Nearly three years ago, I was fired from my job; a casualty of the post-9/11 economic downturn. After 18 months of looking for work without success, I sat down to write a book, entitled, "Blown Job: an unemployment odyssey." Here's an excerpt from Chapter Eight. (See "Past Posts of Note" for earlier chapters )
Chapter 8 - Check, Please
Have you ever wondered why insurance monoliths don’t offer employment insurance, in the same way that they push life insurance and health insurance and auto insurance and theft insurance? Pay a monthly premium and you’re guaranteed a job for life. They’ve already got us paying for the inevitability of death, illness, car crashes and home invasions. Why not protect us from the evil of unemployment? That’s one premium I wouldn’t have minded paying.
What we have in its stead is unemployment insurance. Though it comes with strings attached, the weekly financial benefit provided through employer tax dollars eases the transition between a earning a steady paycheck and “borrowing” from your kid’s college fund.
In order to collect, you have to prove that you’re worthy. You need to be ready, willing and able to work, every week that you collect. You had to have worked a certain number of quarters, prior to your firing. You can’t have been fired for cause. You need to appear at the unemployment office periodically. You have to check in weekly to maintain eligibility. You have to be looking for work. And you have to pay taxes on the unemployment insurance that you receive.
There isn’t one person I know who’s collected unemployment insurance who isn’t absolutely incredulous at this last little item. There seems to be something unethical, or at least immoral, about taxing unemployment insurance. Okay, I agree it’s income, but it’s only income because you’re not getting real income anymore. Am I right about this? Please, back me up here. To me, it’s the legislative equivalent of tithing (literally, because they soak you for 10 percent.)
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I actually dressed in a business suit when I made my first visit to the unemployment office. I thought if I made a good impression that someone there might help me find a job. Don’t laugh. I now know how ridiculous that was, but that was back in the day when I believed in the power of networking. Most of my cohorts were in sweatsuits, and many had brought their toddlers along. They obviously didn’t overthink the situation like I did.
I filled out the requisite paperwork and swore an oath to look for work every week. I was instructed to telephone weekly to report my continued unemployment status.
I quickly fell in love with the automated telephone lady, whose voice became more familiar to me than my mother’s. In short order, I began to anticipate her questions and had my finger poised over the proper key before she finished her sentences (“Press 1 for yes, 2 for no.”) Each Thursday, she rewarded my labors, such as they were, with a brown envelope in my mailbox, which I took to the bank posthaste.
Twenty-six week passed thus, and then my president gifted me with 13 weeks of extended benefits, which almost made me sorry that I hadn’t voted for him.
At the end of 39 weeks, I was sad beyond belief. I had begun to rely on those little envelopes in much the same way as I assume an addict looks forward to his next fix. Gone was the faux compensation for labors rendered. At that moment, I really felt unemployed.
I still have the urge to call to call my automated telephone lady, though I know that she won’t speak to me anymore. Only an executive order can rekindle the relationship. But, with $87 billion likely headed overseas as I write these words, that doesn’t seem likely.
It was a nice ride while it lasted, but I would rather have been working. I’d rather be working right now.
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