FEMA Follies
The head start I had on the competition for federal funds to help offset the cost of insurance deductible, evacuation expenses, etc., was astounding.
As soon as a generator gave us power to fire up computers and gain Internet access to computers in our makeshift newsroom (I didn't want to hog a laptop reporters were using for writing stories), I logged into www.fema.gov and filled out the application in 10 minutes. Considering I was among only a handful of residents who could see their properties and relay the necessary damage information to FEMA, I was far out front.
The next day, a Houston-based FEMA representative contacted me to set up an appointment for the next day. He called me back later in the day, because he'd heard conflicting reports about damage and road accessibility here. He'd heard that roads were impassable, that the city was underwater, that no one was allowed on the streets. All of that was untrue, because I'd already been to my house several times, and the roads were just fine and access easy, although military personnel manning freeway exits did stop motorists, demand identification and ask what you were doing.
I told the inspector that I doubted the military would deny access to a FEMA representative, and if it did, I'd have a great story: MILITARY THWARTS FEMA RESPONSE.
Following Hurricane Katrina, the last thing FEMA needs is more bad publicity.
Anyway, the inspector suddenly found in me an accurate information resource, so I might have been THE FIRST property owner in Beaumont to get the inspection ball rolling this far.
Despite having to drive over from Houston, the inspector showed up exactly on time at 8:30 a.m. They can't tell you what kind of money might be coming. They just make a report, take a few damage pictures and shake your hand.
I had confidence that money soon would get tranferred directly into my checking account, as I requested in my FEMA application.
However, I soon realized a terrible error: When filling out the direct-deposit information, I put the checking account number in the slot for bank routing, and vice versa.
When I tried to go online to correct the application, it asked me for a PIN number.
What PIN number?
Then I realized another error: I had put my work e-mail as the place for this PIN number to be sent, but technical difficulties and computer problems at the newspaper prevented me from getting into my work e-mail. I finally gained access, only to find that the PIN number had expired. I got a new one, only to find that FEMA only allows online review and change of mailing addresses and telephone contact information. Oh no!
By this time, countless other people had flooded FEMA with financial aid applications, sending me nearly back to the bureaucratic Stone Age. How could I change the bank information on the application form? What would happen if and when they transferred the money?
The subsequent attempts to answer those questions became a maddening exercise in navigating goverment bureaucracy. I called the FEMA aid application line - which I'll refer to as Number No. 1 - and was told to call another number. I called that number - which I'll refer to as Number No. 2 - and it told me it was too busy and to call back some other time. Then it hung up.
On Friday, Sept. 30, a week after Hurricane Rita began lashing the coast, I got up early and called the Internet technical help line, where I waited literally two hours - listening to bad Musak versions of Hall and Oates tunes and mindless canned announcements telling me to keep waiting - before someone answered. I explained my problem, and he put me on hold, came back a few minutes later and said he had picked a specific person for me to talk to. He assured me that this person could help. Subsequently, I got transferred to Number No. 2 and disconnected.
I called Number No. 1, the application number, and got through easily again. I explained my problem, and the assistant told me to call Number No. 2 sometime after 10 p.m. So at 10 p.m., long after we'd shut down the daily news harvest, I called Number No. 2 and got booted again. I hadn't experienced this much rejection since I farmed for prom dates my freshman year in high school.
So I decide to give Technical Assistance another shot. After two hours of sweaty-ear waiting - listening to bad Musak version of Hall and Oates and mindless canned announcements - I got through again. In addition to explaining my predicament, I told the voice on the other line about how my subsequent attempt had gone awry. Again, I was told a specific person would help me, and again, I got transferred to Number No. 2 and kicked out.
The next day, I was at the computer and getting reporters and photographers deployed when I received an e-mail noting that a FEMA field office had been set up in the mall parking lot.
Being among the first recipients of this e-mail, I had an opportunity to get ahead of the game again. I could find a live person who had no means of sending me to dreaded Number No. 2.
So I forwarded the information to our online folks for publication, got in my car and sped over to the mall, where the line was only two people. Subsequently, it took 20 minutes apiece for those two people to get their problems corrected, and by that time, the line of people behind me was 40 yards long.
Once it was your turn, two options awaited: A live person sitting at a computer and a telephone that led to a live voice out there somewhere. I got the live person. She said she could correct my bank number dumbassery, but then she had problems getting into my account. She tried several times, and as a last resort, she decided to change my account access information. Same account but different password. Then she asked me for my e-mail account information so she could get into the e-mail containing the PIN number that had just been sent.
< : - (
My PIN number was at work, and I had no access out there in the parking lot. She told me to go get it, but then I saw that the line of people who needed help had almost doubled. I looked at her with the saddest expression I could muster.
"Can I do the phone thing?" I asked. She said "WHY YES!" and the person who was on the phone just happened to get up at that moment.
Once on the phone, I was told the money - $2,000 - had been sent. I asked how that could be, because you couldn't deposit money into a bank routing number. She said it somehow would all get straightened out, if it hadn't been already.
I scurried over to the bank to check it out, but the line there was out the door.
As of this writing, I still don't know what's going on, and the main body of bureaucracy-taxing, FEMA-assistance-needing evacuees has yet to return.
Maybe something magic happened, like the FEMA money sender saw the mixup and fixed it, or maybe the bank saw it and fixed it.
I doubt it, but one can dream.
< : - (
As soon as a generator gave us power to fire up computers and gain Internet access to computers in our makeshift newsroom (I didn't want to hog a laptop reporters were using for writing stories), I logged into www.fema.gov and filled out the application in 10 minutes. Considering I was among only a handful of residents who could see their properties and relay the necessary damage information to FEMA, I was far out front.
The next day, a Houston-based FEMA representative contacted me to set up an appointment for the next day. He called me back later in the day, because he'd heard conflicting reports about damage and road accessibility here. He'd heard that roads were impassable, that the city was underwater, that no one was allowed on the streets. All of that was untrue, because I'd already been to my house several times, and the roads were just fine and access easy, although military personnel manning freeway exits did stop motorists, demand identification and ask what you were doing.
I told the inspector that I doubted the military would deny access to a FEMA representative, and if it did, I'd have a great story: MILITARY THWARTS FEMA RESPONSE.
Following Hurricane Katrina, the last thing FEMA needs is more bad publicity.
Anyway, the inspector suddenly found in me an accurate information resource, so I might have been THE FIRST property owner in Beaumont to get the inspection ball rolling this far.
Despite having to drive over from Houston, the inspector showed up exactly on time at 8:30 a.m. They can't tell you what kind of money might be coming. They just make a report, take a few damage pictures and shake your hand.
I had confidence that money soon would get tranferred directly into my checking account, as I requested in my FEMA application.
However, I soon realized a terrible error: When filling out the direct-deposit information, I put the checking account number in the slot for bank routing, and vice versa.
When I tried to go online to correct the application, it asked me for a PIN number.
What PIN number?
Then I realized another error: I had put my work e-mail as the place for this PIN number to be sent, but technical difficulties and computer problems at the newspaper prevented me from getting into my work e-mail. I finally gained access, only to find that the PIN number had expired. I got a new one, only to find that FEMA only allows online review and change of mailing addresses and telephone contact information. Oh no!
By this time, countless other people had flooded FEMA with financial aid applications, sending me nearly back to the bureaucratic Stone Age. How could I change the bank information on the application form? What would happen if and when they transferred the money?
The subsequent attempts to answer those questions became a maddening exercise in navigating goverment bureaucracy. I called the FEMA aid application line - which I'll refer to as Number No. 1 - and was told to call another number. I called that number - which I'll refer to as Number No. 2 - and it told me it was too busy and to call back some other time. Then it hung up.
On Friday, Sept. 30, a week after Hurricane Rita began lashing the coast, I got up early and called the Internet technical help line, where I waited literally two hours - listening to bad Musak versions of Hall and Oates tunes and mindless canned announcements telling me to keep waiting - before someone answered. I explained my problem, and he put me on hold, came back a few minutes later and said he had picked a specific person for me to talk to. He assured me that this person could help. Subsequently, I got transferred to Number No. 2 and disconnected.
I called Number No. 1, the application number, and got through easily again. I explained my problem, and the assistant told me to call Number No. 2 sometime after 10 p.m. So at 10 p.m., long after we'd shut down the daily news harvest, I called Number No. 2 and got booted again. I hadn't experienced this much rejection since I farmed for prom dates my freshman year in high school.
So I decide to give Technical Assistance another shot. After two hours of sweaty-ear waiting - listening to bad Musak version of Hall and Oates and mindless canned announcements - I got through again. In addition to explaining my predicament, I told the voice on the other line about how my subsequent attempt had gone awry. Again, I was told a specific person would help me, and again, I got transferred to Number No. 2 and kicked out.
The next day, I was at the computer and getting reporters and photographers deployed when I received an e-mail noting that a FEMA field office had been set up in the mall parking lot.
Being among the first recipients of this e-mail, I had an opportunity to get ahead of the game again. I could find a live person who had no means of sending me to dreaded Number No. 2.
So I forwarded the information to our online folks for publication, got in my car and sped over to the mall, where the line was only two people. Subsequently, it took 20 minutes apiece for those two people to get their problems corrected, and by that time, the line of people behind me was 40 yards long.
Once it was your turn, two options awaited: A live person sitting at a computer and a telephone that led to a live voice out there somewhere. I got the live person. She said she could correct my bank number dumbassery, but then she had problems getting into my account. She tried several times, and as a last resort, she decided to change my account access information. Same account but different password. Then she asked me for my e-mail account information so she could get into the e-mail containing the PIN number that had just been sent.
< : - (
My PIN number was at work, and I had no access out there in the parking lot. She told me to go get it, but then I saw that the line of people who needed help had almost doubled. I looked at her with the saddest expression I could muster.
"Can I do the phone thing?" I asked. She said "WHY YES!" and the person who was on the phone just happened to get up at that moment.
Once on the phone, I was told the money - $2,000 - had been sent. I asked how that could be, because you couldn't deposit money into a bank routing number. She said it somehow would all get straightened out, if it hadn't been already.
I scurried over to the bank to check it out, but the line there was out the door.
As of this writing, I still don't know what's going on, and the main body of bureaucracy-taxing, FEMA-assistance-needing evacuees has yet to return.
Maybe something magic happened, like the FEMA money sender saw the mixup and fixed it, or maybe the bank saw it and fixed it.
I doubt it, but one can dream.
< : - (
posted by Brian Pearson at 8:01 PM
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