Oh, SNAP! Signing up for Food Assistance Benefits
I applied for SNAP food assistance benefits this week. For those of you who don’t know the joys of being disabled and impoverished just on their own, let me tell you how thrilled I am to have had the opportunity to jump through these hoops while working my way up to the second-worst migraine I’ve ever had in my entire life the past ten days.
Actually, let’s skip the part about my migraine. Unless you have them, you won’t understand, and I’ll give myself another trying to explain it.
In order to qualify for nutritional assistance benefits, you have to verify that you have no money. (Which seems weird, doesn’t it? Prove a negative! Demonstrate you’re begging for food assistance because you need to eat and NOT because you enjoy defrauding government agencies! Peasant!)
Oh! I should clarify, the individuals working at the Illinois Department of Human Services who helped me this week. They were lovely people, working to make sure humans get things they need to live. (Well, except for the security guard, but I think every government facility needs an antagonist, don’t you?) The people who treat you like trash are typically “pro-lifers”, libertarians, friends, and family.
Anyway, our case involved submitting 24 pages of supporting documents in addition to the benefit application itself. There were four ways I could submit those documents according to the letter: drop them off at the IDHS office, fax them, mail them, or upload them to the abe.illinois.gov case management thing-a-ma-jig.
Uploading them seemed like the best option, except it wasn’t actually possible. So then I was like, “Well, I’ve got one stamp left.” But have you ever tried to tri-fold 24 pieces of printer paper and stuff them in a business reply envelope? Then I figured, “Well, I don’t have a landline, but I could do one of those free fax services online. But turns out it costs money to send faxes exceeding three pages with those things.
“Dan! You’re taking me to IDHS today!” He was gearing up for a trip to the pharmacy. “Don’t leave without me!”
Can I just say that parking at IDHS in Champaign County is absurdly inadequate? Even with my accessible parking placard, there wasn’t anywhere to put the car. “Can I drop you off?” Dan hesitated. You could tell he didn’t really like the idea.
“Yeah, do it,” I said. “I’m not coming back here later.” I didn’t bring my mobility aid because in that particular building it’s easier to grab Dan’s arm. But without Dan’s arm? We were taking a bit of a risk.
I didn’t fall though, I just felt like I was going to fall for a solid 15 minutes. (You can’t just leave sensitive documents in a box somewhere, you have to stand in line and physically hand them to the guy sitting behind the Plexiglas.)
Anyway, here’s hoping we get approved soon. Dan and I can really eat well on this SNAP stuff. If it’s anything like 2017’s season of medical bankruptcy, we could get $15* a month. TO SPLIT BETWEEN TWO PEOPLE.
It’s a really good thing Dan and I have this social safety net here, since I didn’t bother to buy a long-term disability insurance policy in case something like a brain tumor ever happened to me one day
…oh, wait!
*Don’t buy toilet paper with SNAP benefits. I’ve never seen it happen, but legend has it conservatives and libertarians will sacrifice a kitten if you try.
