“...I’ve called hundreds of times this week. I
haven’t spoken to a human yet.”
GUEST BLOG / By Natasha
Frid, via New York Magazine’s “Cut” column--Every morning since March 20, when I
lost my job as an assistant at a university, I’ve spent hours at home, bobbing
my head up and down to the soundtrack of Lil Uzi Vert’s latest album and the
shrill repetition of a busy dial tone provided by the NYS Unemployment
Insurance Telephone Claims Center. Like many other New Yorkers, I’ve been
ordered to stay at home and forced to scramble for new sources of income.
With
no shortage of time on my hands, I’ve devoted myself to a new hustle: getting
through to an actual human at the NYS Unemployment Insurance Telephone Claims
Center. But, unlike some of my previous employers, the Claims Center does not
seem to care if I make an appearance.
My
bid to secure unemployment has thrown me into a desperate new work schedule:
I
wake up around 7:30 a.m. I find this quite impressive, seeing as I never woke
up this early back when I had a job. The phone lines open at eight. So I spend
half an hour preparing for my day. I do some stretches, make some coffee, and
swallow an obscenely large Vitamin C tablet. Some days it gets caught in my
throat; some days it makes it down.
I
put on mascara and fluff some dry shampoo into my hair. I figure why not look
pretty while my life falls apart?
Soon,
the clock strikes eight. Trading hour for the unemployed begins.
Fortunately,
I don’t need to dial the number. It’s already in my phone’s call history from
when I called 276 times yesterday, and 372 the day before, and 402 the day
before that.
I
make my first call.
I
don’t get through. I call every minute until around 9:30. Nothing. Just the
stubborn screech of the busy dial tone.
I
join a Facebook group called “HELP US — NYS UNEMPLOYMENT ISSUES” to feel less
alone. Instead, I feel more alone and dejected. It turns out that I am calling
at a fraction of the rate as the others, that I am the slacker of the bunch.
Someone
in the group says they’ve configured computer software to automatically redial
the number and input the extensions. Another says they’re calling on three
phones. One woman said she went out to buy a non-portable phone, ostensibly
because it’s more comfortable to hold for eight hours a day. Someone suggests
that we download an app called Auto Redial, and program our phones to dial
themselves. I cannot find it in the app store.
It’s
just me, my medieval iPhone 6, and my inability to devise a sophisticated
calling apparatus. I return to making manual calls, feeling further demoralized
and pathetic.
Someone
is scolding others in the Facebook group for having a negative attitude. It’s
not even noon, and I am at 303 calls, and have not yet reached even the
semblance of a human.
At
around 12:38 p.m., I finally hear a voice.
We’re
sorry, the recording says. We are experiencing an extremely high volume of
calls at this time. The call drops.
I
look up Gov. Cuomo’s office number. I dial it and get connected to an automated
system. The machine asks me if I am calling regarding the novel coronavirus. I
am confused by their pronunciation of “novel coronavirus.” Is that how you
pronounce novel? (Like “Nobel”?)
I
am reminded of the photos where it looks like he has a nipple ring.
The
call drops.
I
ditch the phone and grab my computer to file a new claim, hoping to have better
luck online.
The
state’s labor department site is down; I refresh several times. It goes back
up, but the only forms available for filing are an “Asbestos Certificate
Application” and a “Child Performer 15-Day Permit Application.” The
unemployment form appears to have vanished.
I
wonder if I should file them both out of spite.
I
call 50 more times and — at last — am connected to the elusive automated
system, which only emerges once every 200 or so calls.
They
list their language options. I click “4” for Russian, hoping that I am the
genius who has discovered a loophole in the system to get me through. But it
appears they have won this round, too.
It
directs me to a machine. A voice tells me in English, “Our system is
experiencing technical difficulties.” The call drops.
Someone
in the group believes we have entered purgatory.
Determined,
I call again. Forty more times. Sixty more times. I get the dial tone each
time. I call again, and again.
Finally,
I get to face the machine once more.
Welcome
to the New York State Department of Labor Unemployment Insurance Telephone
Claims Center, the recording announces. His tone is sprightly, but reeking of
false promise.
I
listen to the unbearably long prompt that I’m not allowed to skip, and mock the
unsympathetic voice while I wait. Eventually, I make it to the Main Menu. I
press “5” to speak to a representative and enter my Social Security Number into
the phone at record speed. Boom. They tell me they are transferring me to a
claims specialist.
I
take a deep breath. Will it be heaven or hell this time?
I’ve
reached this point around 80 times over the past two weeks, and still I think
this one could be different. Maybe this time, they’ll open the gates for me.
They
don’t.
The
information you have provided has been recorded. However, you need to speak
with a claims specialist to process your claim. All of our agents are currently
busy helping other customers.
Disconnect.
So
hell, it is.
I
wonder if they have ever considered implementing a hold system, like most
functional call centers do. Or if they have considered employing all the
unemployed people at the call center.
I
remember that food exists and take a bite of some leftover pasta I find in my
fridge.
It’s
almost 4 p.m. and I don’t have the will to call anymore. I check the Facebook
group for encouragement.
Someone
in the group posts that they have gotten through after three weeks of calling
and calling over 1,000 times a day. The representative they spoke to told them
the phone system was similar to playing a slot machine.
Someone
suggests buying a Powerball ticket instead.
At
5 p.m., I get a text from my friend who lives in Berlin. He sends me a
screenshot of a 5,000 euro deposit he just received from the German government.
He told me he applied for unemployment relief this morning.
I
regret ever calling Germans stiff.
I
call again. Busy. Busy. Busy. Busy.
Someone
is proposing a revolution on the Facebook page. He is demanding we rise up
against Albany, frustrated that we pay taxes for this broken government.
It’s
7 p.m. I call 46 more times. I don’t get through.
The
lines close for the day, though it seems they were never really open anyway.
Still,
after 606 calls throughout the day, I am relieved that I don’t have to call
anymore. For the next few hours, I don’t have to think about how every minute I
don’t make a call is a wasted spin at the government’s rigged slot machine.
Someone
posts in the group that they are now open on Saturdays and Sundays to keep the
fun going all weekend long!
I
make a Negroni to unwind for the evening and await a new day of abuse by the
NYS Unemployment Telephone Claim Center.
HOW TO MAKE A NEGRONI
The
Negroni is a popular Italian cocktail, made of one part gin, one part vermouth
rosso, and one part Campari, garnished with orange peel. It is considered an
apéritif. A properly made Negroni is stirred, not shaken, and built over ice in
an old fashioned or ‘rocks’ glass and garnished with a slice of orange.--Wikipedia
Main
alcohol: Campari, Vermouth, Gin
Ingredients:
1 oz (1 part) Gin, 1 oz (1 part) Campari, 1 oz (1 part) Sweet red Vermouth
Preparation:
Stir into glass over ice, garnish and serve.
Served:
On the rocks
Standard
garnish: Orange peel
Drinkware:
Old Fashioned glass.
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