Last week was a big week.
I turned 50 on Tuesday, watched episode 3, “The Economy,” on The Problem With Jon Stewart on Thursday, participated in senior night with chick with her high school band on Friday, and spoke at a rally in support of Build Back Better on Saturday.
There was a lot going on. “The Problem With Jon Stewart” airing last week was great timing. The excitement of the week just kept growing and growing.
A small group of people joined me for the viewing. As we sat there, watching, laughing, and making comments, I had this whole moment of realization that hit me in the gut. I almost missed my chance at all of this, the Congressional video and everything thereafter, because I was … well … the working poor. There was a lot that went into that Congressional testimony that people are unaware of. For example, I was recommended by a group that had sponsored me in DC a couple of years before to speak about CHIP insurance when Congress was threatening to not reauthorize it. Usually, in this circle, I am suggested and contact is made. Then the person decides whether or not we’ll proceed. But the Congressional hearing was different.
My first conversation was with one staffer. Then I had to speak to a couple more. Finally, I had to speak to a group of staffers. I remember being annoyed that last day. I had a toothache and was on my way to pick up my kid from school. I had used my typical language in all the conversations, but the staffer said, “That’s great, what you’ve shared, but can you tell us a little more about that?”
I can tell you the exact spot I was in the road when he said that. I was in pain and out of patience. I was tired of the interviews. I mean, either I was or I wasn’t what they wanted, eh. All of those things built up into one big gust of “What do you want to know? Do you want to know that I’m sucking on cloves and eating ibuprofen like they’re freaking tic tacs to get rid of my toothache because I don’t have insurance?
Do you wanna hear about what it’s like to be hungry and fill yourself up on potato chips because your kids wanted seconds and all that was left was yours? Do you want me to talk about….” A dam burst. I was annoyed and had been waiting on this moment of soul purging for years. My child had gotten into the car and sat, silent and stunned by my ranting.
The phone line went dead silent. I put the phone on mute, said hello to my chick and asked how her day was while they sat there in that uncomfortable moment of hearing the frustration of what it’s like to be poor. Finally, a woman spoke and told me that they would be in touch. She thanked me and told me that I had her in tears. I figured I had gone too far.
A few days later I received the call that they would like to have me testify. The date was a couple of months off and I was busy with work and life. And then, not long before the day of the hearing, I was told that I needed to fill out a form for the hotel and then call to provide my card information. Except I didn’t have a card. No one knew what to do with me then.
The staffers couldn’t help me because that could have been construed as unethical, buying my testimony. I couldn’t help myself because the hotel refused my pay-as-you-go credit card and cash. We were at a standstill.
Imagine not being able to speak to Congress about being poor because you’re poor and don’t have a credit card. I was just about to give up on the whole thing and then told my friend who was traveling to DC with me for another meeting, and she put down her credit card. But I was “that” close to missing the moment. And from that moment has come several others, but none so far as big as appearing on “The Problem With Jon Stewart.”
I was asked to that show because he came across my video online.
Jon told me no one had ever said to him the things I had said in my video. And he wasn’t quite sure whether he should believe me. I imagine the interview squad felt the same way when I finished my bulleted list of “what do you wanna know’s with them. Poverty is a series of uncomfortable truths. And to think that I almost didn’t make it because I didn’t have a credit card.
Honestly,
Amy Jo
