WINZ
I arrive at the work and income office
With five minutes to spare
A cluster of youths
Lean on the wall outside
Puffing cigarettes
Music pulsating from their phones.
I brace myself
And walk past them
Up to the glass double doors.
Two security guards
Meet me at the doorway
Asking for ID.
Feeling like a criminal
I hand over my newly issued
Community services card.
'Do you have an appointment?'
One of them asks
'Yes' my voice comes out squeaky
I clear my throat
'Yes'.
Satisfied,
He gestures for me to enter.
The office is dark and has a musty smell
I stand behind a man with long dreadlocks
At the reception desk
And cast a quick glance around me.
A man sits with his head in his hands
In the waiting area,
A few seats along is a youngish woman
With long straggly blonde hair
A baby in a pram
And a toddler squirming on her knee.
What am I doing here?
I wonder to myself.
Is this really my reality, my life?
“Ahem”
The receptionist is appraising me
Over the rims of her owl-y glasses
I shuffle forwards
Embarrassed of my old trackpants
(the only pair of pants I own
that don’t fall off me)
and my shaggy hair
(I hacked at it last week
in an effort to avoid
taking the scissors
to the smooth skin
of my thighs).
I give her my name
And obediently go to sit down.
Even though I choose
The chair on the far end of the row
I can’t help but smell the man
Several chairs down;
He smells of tobacco
And stale fish and chips.
Meanwhile the toddler has freed herself
From her mother’s lap
And trots towards me,
Reaching out her sticky hands.
I look the other way.
“Katherine?”
A stern looking woman
With grey hair and a pinstripe suit
Calls my name.
I gather my bag
And follow her to her desk,
Sitting in the chair opposite her.
“Completed paperwork” she barks.
Feeling like a schoolkid
I reach into my bag
and hand over the myriad of forms
I’d been sent in the mail.
She flicks through them efficiently
Taps a few things on the computer
Then finally looks at me properly.
Scrutinises
Would be a more appropriate word.
I want to disappear.
Narrowing her eyes
She shuffles the stack of papers
And points to different areas on the form
Asking me a bundle of questions
That I’ve already clearly answered;
“Why aren’t you able to work?”
(I’m sure I detect judgement in her tone)
“Who told you you couldn’t work?”
“What have you done to prepare yourself for work?”
(Definitely disdain there)
“I need to see evidence of your current bank balance”,
“Have you received money from any other sources
in the last twelve months?”
I feel like I’m in a court of law.
Eventually the questioning stops.
She taps at her keyboard again
Her lips in a tight line.
After a while,
Without looking up,
She tells me in a clipped tone
“According to the information you
have provided
You will be transferred onto a Supported Living Benefit”.
I open my mouth to ask what that means
But she’s waving a hand at me
(the way one would swat away a fly)
Dismissing me
Her eyes still glued to her screen.
Closing my mouth
I pick up my bag and thank her
(I get an almost imperceptible nod in response).
As I step back out into the sunlight
I blink back the tears
Welling up in my eyes,
Swallow hard,
And walk away as fast as I can
Eyes fixed on the pavement
Feeling as small as an ant.
