A Summer of Hoop-Jumping (Dealing With the Administration at Southwestern College, Part I)

I know a few college professors. To be truthful, I know a lot of college professors. They are as different from each other as any population, but like any subset of the people, they have their own recurrent topics of conversation.


One such topic, of course, is “students.” As a smaller part of that subject, another frequently mentioned discussion topic is ‘student excuses.’

“My student says they were dropped without warning while they were trying to register.” “Well, my student claims his financial aid package just disappeared.” “Oh yeah? Well, I know one who says…”

I’ve heard a lot of them: the comments, questions, disbelief. In one instance, a professor of my acquaintance described a situation that a student had with financial aid as “impossible.”

The same thing happened to me.

Don’t think I’m castigating the instructors – I’m not. Not everyone has yet had that student who was able to explain things, to clarify exactly what happened. I suspect that eventually all of them will, because frankly, this system is deeply flawed.

As a result of that flawed system, some students will never get a chance to try again. Some simply fall away from college, because they were wrongly dropped or rejected, or because “they” put up one last hoop, one too high for the student to jump through.

(This article also appears on the Patch network.)

A SUMMER OF HOOP-JUMPING

I applied for financial aid in May this year. I knew about what classes I wanted to take, and by that I mean I had a vague idea, but I was bound and determined to actually get that education. I want that degree I’d never acquired, but the education was my goal.

Okay, the degree really is the goal, but I didn’t want to muck about and try to game the system to get that degree with as little work as possible. I wanted to take those blasted classes and learn something.

I applied near the end of the spring semester. Things began to go wrong immediately. Every day I checked my email with a vague sense of dread, wondering what hoops Southwestern College had for me to leap through this time.

On two separate weekends, I received trios of emails in the middle of the night, starting late Friday – three days of three emails. Both times the format was the same: two emails that read “Congratulations! You’ve been approved for financial aid at SWC!” followed by one that said “We’re sorry, but you’ve been rejected.”

I’m a writer. I can handle rejection.

But each rejection including a line that read (and this is a quote): “…you are not eligible for the program due to the following reason:”

And… nothing. No reason, just a blank line.

Each time that happened, I packed up various documents, records, schedules, tax forms, and so on and hauled it all down to SWC’s financial aid department. Each time I was told, “Whoops! That’s a computer glitch. You shouldn’t have had to come down here. You’re fine.”

That happened twice.

On two other occasions, I received emails that read, “Your application for financial aid at Southwestern College has been received. However, the documents listed below are required to review your file.”

And… nothing. No documents listed, just a blank line.

Of course, these happened at different times than the terrible trios of emails occurred. So again, each time I packed up the document box and hauled it to SWC. And again, each time I was told, “Whoops! That’s another computer glitch. You don’t owe us anything.”

On my fourth and final trip to SWC this past summer to account for documents they didn’t need and to find out why I was eligible, eligible, and ineligible, I asked the employee at the financial aid desk if I needed to provide anything.

“No,” she said. “Your file is closed. You don’t need to bring anything else. We’ll review it and you should be set come autumn!” (I’m paraphrasing here. I didn’t know I’d need to record the conversation.)

Autumn arrived. I’d selected my classes and on the Sunday afternoon before I went back, I suddenly had a feeling of dread. I logged into the campus computer system to see how things were going.

They weren’t.

YOU NEED TO BRING THIS!

There was nothing there about a grant – nothing at all. The school had no record of it.

Had I discovered this during the week, I’d have broken land-speed records getting back to campus to find out just what the hell was going on. As it was, I didn’t get the chance. Stuck at home on Sunday, I dug around the various files and links attached to my records, and through a link titled “Documents,” I found that SWC needed a copy of my high school diploma.

I was actually speechless, until the swearing began.

Diligently, I’d brought copies of everything, including my passport, to the school. As far as I knew, I’d accounted for everything. What high school did I attend? When? Whom do we contact? Can we get copies of your high school transcript? Yep, yep, sure – I filled out all of it. But sometime late this summer, someone decided they wanted that one document.

I accept that. I also have it.

However, no one at SWC ever sent me an email informing me. In fact, no one ever contacted me about it at all. They apparently assumed I’d discover this need on my own. But then another question appeared.

WHO IS “THEY?”

Let me preface this by stating for the record: I don’t hold the SWC employees responsible. With all of California’s budget slashing going on – and thank you so much to the conservatives for making that happen while preserving those precious tax breaks for oil companies that have quit hiring locals and have moved many of their operations to countries with non-existent minimum wages – the campus employees are shorthanded and overworked. Each time I went there, I tried to be polite and reasonable, hence the reason I brought every document I had with me when I went.

But who is “they?” Who sent out these alerts? Who decided to send me ridiculous requests for nothing and constant trios of acceptance and rejection?

The computer system did. It’s all automatic, I’m told.

Seemingly, the computer system outranks the employees, and sends out what it wants at the time, whenever it wants to do it – except when it doesn’t. When it decided that I needed to jump through one more hoop before receiving any grants, it apparently chose to not let me know, and to rely on my scavenging through its innards to find out on my own.

Had I not done this, I never would have known about the damn diploma.

COMING NEXT TIME!

Students clutter up the campus, the Dean of Student Services ignores me, computer systems that are meant not to talk to each other, and how this is all my fault.



On Grants: Why Does Southwestern College's Board and Administration Hate Free Money?

I call this: Even More Entertainment From Your Governing Board Meeting. (I think this deserves its own post.) One of the absolute highlights of the December (show) meeting was when first-year adjunct professor Ramin Moshiri spoke up during “oral communication” to ask the Board and the administration why they didn’t want the school to have any money.

Professor Moshiri then produced a short stack of papers that outlined a list of grants that Southwestern College is available to apply for. Two of those four grants award a total average of $23.5 million to eligible applicants; the other two are still new, but were offering a piece of an $80 million dollar pie for 70 different community colleges.

He then pointed out it didn’t take him long to research these grants; what the hold-up was, was the administration. He told the Board that he had visited office after office, building after building, and no one would take the slightest bit of responsibility for this information. This information, gathered by one of the school’s professors, offered a chance at free money to the school, but no one in power would take it – or even tell him where he should go.

(Where is the school’s grant writer, you ask? Where is that person who should have snatched away that paper and run, cheering, to their office to get that free money?

Why, SWC doesn’t have one. That was apparently one of those positions that Raj Chopra thought was unnecessary. Yes, in the middle of what he claims is the fiscal equivalent of the Apocalypse – and has fooled trustees Salcido, Valladolid, and Roesch into believing – he’s elected to go without a grant writer.)

Professor Moshiri then told them that the administration’s attitude reminded him of the big-spending days of the ‘70s – “when people would just ignore a quarter lying on the ground,” he said. He then dropped his stack of grant research to the carpet and informed them that they were doing the same thing.

Folks need to face the facts: Salcido, Valladolid, Roesch, and Chopra have no interest in saving the college, in seeking out moneys and opportunities, in considering other options. No, what they want are the classes cut. That they’ve got. It’s clear that certain members of the administration want to punish certain members of the faculty, too, and they’re willing to destroy SWC to do it.

They’ve got to go.

Two last completely unimportant points: the first is that, at the end of the Board meeting, when the trustees could request more information or further research, none of those three Board members thought that Professor Moshiri’s work was important enough to request. It took Jorge Dominguez to compliment the professor on his work, and request that someone get started on pursuing these grants.*

The last point is one of those little moments of irony I love so much. New veep Nick Alioto, who apparently has been unable to find a single thin dime to help keep the school from cutting classes, and apparently also thought that a grant writer was unnecessary used to find money for schools for a living at at least two public school districts in Wisconsin. His last gig was so successful that he apparently resigned his admin job, got himself hired back as a “consultant,” and made well over a million dollars “finding” money for the school – and earning himself a fat 25% fee doing so.

According to Professor Moshiri, it’s not that hard to find money available for the school. It’s just that this Board and the current administration can’t do it. Is anyone really going to be surprised if Alioto tries to work himself a cushy little deal sometime down the road, and suddenly is able to find money and grants that he’d never thought of before?

At a fat 25% commission, of course.

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*It’s probably because of that radical, free-thinking, rank-breaking, on-the-bench activism that caused Salcido, Valladolid, and Roesch to alienate him and begin to construct their Empire without him.


Grant Options Presented by Professor Ramin Moshiri

Health Information Technology Extension Program (cycle 2) - $1-$30 Million ($8.5 Million average)

Objective: this program provides grants for the establishment of Health Information Technology Regional Extension Centers that will offer technical assistance, guidance, and information on best practices to support and accelerate health care providers’ efforts to become meaningful users of Electronic Health Records (EHRs).

Application Deadline: Cycle 2: Preliminary Applications – Dec. 22, 2009; Full Applications – Jan. 29, 2010

Beacon Community Cooperative Agreement Program - $10-$20 Million ($15 Million average)

Objective: this program will provide funding to communities to build and strengthen their health information technology (health IT) infrastructure and exchange capabilities to demonstrate the vision of meaningful health IT.

Application Deadline: Feb. 1, 2010 (Letter of Intent due Jan. 8, 2010)

Community College Consortia to Educate Health IT Professionals - $70 Million (for 70 Community Colleges)

Objective: this program seeks to rapidly create health IT education and training programs at Community Colleges, or expand existing programs. Community colleges funded under this initiative will establish intensive, non-degree training programs that can be completed in six months or less.

Application Deadline: Jan. 22, 2010

Curriculum Development Centers - $10 Million (for 70 Community Colleges)

Objective: this funding opportunity, one component of the workforce program, will provide $10 million in grants to institutions of higher education (or consortia thereof) to support health IT curriculum development.

Application Deadline: Jan. 14, 2010 (Letter of Intent due Jan. 4, 2010)

Drama, Comedy, Tragedy! A Night at Southwestern College's Board Meeting: Now That's Entertainment!

Since I’ve started attending the Southwestern College Governing Board meetings, I’ve discovered that these things are the best entertainment value to be had in the South Bay. Besides watching the campus police watching for a riot to break out, you can listen as members of the faculty, student body, and the public line up to fire broadside after broadside at the mostly-clueless Board. Or sometimes, like Wednesday’s mellow meeting, you can sit and listen as the Board runs itself into the ground.

Any psychology or sociology professor worth his or her salt would have a heyday using the Board meeting as a paragon of group dynamics gone horribly awry.

The December meeting was Election Night! for the Board, when the five trustees elect – among themselves – their Board President and Vice-President. They also appoint the current school superintendent, Raj K. Chopra, as the standing secretary. Since Southwestern College’s inception, there has been a customary ‘chain of succession,’ which would have elevated trustee Jorge Dominguez to the position of Board President.

That didn’t happen.

In a 3-2 push, Yolanda Salcido was elected president over Trustee Dominguez, and Terri Valladolid was elected vice-president – also over Dominguez (who was nominated both times by Nick Aguilar). Exiting president, Jean Roesch, supported both Salcido and Valladolid.

Why is this such a big deal? Since SWC’s beginning, this custom has been followed, up until this year. Salcido, in defending her right to be Board President, remarked that they needed strong leadership in times of such a fiscal crisis.*

The Governing Board has ascended all manners of buffoons and scoundrels to the board presidency, but when given a chance to elect one who is both qualified and a long-time educator, they chose not to – and instead went with someone without any sort of education background.

It’s an insult, and Dominguez admitted as much. He also let it be known that he would not run for a Board position, which leaves one seat open. It bears repeating – loudly – that these three members of the Board – Salcido, Valladolid, and Roesch – have succeeded in alienating a member of the board who usually votes with them, and that includes on issues regarding Raj Chopra and the school’s budget. Are they so short-sighted that they no longer think they need as much support as they can get?

Or is it something worse? Personally, I ascribe it to empire-building. I believe that these three board members are trying to carve themselves a little fiefdom at the top of Southwestern College. With three votes in lockstep, there is no way for any other member of the Board to challenge them.**

These three support Raj Chopra at every opportunity; support the class cuts, laid-off professors, and tossed-aside students; and, up until Valladolid’s ill-considered “open forums,” have basically ignored every criticism leveled at them. Valladolid also is the one who, during the October GB meeting, dismissed the layoffs of the adjunct faculty as not really layoffs – a fact that has personally offended many folks who heard it (and heard about it).

At this last meeting, she angrily made a comment about certain members of the Board being “unfairly targeted” by certain members of the community (the Recall Petition) – “the women.” The mind reels at her inability to see that the Recall Petition has everything to do with breaking up this up-and-coming empire and nothing to do with their gender.

Furthermore, Raj Chopra revealed himself to be an obstructionist non-pareil this month. When challenged by Trustee Aguilar on why Chopra hadn’t added one of Aguilar’s requested items to the agenda, Chopra dismissed him by saying he was the only one interested in it, and he didn’t find it necessary. Consider the fact that the items Nick Aguilar is trying to get on the agenda include putting GB meetings on streaming video; trying to make sure contractors, consultants, and the like aren’t given nepotistic positions at the college; and asking that the Board finally begin the process of evaluating Raj Chopra. The gatekeeper for actually getting something on the agenda is Chopra himself, who has simply decided not to add any of these to the agenda – in effect, he controls what is discussed, and if he doesn’t want it there, tough.***

In addition to all the above comedy, tragedy raised its ugly head as well. Union leader Phil Lopez had to steal away a few minutes again during the open “oral communication” part to give his report, and it should have been shocking.

Not to anyone who pays attention to all this, but to the Board, it should have been.

Using figures provided by the administration itself and a smattering of math that most of us learned in fifth grade, he was able to demonstrate that, not only was the school not in the worst financial position it had ever been in, but it had made a profit last year (when it was projected to lose millions of dollars), and was on track to make a profit this year, too.

That was before the class cuts and laid-off professors. He provided them with visual aids, and used very small words so the Board could understand, and when his time was up, he took his seat. At the very end of the meeting, after most of the drama had come and gone, and the Board had an opportunity to “request further information,” they failed to do so. Apparently the fact that the school isn’t in as bad a fiscal state as they were afraid isn’t good news to some of them.

To Salcido, Valladolid, and Roesch, it’s very bad news. Salcido claimed her Right of Presidency based on the financial crisis. Their entire empire is built on the idea that the school needs them – and only them – to guide it through these tough times. If the times aren’t so tough, then these three are attempting to build their castle on a foundation of shifty sand.

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*Yeah, we’ll get to that line of horse poo soon.

**Unless, of course, somehow some folks manage to vote them out of office. That would be the Recall Petition people. We’ll get to that in a coming post.

***Yes, you read it right. If he doesn’t want it discussed, he just leaves it off the agenda. By my count, he admitted to doing that exactly as many times as Nick Aguilar asked why his requested items weren’t on the agenda.

The California Four-Wheeled IQ Suck

I don't get it. I've driven in - and lived in - places where the quality of driving is terrible. Driving in Boston is a challenge for anyone with a limited amount of patience. There will be stopping and going and stopping and waiting and stopping and maybe going. Kansas City is split between the Kansas drivers and Missouri drivers. Both hate each other passionately, and both claim the others are the worse drivers. (Kansas drivers are right, by the way.) My last stomping grounds, Jackson, Mississippi, is full of bad drivers. But these are bad drivers of a genial sort. They're the type that don't have licenses, never had lessons, don't have insurance, and probably aren't too familiar with the actual owner of the car they're in. They get by, simply because they know how to aim their car between the lines and move at the same general speed as the rest of the traffic. It sounds easy, doesn't it?

As usual, things are different out here. There is a percentage - and let me point out, a large percentage of the drivers here in So-So Cal that have a sort of mutually destructive relationship with their vehicle. As they approach it, their IQ drops by ten points per step.

It's not everyone, but I'd guess fully one-third of the residents of my part of South Bay are simply terrible behind the wheel. It's not that they drive fast or slow, it's that they can't maintain constant speed. They're like budgies; distracted by anything shiny. They yack on their cell phones (as do most of us - even though there is a state law saying we can't do it), but when they do, they look up at their dome light and chat away like they're at home. I followed a woman last week who seemed to be programming her CD player as she drove. She drifted from the right-hand lane, across the center lane, into the left lane, and shot through a red light. Only when she hit the curb, did she glance up, stop, and then try to reverse back into the intersection.

I can put up with all kinds of lousy driving, but today went a step beyond my limit. With a migraine assault in full-force, I drove to pick up my girl from work. A left-hand turn was called for; generally a challenge around here. I ended up the second car back in the far left turn lane. Ahead of me was a woman in a Range Rover. Next to her, in the second left turn lane, was a young man (younger than me, at any rate) in a long Ford pickup.

Neither of them had pulled up competely to the light. Which meant that neither of them had triggered the turn-signal sensor. So when we should have been able to turn, we couldn't. The two ijits in front of me just sat and watched the lights. Behind me, horns began to honk. Because of the headache, I didn't feel like joining in. Instead, when I saw the woman look at me in her side mirror, I mimed for her to pull up. She didn't.

Instead, we sat there - horns honking and anger growing - as the light changed again, and again we didn't get the turn arrow.

For those of you following along at home, that is two full cycles of lights that we missed, because these two people were too stupid to realize they are supposed to pull up close enough to the light to trigger it.

When the horns began again, I lost all self-control. Headache notwithstanding, I slapped the stick into neutral, yanked the hand brake, and jumped out. I hopped onto the median and stormed up to the Range Rover. Her window was up, but she heard me.

I asked her to move up to the line so the rest of us could go. Perchance she might enjoy the view of the intersection, but some of us have errands to attend to. I was polite.

No, I was not. If F-bombs were real bombs, that intersection would have resembled eight square blocks of Dresden. She squealed her tires and scooted forward. The idiot in the truck actually looked at me, gave me a dirty look, but before he could say anything, I included him in the verbal firestorm; he barked his tires and almost rolled into the intersection.

I'm not proud of this. It was annoying and caused me real pain. My head slammed for an hour following it. It was the first time I'd ever succumbed to road rage, and I'm afraid it won't be the last. I hate the fact that I have quite suddenly discovered an understanding of why someone might just lose their mind in traffic.

Around here, given the choice of road rage or the common-demoninator stupidity on display, I'll take the former.

Looking for Work in San Kafka or The Guardian at the Gate Might be a Bimbo

So, being a victim of the last eight years of our version of the Free(fall) Market Economy, I've had to hit the bricks and look for work. The last several years I've worked as a writer and so forth, but since those types of creative jobs have taken particular blows during this crash, I've had to fall back on my previous career - which was in management in a social service field.

Well...the social services has never paid much, but, like writing, it's something you do because a) you love it, and b) you're good at it. When I left the field several years ago, I did so with a pristine reputation, the respect of my colleagues and administrators, and a boatload of experience and training.

I fell out of the field during my transition from one time zone to another and fell into writing. At this point, I'm not falling. But to avoid plunging, I was seeking work back in that field in which I have much to offer. I guessed that here in progressive California, there would be a smooth, easy-to-access system full of conscientious social workers, searching for experienced employees.

*Falls over laughing.*

Um...no. Not so much. No, what I found is not that at all. I don't have the strength in my fingers to list all the odd and terrible things that have occurred from searching for a job in my field out here, but I must share some of the experiences I got from only company - in only one day, for one position.

(And must I point out that I have changed pretty much all the details in this - because I still might end up working for these yahoos?)

I found this agency online. They had several programs in several towns - and, ostensibly, several positions open. We shall call them Agency, Inc. I read their site, looked over their information, and did a bit of research on my own. Their reputation was pretty good - not the best in the area, but better than average. I printed out their multi-page application and looked over their list of available positions. None available were quite what I needed, so I chose the closest one (a management type) and wrote down the company's address.

The application, of course, was similar to those filled out be people wanting to make fries at McDonald's. Full of tiny little two-tone boxes and asking me what classes I took in high school. Good Christ, I'm 40. I'm lucky I remember what high school I attended, let alone what I took. Normally, when faced with this usual batch of entry-level stupidity, I would write in the cute little boxes and lines, "See attached resume." That's what you're supposed to do. That's what anyone with a resume is taught to do.

Not here. Agency, Inc.'s application (and most of the other social-services applications I've seen out here on the Left Coast) read: You must fill this out completely, even if you are attaching a resume. Because, you know, nothing says efficiency like having me write my qualifications in a 1 1/2 square-inch box. For the "Duties and Responsibilities" portion of one of the relevant past positions, I had room to write, "I oversaw all aspects of management of a 4-bedroom group home, including hiring, firing, budgeting, and everything else." That was it. That was all the room they left for me to sell myself. If you're asking if I wasn't impressed, you're right. Thank God I had a resume attached that they may or may not read.

On Monday morning, I dressed for success, took my resume and application, and drove 'a couple dozen miles' north to Agency Inc.'s location on Red Tape Road - as I was supposed to do. I made my way to their receptionist's desk and found this particular Guardian at the Gate - who had a nameplate that said she was an Executive Assistant. She had that hard-mouth look that said that no amount of charm was going to work on her, but the blasted blood vessels on the nose that said a bottle of good gin might do the trick. Anyone seen Barfly? Picture Faye Dunaway at her worst. The EA looked a bit like that, just not quite as hot. She had the look of a woman who had slept her way to a position 20 years ago, and had used blackmail to keep it since then.

She glanced over my application, dismissed my resume with the same glance, and then told me I'd have to drive north to San Kafka (really, anyone that doesn't get that this isn't a real place name should just stop reading now) and turn it in to their office there. San Kafka is about 70-odd miles north of where I live, and I asked why. She said that's where the Management-Like Position* applications were taken.

After some dithering, she finally was able to explain that the only Management-Like Position available was up in San Kafka, and if I wanted a Management-Like Position, I'd have to drive to San Kafka and apply for that one position. I told her I really couldn't travel 150 miles round-trip daily (and didn't mention - "not on what you're offering"), but said I was hoping they would take my resume and application. Perhaps another position closer would come open, or they would have a Lesser Position** open that I could fill.

Oh, but no, she said. My application was only good for that one position. Well, following their online instructions, I had written in one tiny little box on the top page of the application the name of the position I was seeking: Management-Like Position. She said she couldn't accept the application because I had already filled that out; it must go to San Kafka.

I thought a minute. (Actually I thought a second; I calmed down a minute.) I then asked if it would be a problem to cross it out and write another title. No, she said. They would throw away any application with crossed-out marks. Why? Because it looked unprofessional, and that I hadn't put any effort in it.

Allow me to reiterate that I brought my professional resume and they wanted me to fill in a McApplication to work. Again I refrained from violence and asked her if she could print me out a copy of Page One of the application. I'd be dee-lighted to fix 'my' error here.

No. They wouldn't do it. It was a paper-saving measure. If I wanted to turn in the application, I'd need to go home, print out the new page, find the new Lesser Position that was hiring at the moment, and take it to whatever address they told me to.

I thanked her, and that's exactly what I did. Another few dozen miles on the car in Cali traffic. I printed it out, found a Lesser position, and found the new address. I filled out Page One, including all the tiny little McBoxes, and headed back north - this time to San Diego proper.

I found the address and the main door. I went through a tangle of hallways until I find their reception desk - in the center of the office. A blonde surfer-bimbo-looking chick was at the desk. I told her I was dropping off a resume/application.

"Cool!" (Seriously.)

When I told her what the position was for, she said I'd need to go back outside and go another door, to another reception desk, to drop it off. Apparently they had two offices there, working for the same company, but only the other receptionist desk was worthy of holding my paperwork. I wandered out through the maze, back outside, found the other door, and wandered back inside a new maze of halls and desks - to another reception office, also in the center of a warren of cubicles. This receptionist had the librarian-bimbo look going on - glasses on her nose, tight sweater, the works. I told her I was dropping off my resume/application.

"Do you have an appointment?" Well, no. I was just following instructions and dropping off.

"If you want to talk to Dick, you'll need an appointment." (Yeah, his name wasn't Dick. Go figure.) I wasn't planning on talking to Dick.

"You were just going to leave that?" Yes, like the online instructions said to do.

"Would you like to talk to Dick?" Certainly, can I have an appointment?

She called Dick and said (and this is a quote): "There's a guy here who's dropping off an application that wants to see you. He doesn't have an appointment."

Thanks so much. I remind her that I also have a resume and didn't know I'd be seeing Dick. She ignores me and picks up my application. She looks at the job title, and then reads it to him: Lesser Position. She nods, says "okay", and hangs up.

"He's too busy to see you right now."

This is the moment that I thought I might not get away without SWAT intervention. Through not-quite-gritted teeth, I said, "But if I was looking for a Management-Like Position, he would have seen me, right?"

"Oh, yeah! He's real busy right now!" Really?

"Yeah! We need a whole lot of help right now!"

It took me about ten seconds to avoid laughing enough to squeak out, "You don't say."

"Yeah! Do you wanna leave that, or do you wanna wait and talk to him another day?" I think I'll just leave it.

"Okay! Oh, hey! Have you filled out the rest of the application?" No. She hands me another packet of paperwork that wasn't online: background checks and the like. More pages for that than were for the application itself (but they couldn't print out a spare page to save me 50 miles of driving). I told her I'd be happy to fill it out at home and come back tomorrow. Would Dick be around tomorrow?

"No. He's only here a couple days a week. He really works out of the Red Tape Road office. You know, we do have a Management-Like Position in San Kafka."

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*In Maine, I worked as a Program Manager - nice and simple. The word manager is used in about 49 of 50 states to demonstrate the concept of, "one who manages." In Cali, they don't seem to use that term in Social Services. They call it Lead, or Specialist, or other ridiculous terms. I suppose that comes from living in a state where children's soccer teams are told that both teams won; it's just one team won with more points.

** "It's just like a Management-Like Position, but just with less money and you can't people what to do!"

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EDITED AND UPDATED - FRIDAY 2/27/09

On Wednesday, I spent seven hours driving around greater San Diego, going in and out of different social service agencies, putting my face on display, and doing what, in any other state, would involve me dropping off my resume to say "hi."

Not in Cali. All day, whenever I went inside these places and introduced myself - or told them I had appointments, which I did in many cases, they handed me a clipboard and asked me to fill out one of those damn applications.

I did it every time. The last two stops were different. I saved the last visit for my follow-up to see Dick at Agency, Inc. I'd been instructed to come back on Wednesday afternoon. It seemed a good time to do so.

My second-to-last stop was at one small agency. I went inside, explained that I had an appointment with the HR manager, and was escorted to her office. I introduced myself, handed her my resume, and she looked it over. I asked if I needed to fill out an application. She looked up at me, cocked an eyebrow, and said:

"You brought a resume. Why on Earth should you have to fill out an application?"

I nearly told her I loved her. We had a pleasant interview. She didn't have an open position, but slid my resume (not my application) to the top of the pile and said I may very well hear from her. That felt good.

But that goodwill was lost, when upon my return to Agency Inc., I wandered back to the bimbo receptionist, handed her the resume, background check, McJobAp, and said it was nice to see her again. She nodded like a bobblehead and then informed me that Dick had chosen to spend the day working at the Red Tape Road office all day. Even though they had requested that I come in to that office on that day to talk to that Dick, he couldn't be bothered to even let me know.

I left the packet of paperwork, felt a measure of relief at no longer having it, and raced on human legs out of the nest of cockroaches.