It has been almost a month since I posted anything. All two of my readers (including myself)--I'm sure--were waiting with bated breath for my next spewing o' happiness and excitement here! I would like to say I was industrious and efficiently constructive, getting a lot of goals accomplished in that time, but--being honest--most of the time, during this last month, was spent playing waiting games...waiting for things to happen. Pathetic, I know.
The unrelenting stress of our ongoing precarious financial and employment situations weighed so heavily on my husband and I that we could practically cut the tension in the air with a knife. In any case, the atmosphere was not conducive for writing. I mean, my posts are already depressing enough when things are actually going our way! I have to laugh because I'm not sure if not writing is a bad or a good thing, considering the majority of the content! Thus far, this blog has been used as a venue to vent off our tales of woe, with a generous helping of complaints about basically everything!
Anyway, when I say we spent the last few weeks waiting, I mean that we were waiting to file and receive our tax return. We waited anxiously every day for the mail, swirling like starved vultures around the postman when he showed up. This year we had a handful of tax-related documents that couldn't be plucked off the Internet (i.e., certain W-2s and 1099's). We were relieved when, after weeks of painstakingly collecting the documents and forms we needed, we had everything ready to prepare our taxes.
But at 7:10 a.m., Saturday, January 30th, we received a
no-nonsense-sounding knock at our front door. Who would show up this early on a Saturday? It couldn't be good news. A tall, bald, and
beefy-looking constable stood in the doorway, specifically asking for me
by name. A scary-looking eviction notice, listing a court date of
Tuesday, February 9th was handed to me--and I was required to sign
paperwork confirming that I received it. That it was delivered by an
imposing-looking armed and uniformed law enforcement officer made the
whole eviction notice serving process even more intimidating.
What
kind of wife and mother was I? There were our kids--in the
doorway--jockeying to see who had knocked and was
visiting. Totally excited, the kids poked their heads out, offering
friendly greetings, invitations to come inside, and enthusiastic
waving. Totally innocent and sweet. And me. What parent would allow
themselves to sink this low--to the point of police showing up on a
Saturday morning to inform us we were on the cusp of losing the only
thing we had: our place of residence? With no job and no car, we had
nothing else. All we had was our little, inadequate
apartment...and here I was...in the process of losing even that. I was
responsible for pulling this last rug...the last piece of security we
had, from beneath my innocent and trusting husband and children. I was a
horrible person.
I really did feel like the absolute worst person
in the world. There was a moment, as I walked in what felt like
slow-motion towards our front door, that I wished I could disappear, as
in "I-wish-I-was-dead." The horror gripping me...starting in my gut,
and working its way up my chest, over my racing heart, and hotly
creeping up my neck and throat...made me feel faint. My face must have been a deep shade of
red from the combination of terror and shame. How could I have let this
happen?
After signing the eviction receipt documents, the officer tried to reduce the tension by offering some friendly reassurance, basically
telling us not to worry. The court understood hardship, he offered. "Nice folks like us" were usually given leniency and time to
pay--in the event we made it to court, that is. The
constable went on: he knew the staff at our leasing office, and he
stressed that they almost always worked things out with tenants who were
struggling. We were not alone, he empathized. He had once been served
an eviction notice himself, too. "Happens to the best of us." Plus, he went on, we were fortunate that
we had "quite a bit of time," (10 whole days) before we had to appear
in court. Surely we would come up with the rent money, or some other magical
solution, by then!
Murphy's Law is practically synonymous with my existence. I just about destroyed our lives when filing our taxes this year. A day after hastily filing online with Turbo Tax, I realized with horror that I had mistakenly entered an incorrect account number for our return to be deposited into. The account number I submitted was for an old checking account I had closed months ago. I'd made this same error once before, ten years ago, in 2006 and, while our financial situation then was challenging (the delay in receiving our return at that time was a veritable disaster), it was nowhere near the white-knuckle crisis we were facing now.
I knew we were in big trouble. In an effort to mitigate my idiotic error, I blew up the phone lines of Turbo Tax, my bank, and the IRS. As I feared, Turbo Tax and the IRS had no way of correcting the account number error, so I spent several panicked and frantic days calling and e-mailing my bank to beg them to PLEASE not reject the deposit when it hit the wrong account, and to PLEASE find a way to bump the deposit over into my new account.
The bank's standard protocol is to reject and return all deposits that are sent to inactive or closed accounts. If the bank followed their policy, our tax refund would be zapped back to the IRS, which could take up to two weeks. Then it would take another six to eight weeks (an eternity) for the IRS to physically mail our tax return in the form of a paper check! THAT would have been a total and complete disaster of epic proportions. We could NOT afford to wait for our tax return under any circumstances. After two days of phone calls to the bank and gut-wrenching suspense, we were finally told not to worry--that any deposits hitting the old account would automatically be transferred to the correct, new one.
Somewhat reassured, we checked the IRS's "Where's My Refund?" website religiously to find out when we could expect our return deposited. Once the IRS had accepted our return, and approved the refund amount, we ultimately got the holy grail of answers: the IRS had scheduled our $7,200 refund to be deposited on February 3rd, hallelujah!
But, February 3rd came and went.
The money did not show up in the account.
Panic doesn't begin to describe the stark fear that struck me as February 3rd wore on and our checking account remained barren.
It took king-sized self-control to stop myself from obsessively logging in to my checking account every 15 minutes. I tried to limit myself to logging in once an hour. I was ashamed of my desperation and anxiety. I was angry at myself for the account number error. The IRS website showed that the deposit had been sent that day, but where was it? Had my bank mistakenly returned it, even though they had assured me that it would be transfered from my old account to the new one? I--of course--called my bank, and they couldn't tell me anything except that they would inform me the moment the deposit hit the account. I paced, fretted, wrung my hands, bit my nails and generally lost my mind.
I told my husband that I felt like Clark Griswold in National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation movie--expecting a monetary Christmas bonus to no avail... My husband was amazingly calm about the whole situation, and I was envious I couldn't be as confident and cool as he was. Considering the dumb account number error I made, he would have had every right to be disappointed and annoyed with me...but the man was nothing but gracious and loving. He is the noblest person I know--and I know I don't deserve him. Had the situation been reversed, and he had made the error...well...I am ashamed to say I would probably have been snippy about it. Horrible person...me. I tried everything to distract myself...nothing worked. It was unmitigated torture...waiting and waiting.
Nothing, whatsoever, happened on February 3rd. I fervently prayed that relief would come the following day. After a near-sleepless and uncomfortable night of nervously tossing, turning, and repeatedly going outside to smoke, I was a wreck. I should have waited until the sun was up, but I couldn't help myself. I logged in to check our account a little after 3:30 a.m. on Thursday, February 4th. What was in there? STILL NOTHING. The balance displayed hadn't changed. It was maddeningly the same as it had been for the prior three weeks: $1.50. Fresh hell. Like some crazed, crack-addicted laboratory chicken, I pecked convulsively at the buttons on my laptop, as if trying to earn my next "hit." I logged in and out, over and over, throughout the early morning hours, until it was time to get the kids up for school. Nothing. Nothing. And more nothing.
I called the poor, beleaguered customer service people at my bank at 7:00 a.m. By now, I was convinced they were getting completely sick of my sad, desperate phone calls. And, again, they could tell me nothing, except that, "Seriously, ma'am, we will let you know immediately, the moment the deposit hits the account." Hanging up, I wanted to burst into tears. I was beyond emotionally and physically exhausted. After seeing the kids off to school, I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and felt disgusted at my inability to calm down and be patient. There were big, dark circles under my glassy-looking eyes--and my eyelids were heavy. I looked haggard. After a shower, and a few useless sips of coffee, I got to the point where--unable to shut out the catastrophic thoughts invading my head--all I could do was crawl into bed.
Half-catatonic, I tried to think of strategies to avoid certain eviction from our apartment. If we were forced to wait for a paper check in the mail, it would be way too late to rescue ourselves from being thrown out on the street. And I was also sure we wouldn't be able to fund-raise in time (via friend-, neighbor- and family-begging) enough money to get us completely caught up on what we owed our rental office. The very thought of undertaking such a Herculean and humiliating effort made me even more sick and miserable. I laid curled up in bed, trying to appreciate the soft pillow beneath my head, the thick comforter enveloping me, and the heating pad warming me up. Amazingly, somehow, I managed to quickly fall asleep.
Despite his kind optimism, I was not comforted, by Officer Friendly Constable Guy. The majority of his words just fell flat to me. The weekend could not have felt any longer. After two agonizing days of uncertainty, I contacted the leasing office the minute they opened on Monday morning, and asked them if they would work with us (and drop the court date) if we got completely caught up on back and current rent and late fees by February 3rd, which was when the IRS was scheduled to deposit our return. We were relieved when they accepted our request. Now all we had to do was wait for the deposit to hit.
When I woke up around 11:30 a.m. on February 4th, I was disoriented and groggy. I grabbed the laptop and logged in one more time. The deposit had hit our account at 11:15 a.m. Silent tears of sweet relief fell from my cheeks. I dressed and raced out the door to take care of our obligations. Our punishing grand total at the leasing office was not cheap, though. Back rent, late fees, utilities and covering the month of February, in full, cost us $2,575. Painfully expensive, but a relief, nonetheless.
Fortunately, we had enough money to also buy a used family van, in good condition. The 2003 Honda Odyssey we found on Craigslist seats seven comfortably. With only one previous (ultra-Christian, judging by the number of pro-life and "keep Christ in Christmas" bumper stickers plastered to the rear bumper) owner, it was well-maintained. So we are caught up on rent, and we have wheels. Two out of three essential goals have been met. Now I am working on finding a job as soon as possible in order to maintain the basics before exhausting the meager remains of our survival cash.
Funnily enough, I had the idea to ask our leasing office if they needed any help. Maybe I could land a full-time job with the property firm. Maybe I could get a break, discount-wise, on the rent every month. I would be able to walk to work (sparing us quite a bit of money in transportation costs, gas-wise, wear-and-tear-wise, and stress-wise), run to the apartment during working hours, have lunch at home, etc. It's a long-shot in my mind, especially since I had just been served an eviction notice--and had only just gotten caught up. I hoped that I wouldn't be laughed out of the leasing office, but I really had little to nothing to lose by asking.
I swallowed my pride, mustered all the chutzpah I could, took a deep breath, and walked my résumé in to the property manager's office. She seemed impressed--and somewhat relieved--expressing to me that, yes, absolutely, they were in dire need of full-time help. The position they had available, working the front office, doing administrative and receptionist work, paid $12.50 an hour, and needed to be filled as soon as possible. Well, howdy-do! The pay rate was low, but--hell!--I would have no transportation costs to worry about, nor would I have to budget for lunches away from home, etc.
The manager hand-delivered my resume to her director with the promise that I would hear back about the possibility of an interview this week. I hope I didn't come across as over-eager or desperate, but I called to follow up this morning and was told "their system was down," (their computer system, I'm pretty sure) so they had not had time to schedule an interview. They were in "crisis," "putting-out-fires" mode. The manager let out an exasperated chuckle and exclaimed, "You see, we really DO need help!" I know I'm probably over-analyzing things, but I hope this morning's response to my call wasn't a carefully-crafted, but diplomatic and gentle, brush-off. I mean, I know their computer system frequently crashes. There have been times, in the two years we have lived here, that the leasing office's system was down, actually rendering it impossible for them to process or accept rent payments...so, yeah...I'm probably over-thinking it.
We still need to get liability insurance coverage for the van, and an inspection, so we're driving it as little as possible, and still walking most of the time for small, convenience-store-type errands. In years past, our tax returns were generally $2,000 - $3,500 more than what we received this year. With the higher returns, we had more wiggle room, allowing us to pay six months to a year's worth of auto liability insurance, with a one-time lump sum in advance. Overall, purchasing, and paying for, a policy all at once saves hundreds of dollars. This year, because I worked fewer months than I had for the last nine years, our return reflected a lower amount. Don't get me wrong. We are grateful for every last penny of it! It's just that we really don't have as much freedom this time around. We have to judiciously watch and plan each investment in whatever it is (in this case, a car, and car insurance) we were deprived of throughout the majority of the year. We also need to get caught up on our electric bill, our phone and Internet service, our washer and dryer lease, etc.
Another priority we took care of right away was getting urgently-needed school uniform replacements for our Kindergartener and second-grader. We also purchased badly-needed shoes, socks, and underwear for the three little ones. All four kids got hair cuts right away, too. So sad that these things are more or less luxuries we otherwise can't afford throughout the year. We always count the months, weeks, days and hours approaching tax return time...our annual relief from utter destitution and scrambling to make ends meet.
Our standards, I think, are pretty high. Some may think that we could have gone another good six months without replacing the kids' clothes, etc. It's not as if their shoes and clothes were rags--it's just that we were beginning to notice that pants were getting a little too tight and/or short on the kids...hell, they're growing fast! So, we were ready to take care of getting them properly fitting outfits...at least for school, that is. We still need to get them some additional things, like new pajamas, and belts for new pants they haven't quite grown into. We also want to get our five year-old a new twin size mattress for his bottom bunk. Until recently, he'd been having night time accidents on and off. We diligently washed and scrubbed all bedding, linens and the mattress with each accident...but, after a while, even Febreeze and disinfectants only mask the lingering, faint odor. Some of these needs will have to wait until I'm gainfully re-employed.
Now that we have an adequate mode of transportation (and thank God, too, for reasonably low gas prices), I am in business as far as getting to any interview appointments, and can easily commute to any place of employment. My hope is, however, that this leasing office administrative job pans out. It would just be ideal. The lack of good pay is easily made up for with the advantages of not having to drive anywhere for work, any employee rental discount, and being available to handle home-related emergencies on the spot.
At the $12.50 an hour rate, we will all probably continue to qualify for Medicaid and/or CHIP, WIC benefits, and food stamps (which--let me tell you--saves our lives financially, like you wouldn't believe)! We don't enjoy needing the benefit assistance, but unless I land a job that literally pays $55,000 - $60,000 a year, it would be nearly impossible to break free of needing assistance with a family our size. We look forward to the day that we can be completely independent of the help we're getting. I hate thinking we'll never get there.
This concludes this unnecessarily long-winded blog. We're just glad we were able go catch a brief economic breath. I hope that when I blog next, it will be to happily announce I found a job. Wish me luck, please!
Have a great week, and thank you for reading my convoluted blog!
