So I came home with a story today.  Not that something weird doesn't happen most days, but today was up there with the top incidents... an incident that involved calling security.

I was scheduled for a telephone interview first thing this morning.  I finished my telephone interview and was waiting for the application for my second interview.  In the time in which I was waiting, I had three coworkers warn me that my second customer was "a little off" and "might be a problem."  Sometimes people end up reacting better to me than to the people that they see when they're getting assigned to an intake worker, so I wasn't too worried about it.  I went out to call him back to my office and he wasn't out in the lobby.  I went back out to the lobby about three different times over the next 20-25 minutes or so.  I got assigned my third interview while I was waiting for the second, so I went out to go call the third.  Then I was told the second had returned, so I went and got him.  I went out to the lobby for my second customer.  I knew that there was going to be an issue after he had kept me waiting all this time, but he was pulling on his watch, looking at me like I had just blown his whole morning.

We go back to my office and he has a seat.  We do the first two pieces of paperwork and things are going fine.  It wasn't until the third piece of paperwork, which was the voter registration form, that he started to flip out.  As a state agency, we're required to give customers the opportunity to register to vote.  He said he didn't want to vote.  I checked the box on the form that said that he didn't wish to register and asked him to sign it.  He kept repeating that he didn't want to vote.  I told him that I wasn't registering him, I was just required to put documentation in the record to verify that I gave him the opportunity to vote while he was in the agency.  He started doing this thing where he crossed his arms and started giving me the peace sign with both hands while he was repeating "peace" to me.  I asked him one last time to sign the form and he was like, "Peace?"  So, I just put that piece of paper to the side and said I'd come back to it.

The next issue was the one that completely pissed him off.  The address he reported as his mailing address didn't match the mailing address that Social Security used to mail him his check.  So, I had two different addresses for him, then he told me he was homeless and living on the streets.  Based on his appearance and smell, that was probably the truth, but again, policy requires that I put documentation in the record to clarify any discrepancies that arise.  He just started to go off the hook.  He was saying weird stuff like, "Why are you asking me a bunch of questions like I'm a bachelor?" and "I have one tooth."  (For the record, he had a total of about four teeth.)  A coworker of mine stopped in her tracks when she was walking through the hallway and heard him ask me, "What am I- on a witness stand?"  Mind you, this guy was not quiet in his communication; I'd later find out that even other worker's customers commented that someone needed to get that guy out of my office.  So, he keeps saying weird things to me and then he points at my computer monitor. He keeps pointing while he says, "You and that thing need to stop it... just like that television."  Another thing I'd later find out is that while he was in the lobby he was standing on chairs and telling others that the television was telling him to fly.  He eventually went up to the front desk and asked them to call the police because the television was bothering him.  I try one final time to ask him to clarify his living arrangements and he goes over and slams my office door.  Right as he started to go over to the door, I yelled "Please don't close my door."  When the door closed, I jumped back at repeatedly pushed the panic button next to my desk.  I've never used it before.  Apparently it does work.  My across-the-hall neighbor Joanna came over to my office after hearing me ask Mr. Crazy not to close the door.  She opened up the door and asked what was going on.  My down-the-hall neighbor Pat came down to my office and told me security was on the way.  Mr. Crazy started rambling on about how he didn't want to deal with white people.  I was going to try to keep him in one place until security got there, but Joanna went ahead and got him out of my office and into the lobby.

So security comes up to my office and asks me what happened.  I went through the general story and that's when my coworkers started interjecting the stories about how erratic his behavior had been, even before he came back to my office.  I learned about his flying, his request to call the police on the TV, and his history of mental illness.  A few months ago, I totally would have freaked out and started crying and panicking.  I didn't do that this time.  I stood strong and did not let it get me.  Food stamps are such a joke of a program in that we pretty much have to practically give them away to anyone who applies.  By that, I mean, he's a person who would be financially eligible for the benefit, so I'm expected to do whatever it takes to get the benefit to him.  So, I knew that I would have to try to finish the interview or find someone to finish it.  The security guard offered to sit in my office while I tried to finish the interview.  I called Mr. Crazy back behind our front door to the lobby and asked him if the security guard sat in on the interview, would he be willing to complete the interview in a calm, non-aggressive manner.  He then said one of the weirdest things that I have heard since I worked there.  He said he didn't want to be interviewed by someone "he would be affectionate with."  I was like, what the hell does that mean?!  The front desk staff, who are familiar with him, said that he does not respond well to white people and to woman in positions of authority.  There's two strikes against me.  He asked for a male to interview him and that's what he got.  My coworker Steve got him, and from what Steve told me, he was completely normal during the interview.

About ten minutes before I was about to leave for the day, Dave, a services supervisor, came over to my office and said he wanted to talk to me for a moment.  Dave said that apparently Mr. Crazy came back in the afternoon to get assistance with finding housing and he started to give one of the female service workers a hard time.  Dave overheard it and went over to her office and completed the service intake interview.  The outcome was Dave sending him to PRMC because he found out this man's long history of mental illness, for which he was not currently taking medication.  Dave told me that Mr. Crazy had spent over twenty years at Eastern Shore Hospital and was also incarcerated for a long period of time (Mr. Crazy was 55 years old, I believe... but then again, his age wasn't my primary concern).  Dave told me that I did the right thing by removing him from my office and having him reassigned. Dave stressed that the man was very volatile and he was not sure what he would be capable of, especially considering that he was off of his meds.

So I got home this afternoon and I checked out the court records for Mr. Crazy.  Mind you, the court records don't go back more than about 15-20 years, and most of the older records don't include much information.  Here's a short list of some of the charges he's been convicted of: first degree assault, second degree assault, battery, reckless endangerment, false imprisonment, concealing a deadly weapon, burglary, obstructing and hindering, and impersonating a police officer.  Mind you, many of the different charges were in multiples.  I just find it so hard to comprehend how this man has been allowed into the community!  And that we're paying for him to be in the community... unreal!

Just another day at the office...

• I had Clay Aiken's song Invisible in my head all day. 
• Keds always smell like Keds.  Not really related to work, just a thought that I had while at work.
• Today I did a food stamp interview for the tallest woman I've ever seen.  She reeked of incense (or something?).  She kept repeating the same questions over and over and letting out the biggest yawns.  Worst than her smell, ramblings, lack of memory, and distracting behaviors, when I started asking her about her recent release from jail, she handed me papers indicating that she had served time for four prostitution charges. 
• Though my alarm went off when it was supposed to, I did not get up until 7:11 AM.  I have to be at work at 7:30.  Somehow I made it there at 7:34.
• I'm getting addicted to applesauce.  I have all these individual servings of it in my office and it's the best breakfast and snack ever.

Rosie Costello, 46, admitted in U.S. District Court that she collected more than $280,000 in benefits, beginning in the mid-1980s. Most was from Social Security, but the state social services agency paid $53,000.

Costello pleaded guilty to conspiracy to defraud the government and Social Security fraud. Her son, Pete, 26, pleaded guilty earlier this month. Federal prosecutors in Seattle said Monday authorities had not yet located her daughter, Marie.

According to the plea agreement, Costello began coaching her daughter at age 4, and later used the same ruse with her son. He feigned retardation into his mid-20s -- picking at his face, slouching and appearing uncommunicative in meetings with Social Security officials.

Social Security workers became suspicious and uncovered a video of Pete Costello ably contesting a traffic ticket in a Vancouver courtroom.

Pete Costello is scheduled to be sentenced May 11 and faces from six months to a year in prison, as well as $59,000 in restitution.

Rosie Costello is scheduled for sentencing May 17. Her standard sentencing range was not immediately available, but in the plea agreement she agreed to repay the government.

While I have a few weeks left of my four-day compressed work schedule, I wanted to celebrate my Thursday evenings for all the good things that they bring my way.  I wake up a little easier on Thursday mornings because it's the fourth day in a row I've been up by 7 AM.  The intake load is usually lightest on Thursday, so I don't feel as rushed to get to people and people don't seem as cranky because they haven't waited forever to have an interview completed.  Generally I go out to lunch on Thursday because that's my last work day of the week and my coworkers want to do lunch with me.  The afternoons go by quickly because I concentrate on how every minute that passes is a minute closer to my departure from work and closer to starting my long weekend.  Every other day I get home from work, I'm drained; not so on Thursdays.  I get a second wind because I am so excited to have my work week finished.  Often I will come home and have my dinner or I'll go out to dinner, then El and I will pick up some scratch-off lottery tickets and press our luck.  It's a crazy little addiction that we have. Thursday night is also the best night for tv: between My Name is Earl, The Office, and Scrubs during prime time and getting to see David Letterman during late night, almost all of my favorite shows can be viewed within a matter of a few hours.  Best of all, I get to sleep in on Friday mornings. 

My work schedule changes effective Wednesday March 28.  At that time, I'll probably be going back to Monday-Friday 7:30-4, just as I was before going to compressed.  It wasn't my choice to make the change (we all had to), but I think that even though I love my Thursdays as is, it may behoove me to work five days.  I think that my work week won't be so exhausting, so hopefully I'll be more motivated to exercise after work, make my meals at home, and get into a better sleep pattern.

Thursdays, I'll miss our once-a-week date.  Just remember, it's not you... it's me.

The following was announced throughout the agency today:

"If anyone left a pair of eyeglasses in the refrigerator or if you left a salad with a hairbrush on top in the refrigerator, please claim your items now.  Thank you."

Oh, the excitement that permeates through the Gibson household every day. This morning was no exception. I was running late this morning, so when I woke up I put food in Grady's bowl, put water in the other bowl, then opened the back door so he could do his business outside when he was finished. I needed to get in the shower and get ready for work quickly, so I knew I wouldn't have much time to tend to him. I have to be at work at 7:30 and at about 7:20 I was about to run out the door. I head down the hallway and come out right by the front door and I stop in my tracks. Grady is laying in the middle of the living room with a bunny (the size of him!) laying next to him, limp and lifeless. I screamed and turned back around and went to my sister's room. I was freaking out a little. I asked Steve if he had a moral opposition to picking the bunny up (since he's a hardcore vegetarian). He was a good sport - he picked it up and bagged it and checked the floor to see if any fluids had left the bunny. For my part, I took the bagged bunny out to the trash can. In retrospect, I actually kinda think my part of the deal was more difficult for two reasons: (1) What would I do if the bunny started moving and jumping in the bag? What if he jumped up and bit me? What if he had rabies (Grady has had his shot, so he's okay)? and (2) What are the legalities associated with throwing away a once-living creature? Am I supposed to bury it? Will the trash company fine us? So, I was dealing with these dilemmas while I should have been sitting at my desk, catching up on the latest crap in The Daily Times.

So this excuse for being late has only been defeated in ridiculousness by my excuse for taking a day off being that my dog had gas!

Yeah, so for the first time in over seven years, I participated in a fire drill. If the building was really on fire or if there was a bomb, I would certainly be dead. The people I work with have every ailment and medical issue known to modern science. I was stuck behind the bum knee group. If this had been a real emergency, I don't know that I could have been so patient.

I sent a text to Tara about the fire drill and she sent me the following reply:
"Sounds like you should take the day off for an anxiety attack. Could have been a bomb and you could have died. You should just quit because every time you go to work now you willbe reminded of this event." That Tara and her big ideas :)

In other text message-related news, Erin sent me a text today about how much she's enjoying the new Snow Patrol CD "Eyes Open." If you haven't checked it out, you must. The song called "You Could Be Happy" makes me tear up a bit.

Tonight, another tear might fall... it's American Idol elmination night. Katharine did not do so well last night and I seriously think Simon is being a big jerk so that it is definite that a white man will win. That's basically the only demographic (besides a non-African-American minority) that has not won AI. I don't want her to leave yet! Get rid of that freaking annoying Taylor! Uggh!