The System

When I joined the Army I actually thought the war was over, but not until Saigon fell did the war end. By then, I had been in the Army a little over two years. I got to wear The Everybody Button on my dress uniform signifying that I was in the United States Army sometime during the period of time from November 1, 1955 to April 30, 1975. That makes me a Vietnam Era Vet.

After my discharge I applied for the GI Bill. All of my undergraduate work at Georgia State was paid via the benefit. I had a full scholarship and stipend to the University of Michigan so the checks from the government made ends meet while I pursued my MBA. That was the last time I applied for or used any veteran benefits-26 years ago.

As a person of limited income since returning from the Peace Corps in 2005 I have eked out a living relying on my rental properties, and odd employment opportunities. When I moved out of Tennessee health insurance got too expensive so I dropped it about three years ago. Next month as a result of my new job at the redemption center, I’ll pick up coverage once again.

As a fiscal conservative I have been reluctant to apply for any governmental assistance. At any moment I could get off my ass and get a real job. I’ve been lucky to be healthy. I watch what I eat, watch my weight, and regularly exercise. I maintain my body in a way that is responsible. My only vice is Chap Stick. For my aches and pains I say screw it and work through the creaks complaining to my doctor every year that it sucks to get old.

But getting old is a reality. So before I landed my job I applied to the Veterans Administration to see if I might qualify for VA insurance. Last week I was notified that due to my limited income I am qualified, but due to my assets I must pay a small co-pay for doctor’s visits, and specialists. Prescription drugs are $9.00. The only prescription I have is for migraines and I buy them out of Canada. Otherwise each pill cost $35.00.

This afternoon with my recently received Letter of Eligibility in hand, I attempted to enter the Veterans Affairs “the system.” In the Kona office I signed in and as instructed I slid the little shield over my name for privacy purposes. The security guard and I recognized each other from the redemption center. I live on an island. What are you going to keep private?

The lady behind the sliding glass window smiled politely as I explained that I had my eligibility letter and I wanted to get my photo ID as the letter instructed. “No problem’, she smiled. I was in luck because they take photo IDs only four days a month and I showed up on the afternoon of the great photo shoot. Immediately, I was escorted back where the young male photographer dressed in a Hawaiian shirt asked me for my last four. Last four what? DUI’s. Children? Addresses? Books I read? I gave him the last four digits of my social security number. Except, he couldn’t find me in “the system.” Not even with my full nine digits.

Back to the front desk. And, of course, back to the back of the line. Approach glass window. The receptionist re-examines my letter and notices my New York address. “New York? You’re in Hawaii now.”
“Yes, but I thought I was in the United States.”
“It’s a different district. That’s why you’re not in ‘the system’. No worries. I need a little information.” She handed me a one page sheet, after highlighting all ten questions on the page. There’s nothing on the back. Name, next of kin, emergency contact, Medicare information and my DD214 discharge papers. I return to the line after I complete the required information in about 42 seconds, printing as neatly as possible. She took my paper. “Okay, please have a seat.”

Less than 30 seconds later she called me back to the window. Now everybody knows I’m here. “I don’t have enough information.” She handed me a four page form very similar to the on-line form I completed weeks ago when I first applied. Highlighted are previous year’s income, total spent on unreimbursed medical including dental, assets from real estate to stocks and bonds, other valuables and again, next of kin. Do they know something I don't?

When I completed the on-line application I had my tax information in front of me. Now I was guessing. I looked at the line wanting other valuables. I thought of the homeless guy who drown last week in the Kona boat harbor—one fishing pole, a box full of lures, a bike and a pair of shorts. I wrote estimate all over everything. I’m sure nothing matched the on-line application. Why do they need this again?

I return the completed form. The receptionist dismissed me while she began to enter more information in “the system.” Getting me “into the system” for a photo ID was proving difficult.

Once again she called me to the window.
“Ms. Perez.”
Oh brother. Truly, I tried not to roll my eyes.
“I need more information.”
“I don’t have my DD 214,” I blurted out.
She replied, “That might be a problem.”
“I’m already classified as 7c. I’m eligible. I have a letter.” I wasn’t upset or anything, just stating the facts. I noticed the security guard eyeing me from his desk in the corner. Quickly, I look away.
“I’ll try to get you into ‘the system.’ It is now asking me for some more information. Branch?”
“Army.”
“Service date?”
“March 27, 1973.” One’s enlistment date is never forgotten.
“Date discharged?”
“March 26 1976.” A date of significant importance in my life.
“Type of discharge?”
“Honorable.”
“Okay. I think you are in. Please have a seat.”
The young photographer asked me to follow him back to his digital camera perched on a tripod in a room not bigger than a linen closet. He repeated his request, “Last four?”
I spew out four numbers.
“Valerie Perez. Got you. ‘The system’ says you are pending. I can’t take your photo. Can you come back next week?”

Now I remember why I haven’t approached “the system” in 26 years.