The waiting room is full.
I’ve been here over an hour and time is moving slowly.
Staff seem to take forever, they come and go on tea breaks.
I listen to some of them speak abruptly, rudely, to customers.
Watched a few, the minority, work quietly and respectfully.
An elderly couple, confused about their superannuation
and how it has affected their pension.
A young mother, new baby in arms
trying to navigate maternity leave, parenting payment, childcare rebate.
Unemployed youth
wondering how they will pay rent and still affort to eat
balancing whether paying bills for phone or internet is more important than food. It’s hard to look for jobs without either.
Conversation hums around me.
Impossible not to overhear in a general waiting area.
The discussion is about ‘the scum of the earth’ who have appeared outside.
Parking inspectors.
How appropriate, I think.
Local government will make money by issuing parking tickets to all the people who are sitting in the waiting room queue, trying to sort our their payments from a Commonwealth funded service.
Whoever thought of putting fifteen minute, one and two hour parking spots directly outside a Centrelink office? How is this a good idea?
Revenue raising at it’s finest.
People become agitated,
wondering whether there will be a ticket on their car,
but not willing to miss hearing their name being called and their turn to be served in the few minutes it would take to move to another parking spot.
Suddenly, I hear the sobbing start.
Somewhere behind me.
I don’t want to stare,
but it is getting louder…building to a crescendo.
My heart stands still
compassion kicks in
motherly instinct follows.
So does my sense of responsiblity as a community member.
I surreptitiously look for the source.
Way behind me.
Over there, in the corner.
Uncontrollable sobbing.
Huge distress.
I wonder if it is appropriate to walk over and see if she is ok.
Clearly she isn’t, but what is the right thing to do?
The staff behind the counters seem obliious.
The other people in the waiting room continue to moan about the parking.
Her phone rings.
The sobbing increases.
Cries of distress ring out.
“I just need some f***ing help”, she says.
Still no-one moves.
Just as I pick up my bag and prepare to walk over to her
she jumps up, screaming.
Leaves her bag on the chair
and runs out the front door.
I can hear her distress.
Everyone can see her running around in circles, wailing.
Finally the staff make a move.
One picks up the telephone.
Another collects the bag to put behind the counter for safety.
Good start, I think. Better late than never.
Is anyone going to see if they can help her?
No-one does.
Lights and sirens approach.
The parking inspector is forgotten –
except by the man who says “the ambulance is parked in a 15 minute zone – wonder if he’ll get booked?”.
I hear my name being called.
My instinct tells me to go and try to help this young woman,
my head tells me to mind my own business
and take my turn for service.
I momentarily forget the young girl while I spend 30 excruciating minutes trying to sort out the issue I came for.
Not resolved.
I try very hard to keep calm, speak reasonably, be polite.
It is so difficult.
Finally I can escape
I walk out the door
into the gathered crowd.
She has backed herself into a corner
surrounded by well meaning ambulance officers.
Two ambulances.
Still sobbing.
I can see the emotional distress etched on her face,
I hear her cries for help.
I decide to leave it to the professionals.
I walk away, wondering whether that was the right thing to do?
I feel helpless.
Anger starts to raise it’s ugly head.
This.
This is what relying on social services and interacting with their staff does to people.
Exacerbates mental health conditions.
Drives people to despair.
Leaves others feeling alone, unworthy, vulnerable.
The system is flawed.
The staff are robots,
only able to work within defined parameters and rules.
Black…white.
There is no grey.
No compassion.
No empathy.
No generosity.
No heart.
Only the literate can navigate the system without losing their mind.
Even then, it takes it’s toll.
My loved one is lucky.
I can advocate, help financially, support emotionally, manage the system.
But so many have no-one to turn to.
Nowhere to go.
No ready source of finanical aid.
The system fails them.
Time and again.