a fine art photographer working in New York City. Or I was before I had two strokes. I now write from a Nursing Home.

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