She walks in. It's her first time filing, and she has no clue what to do or who to talk. She is greeted by an elderly woman who sits just left of the entrance. Take a number, she does. 47.
No. 47 takes a seat. The room is somewhat crowded, but the newcomer muses that it's probably a usual crowd for a Monday, especially at the beginning of the month. Children are coloring at a smaller kid-sized table in the far corner. A teen sits next to her mother and texts, sometimes complaining to her companion next to her that the wait is taking so long.
"Are you related to any Williamses in Troy?" the man besides No. 47 asks and she shakes her head. The guy is holding his number. No. 44.
The talk starts out small, meaning only to pass the time. No. 44 says he used to work at a saw mill but hurt his back. He was promised an office job but that fell through. So, he was laid off due to lack of work. 44 took a trip to Texas, planning to use his unemployment benefits to get him back home to Illinois.
But he left his cell phone on the bus. He didn't certify his benefits. His check didn't come.
That was two months ago, and since then more bad luck has befallen him. He is thisclose to losing his fiance. He still can't find a job, and his back has gotten worse. And today marks the fourth, maybe fifth time he has talked to the Illinois Department of Employment Security to figure out this whole mess.
No. 44 is called and he politely says good bye before adding good luck. Now No. 47 is more scared than ever.
"Number 47!" a male voice calls from behind the counter.
It's now her turn. Here goes nothing.
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