As more and more businesses feel the effects of Sept. 11 and an economy that is best described is "yucky," more and more people are joining the ranks of the unemployed. As I previously wrote about in This Fine Newspaper, I am currently a member of those ranks, and I can honestly say that being a member of those ranks is really rank.
I am one of the lucky ones, however, because I quickly found another job that I'll be starting soon. The bills are paid, because my former employer gave me a decent severance package that covered almost all of the time I have been sans paycheck.
Because of this, I wasn't going to file for state unemployment benefits. However, I changed my mind when some friends talked me into it. They pointed out that the severance package covered almost, but NOT all, of the time I'll be jobless. Plus, I could certainly use the money, even if it is a small amount. I have some extra expenses because I am moving, and my savings are virtually nonexistent thanks to the fact that journalists are paid a wage that makes Top Ramen a meal rather than a side dish.
With that in mind, I set out to file for unemployment last Wednesday. I had been told that it was easiest to file over the phone (sounds good to me -- file from the comfort of your own home while watching "Live With Regis and Kelly"), so I looked up the number and dialed away.
After you call the number, an automated interviewer conducts a modern-day equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition, asking a number of very personal questions with multiple-choice answers. How much money did you make at your last job? Did you get a severance package? Is Kelly Ripa a better co-host than Kathy Lee ? Is it inappropriate to think of Lorena Bobbitt every time you hear the phrase "severance package"?
This takes about 10 minutes. Then, the automated inquisitor tells you to wait to speak to a live human, and gives you an estimated wait time. Last Wednesday, just after 10 a.m. -- and I am not exaggerating -- the estimated wait time was estimated to be 56 minutes.
While 56 minutes seemed like an awfully long time, I decided to wait anyway. I was comfortable, and I was free until 11 a.m., when a moving company was scheduled to do an estimate. During the call, I was reminded by a recording that I could hang up at any time without having my answers wiped out (as long as I called back by Friday), and told that one of best days to call back was on Wednesday. Too bad it WAS Wednesday.
After about 20 minutes, Regis was starting to get on my nerves, so I started fiddling around the house -- loading the dishwasher, etc. Big mistake. I was loading some clothes into the washer with two hands about 10 minutes later, cradling the cordless phone between my head and shoulders, when -- I swear this happened -- I clenched my jaw, which in turn pushed the "flash" button, which in turn hung up the phone.
Since this is a family newspaper, I will refrain from describing what happened next, except to say that my northwest Reno neighborhood was alive with the sounds of words with four letters.
Anyway, the mover came, and I ran some errands after that. About 3 p.m., I tried to call again, but could not get through -- the inquisitor computer voice said that the volume of calls was too high. Finally, about 3:45 p.m., I got through, and was told that the estimated wait time was 146 minutes.
Seriously. And then the recording told me again that one of best days to call back was on Wednesday. More four-letter words were then used.
I know times are tough, but the state of Nevada should be able to do better than this. When people can't look for work because they're on hold, listening to Muzak for 2 1/2 hours while being annoyed by Regis, that just makes the problem worse.
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By next Tuesday, I will officially no longer be a Northern Nevada resident. My new job is with Las Vegas CityLife, a wonderful weekly newspaper down in the southern part of the state. But I am glad to say that my new employer and the Sparks Tribune are both allowing me to continue this column. I am glad to keep this connection to Reno-Sparks, because even though I won't be living here anymore, the Truckee Meadows will always be my home.
Jimmy Boegle is a fifth-generation Nevadan who is happy to be getting the 702 area code back. Jimmy's column appears here Tuesdays, and he can be reached via e-mail at jiboegle@stanfordalumni.org.