CHAPTER 45
(So who was the enemy all along?)
DEMAND A REMAND
(A Meeting With The FBI)
01/31/2019 - Why Losing is winning
It took me all of two seconds to recognize my beautiful artwork. There it was. I had in fact called it. The unemployment agency was in fact the FBI. I could still hear Spencer's words just weeks earlier reverberate in the back of my mind. Aw come on. Do you really think this is the FBI?
The white envelope graffitied with the thick red marker lines stuck out like a sore thumb from the rest of the paperwork. It was kind of hard not to giggle at the little stick man I had drawn with only one leg to stand on followed by huge Capitol letters "RTS" (Return To Sender). The stick drawing was supposed to represent the expression I had always heard growing up "You're not giving me a leg to stand on." Except of course that I had goofed by not removing the stick characters legs altogether. My initial instinct at the site of the "RTS"Ed envelope was to walk out the door of the appeals hearing office and go back outside to my car.
I had been clowned. I had been clowned by I also had bragging rights towards my representative that I had in fact been right all along. Never wise to underestimate the organizational skills of women. I not only had bragging rights that the UC board had been sitting on the mid September decision all this time but I had officially set the record of having the biggest paper "Bob Files" anybody had probably ever seen. I came to the conclusion that evidently the UC office was able to procure my 666 page discovery I had submitted to the warren county small claims office in Indiana.
As I sat in the waiting office of the UC board of reviews leafing through the discovery they had provided me with a sudden subtle voice was taunting me from inside of my mind. Close the file Blakey. If Spencer advised you to walk in there with nothing he would probably advise you to close the file and sit there like a good little boy with your hands folded on your lap.
Previously to arriving at the hearing I had a stroke of luck at the mall and found a really nice professional looking Saints sweater for sale that I had purchased. I figured since the Saints had indeed been cheated now two years in a row the sporty apparel might enlighten the ambiance of the UC board. I wanted to wear my Mr. Rogers shirt but it was way too tight on me now cuz I was working now and had money for steaks.
However, I was still very proud of my Billy Big Rigging paunch but sitting down all day put too much pressure on my waist line left uncomfortable red marks. Oh well, at least I wasn't prancing in there looking like some giggly emaciated crack head with a pocket full of cigarette butts I had picked off the ground. It was hard to believe at age 15 I used to do those kinds of things.
Picking up left over cigarette butts and finding a secret hiding spot. I knew my mom would advise me to tough it out and go with the "Good Vibes" Mr. Rogers t-shirt. Hell no. Super tight t- shirts increase my chances of unnecessary perspiration. I didn't need those big pancake puddles under my armpits for the hearing. My 2XL Saints sweater fit like a glove and was still an interesting political statement.
Spencer had called me previously upon my arrival in the parking lot to let me know that my initial referee had opted out and I would now be dealing with a "she" instead. I knew this was a big game changer but that all depended if my referee was "A tight Mudd jean" wearing she or a highly Edumacated "she" with horn rimmed glasses that would see super great to take notice these Billy Big Rigging companies had a bone to pick with me.
I was doing everything right except for one thing. Bootlicking. These strangers of government power that size us up and determine whether we are even worth a nickel simply LOVE bootlicking. I don't roll like that. I'll occasionally make small talk if it's sports related or casino related but I sure don't go out of my way to be friendly, cordial, and polite to government workers. I have paperwork to back up my social disorder but despite most people portraying the illness as a setback, I portray it as productive. I'll never forget one day ear hustling at the mall a few tables away at a live job interview with "Chatty Cathy". Oh she was friendly all right. Too friendly. Wasn't there once an old yarn When The Mouth Is Engaged, The Ears Stop Listening. How could "Chatty Cathy" be productive if she was a social jitterbug? Don't those tractor trailers slow down to 55 without them realizing it because they're on the phone?
Not having a job didn't necessarily mean you were a bad worker. It could in fact just mean your company went out of business or you were exploiting a whole new career due to moving or making babies. I've often been surprised by judging people too early but I still felt like Career Link had a handful of "System Players" far more deftly skilled than me. I couldn't help but notice how overly friendly they purposely were towards the staff full well knowing that those pencil pushers of power could make phone calls to have their "UC juice" shut off. But the really, really smart ones? They knew that "Peek-A- Boo" staff would think twice about shutting that "juice" off when they see them Toting a baby in their arms. With that being said I really wished I would have parted with $100.00 to have me a nice Chukee Doll to have those kill joy peek-a-boos think twice about tinkering with all those owed stockpile of UC checks piling up.
As I sat in my quiet seat I was experiencing flashbacks of my juvenile days of mother's tutoring of how to carry myself in interviews and meetings. Don't chew gum. Don't cross your arms because it makes you look mad. Don't lock your legs behind the chair like that. And oh last but not least. Be sure to make eye contact.
I could put the chewing gum away but I always skipped the eye contact. I've fried my dopamine levels over the years with all the Risperidone I had taken. I don't like making eye contact with people not because I have dementia, but because I fear getting taken advantage of for being to slow to figure things out. It must have taken me a good week to piece together why all those "uncanny" pizza delivery stories panned out like they did. I was certain the state police orchestrated a highly enigmatic booby trap to determine just how guilty I was for walking along a shoulder of a highway. It didn't matter though, I paid the ticket the next day. They obviously would have known that but I came to the "wrong address at night conclusion" that they had orchestrated the experiment for other purposes. They weren't testing my guilt as they probably already knew I had a paper trail already of being a smart ass. I was convinced they had purposely set up the wrong delivery address to test my night time vision to clear up allegations of the ignoramus that told the officer to issue me the unnecessary ticket in the FIRST PLACE. I could still hear the ticketing writer officer's words reverberate in the back of my mind. "I've got good news and I've got bad news." But the question still remained. Why any "news" at all if I'm merely walking along the highway like I see people do ALL the time? Why the illegal stop and frisk? Was I still on paper? Did I need to rescind my name change hearing and re-file under the new name "Human Being"?
I never went up the stairs of the upper apartment with the porch light left on to deliver the pizza because I could read perfectly clear the given address below in the dark just perfectly fine. I had failed their innocence test. I had failed their innocence and ended up having to drive a few blocks down the street to wear the boys in blue were having their pizza party. My pizza boss was furious that they had purposely given a wrong address to be able to orchestrate their night vision experiment as the "Motorist Only" sign along 222 isn't illuminated and I had walked right past it. Usually the customers leave the light on for the pizza guy to read the addresses and the troopers had fooled me good. Had I walked up those stairs first assuming it was for the delivery because the light being left on I would have passed their creative experiment. But with a pizza in my hands and a hot summer there was no chance in hell I would walk up a stairs to the upper address if I could read the address listed on the bill in the street right there in the dark. It literally took me a week to figure out I had been played but because they tipped me my biggest tip of $10.00 I had no choice but to laugh it off. My boss was highly astute and didn't find the Freudian slip all that funny. If it's one thing I know from watching my bosses book keeping, he don't make mistakes. He's on point literally like 100% of the time. I've tried to audit him numerous times but got nowhere with it. Omar simply just doesn't make mistakes.
RIDDLE ME THIS RIDDLE ME THAT MR.PAUL KNOWS OF TIT FOR TAT
Something was incredibly screwy with this appeal hearing which was now dubbed a "Remand Hearing". I was taken back to a room with the female referee knowing despite my track record with the payroll ladies I sensed I had a pretty good shot at winning this thing. Because I have been certain this entire time that a "Phalanx of witches" had been secretly using Mr.
Paul to hide behind their dirty work I came to a very good conclusion that "It takes a woman to catch a woman." Because I had most likely set a record of having the largest UC appeal dossier that a UC board has ever processed I need someone with a lot of patience to referee this case. I need someone sophisticated enough to be highly astute to know what in fact is actually going on. Men have no patience and are certainly never nearly as observant as women. I felt as though my odds were a lot better with a patient female and I also knew the likelihood of my representation getting into a heated argument would diminish as women tend to be more sensitive and shy away from heated arguments and even vulgar language. I could still remember a review I read online praising Spencer's work. "Spencer tore him apart!" I believe were the verbatim words.
That tactic works amazing but it only works if it's utilized on guys like myself where brain farts and of course hemming and hawing will ensue. But an Edumacated soft spoken lady? I knew my hired help would keep it professional enough not to get in a tizzy bot as it holds true in real life that judges like nice people. My Federal Public pretender had told me that way back in 2005. It solely depends on the judge of course and the current mood of the judge. Sometimes ya just have to let the opposing side do all of the attacking so the judge will like your style more by speaking articulate and relaxed.
I followed the referee lady into the conference room and immediately folded my hands that perched onto the table. Because Spencer was a nationwide representative I knew upfront that he would not be with me in person but rather be listening in by speaker phone. I was very impressed by my representative being punctual and keeping the background noise more quiet than an opening wedding ceremony. I was already starting to feel a slight bit guilty of all the work I knew Spencer had done over the months on the case all just for a measly flat rate $295.00. The internet states he has already helped over 18,000 people and I'm often curious about when he finds the time to sleep at night. During the months he had made numerous calls to me during his off time. I knew that as the months passed along that there was a good chance that this Edward Snowden like case was piquing his interest. But I also knew that he detected a very cunning side that nobody I ever talk to has ever figured out. It's like I can feel it in the air somehow when I talk to him on the phone that deep down I think he portrays me as a very intelligent individual that makes rather strange choices in life that don't seem to go along with my intelligence. I also think that he waffles quite a bit as to whether or not I had any knowledge of the decision mailed on September 18th. I think that he thinks I'm being a dick and trying to play everybody but then changes his mind back and forth from day to day as to whether or not I actually read that decision. If he really knew the extent to my mental illness he would believe in my innocence 100% but I think he's just a nice man over a thousand miles away that is utterly confused. In my delirious mind I had been frightened by the name of the initially assigned referee as I assumed his younger brother was the referee that screwed me over way back in 2013. I thought they had the same last names but it turns out I was wrong. In 2013 I had thought I had won my UC appeal before I ended up having to hire Spencer. I was innocent then as well and was traumatized that I wasn't even worth 45 minutes of tape as I knew beforehand that those hearings are to be recorded.
The referee lady pushed on the recorder button and made some opening statements as my remand hearing began. She used the speaker phone to dial Celadon but there was no Mr. Paul to speak of! I assumed at this point because it was lunch time Mr. Paul was once again refusing to put down that triple decker cheeseburger to come to the phone for the hearing. We were going to have the hearing without Mr. Paul but how could this be so?
I silently giggled to myself realizing that I for once had made the right choice by listening to Spencer by not bringing my massive bill box on wheels to the hearing. I didn't even so much as bring a pen to the hearing which worked out well because you have to walk through all sorts of security and metal detectors to get into the building. Nobody from Celadon wanted to be a part of the hearing and I had no clue at this point of knowing whether or not that would be a good thing or a bad thing. This was panning out to be the most boring remand hearing of all time. Just the referee and I, and oh, of course Spencer on the line. I could still hear Spencer's last words of advice reverberating in the back of my mind. "Just stick with the affidavit."
The referee began leafing through the massive dossier that Bob and I had put together. I had not submitted to the UC agency this massive file so I assumed that they had procured it from the Warren County Small claims courts in Indiana. Evidently they were able to procure my 666 page discovery that I had mailed to Indy. I tried not to smirk too much as there were in fact many Qualcomm messages in there for "Bob". I knew even if I won or lost this UC hearing it wouldn't matter too much in the end because with all the reams of paperwork somebody in there was going to find this mysterious case just downright funny. My hearing was in progress and there was no Paul to speak of. I concluded that he was most likely still out in Indy hiding under his desk from the phalanx of witches looking for someone naive to put the blame on. This hearing was going to be completely boring with just me and the referee, and oh, of course Spencer listening on speaker phone from far, far away.
The referee continued to comb through the massive "Bob Files" as there were in fact many printed Qualcomm notes for "Bob". I could clearly see that she was getting utterly confused by my file. I think she somehow caught wind upfront of my schizoaffective disorder because although she was extremely nice and polite, I noticed she was sure to make very little eye contact. Sometimes I think there are people out there savvy to the mental disorder because I've noticed numerous times in my life people that have authority over me purposely diverting their eyes from me in conversation. Even my third grade gym teacher did it all the time even while berating me for acting up. The judge in Indy, even my boss at the pizza shop along with the police. My mother goes crazy when people won't make eye contact with her but I have always preferred it because it hinders any upcoming hysteria that I simply have no way of controlling. If my paranoid delusions are in fact that bad then why would I want people over me exacerbating my delusions by trying to monitor my thoughts?
Finally the referee's curiosity piqued her to no end. She picked up one of the Qualcomm notes addressing Bob as if maybe there was some error and "Bob's" paperwork had gotten mixed up with mine.
"Who's Bob?"
I answered so quickly that I'm sure she could tell I wasn't drumming up some funny fish story off the top of my hat.
"I'm Bob!"
Now she looked even more quizzical. I knew a gape might ensue.
"Huh?"
"All my dispatchers call me "Bob. I go by Bob. I paid to be Bob since May 4th 2017."
I was ready to go off on my little spiel about Big Bad Bob and who in fact Big Bad Bob really was but then there was some squalling on the speaker phone to interrupt my harangue I was about to get into.
It was Spencer. "I object at this point for my client to go any further."
I immediately shut up like a trained dog but couldn't understand why my counsel wanted me to keep my trap shut about Big Bad Bob and his Big wild swing. How could anybody possibly forget Smiling Bob from the Enzyte commercial?
Did Smiling Bob have to deal with a desecrated paycheck each week? Would the payroll ladies dare to interrupt his bigger swing? Wouldn't the Unemployment Board Of Review be curious about why there was a huge stockpile of approximately $23,000.00 of owed unpaid UC checks that they owed me? If the payroll ladies didn't have a history of tinkering with my weekly paychecks so much why would the unemployment office owe me any money at all? Should this outstanding 23k debt move to the Lancaster Prothonotary office since they were in fact the initial "meddlers"? Meddlers of the soon to be Millers?
The ambiance in the room was really starting to suck. I was still a bit confused by this remand hearing. I was already at a $215 detriment just for calling off work for the day for the hearing.
Another $20 detriment in gas. But I was still confused by one particular thing. Why did the referee phone Celadon for this Remand hearing? If another hearing would have to ensue after I won this one what would Celadon have to do if this hearing was to decide if I was even entitled to a hearing at all?
I spoke no more about Bob and realized this entire day was a complete waste of my time. I had the evidence now that I needed to prove that in fact the UC employees were in fact discriminating against me. They had been sitting on the the referee's 09/18/2018 decision this entire time. Spencer had to write them all kinds of letters just to get them to take a letter opener and cut the top off, submit the decision so he had something to dispute. I was even more convinced now that Sarah had in fact posed as "Laura" and was the one who hung up the phone on me 08/16 when I asked for a "ball park" data of initial dispute time frames from previous claims of others to back up her opinions . But the story in itself was nothing but a repeat of my 05/04/2017 name change petition.
On 09/05/2017 I phoned the Lancaster County Prothonotary office to inquire about the hold up as I hadn't received a court date. I could hear the lanky fellow scramble to cover his tracks and inform me that it was just three hours prior and I had just missed it. Really? Do these people not know how to adjust the dates on the paperwork to cover their tracks? Was this info in fact correct or was I in fact being "Manhandled".
I was convinced that the same bullshit discrimination had indeed unfolded with the unemployment's manager. When I had called her 08/16 requesting an initial determination for my 07/15 claim she stated that it had been mailed 08/13 and I should soon be receiving it. But the truth still remains. Was there in fact an initial determination made 08/13 or was the initial determination in fact made ten minutes by Sarah after I phoned in to complain about the initial unnecessary hold up?
Was I really to believe that the 08/13 decision had been held up in the mail for three days? How far was Harrisburg from here? 45 miles? The shit only gets deeper as I piece together the mystery.
ALL of my UC correspondences have always traveled via snail mail in less than 24 hours. I have a buddy that lives in a house just five miles from here (one zip code over) and it ironically took four days in the snail mail for him to receive a $20 Patriots wager long after the game and I am to believe that the government is scrupulous with upholding our privacy with communication? Smsh. Bridget had tried to warn me upfront in 2005 what the world had in store for me. Purgatory. Purgatory and myriad Freudian Slips were meant to be implemented on Uncle b. So how would I know for sure that winning my UC appeal would really be giving my book "Indemnify" a good ending. If the whole wide world was in fact TRYING TO GET ME wouldn't the story go down better if the UC appeal got marked down as a loss?
- THE END
“Tis true a stitch in time saves nine, but that's ONLY if you're using quality thread." - Uncle b