SUNDAY, AUGUST 2 , 2020. THE WASHINGTON POST EZ RE A
‘A whole box’ of ice cream
One hot Thursday morning,
Rollins’s son Amari asked her if
they could go to the corner store
for ice cream. Rollins guessed
there was only $3 left in her bank
account. But meditation and s oap-
making didn’t prepare you for dis-
appointing a little boy. So she
checked the balance.
The account contained over
$1,000. Some of her benefits had
arrived. She started to cry.
“Forget one ice cream,” Rollins
told her son. “We’re going to buy a
whole box.”
Over the next week, the rest of
the money she was owed flowed
in, filling her account to around
$7,000. For the moment, s he could
handle both rent and food.
Kennerly was not as lucky.
Rounds of phone calls eventually
got him to an employment ser-
vices supervisor, who looked over
his application and said every-
thing was in the proper place.
The delay now was just about
processing the payment.
“It gives you some relief, k nowing
it should be coming soon,” said Ken-
nerly, who is still living separately
from his wife and relying on their
relatives’ goodwill. “ But it doesn’t
give you all the relief you need. You
are still waiting for that cash.”
Vought and his plastic crates
got to the Bronx late on a Monday
night. An uncle visiting the D.C.
area had offered him a lift on his
way back to New York.
The day before Vought left, he
heard from the employment ser-
vices office, who said he had been
rejected for one type of benefits
but now could apply for another.
The case worker explained his ini-
tial rejection had been for tradi-
tional unemployment insurance.
His situation should line him up
for pandemic assistance, the case
worker said.
Three and a half months after
losing his job, Vought spent his
last day in town applying for un-
employment all over again.
By now the cycle was familiar: He
was hopeful the money he needed
was close; then angry with himself
for being stupid enough to be hope-
ful; then depressed about waiting.
He had a place to stay in New
York, he was n ot on the s treets. But
it was just a change of scenery, not
a change in situation.
He arrived in New York with $
in his wallet.
[email protected]$100 through Western Union to
help with travel expenses.
“It’s the street or my dad’s,”
Vought said. “There’s n othing else.”
But was $100 even enough to
get to New York City? His cell-
phone bill w as due: $50. I f he paid,
was the rest enough for travel?
Were buses even still running be-
tween D.C. and New York?
“When you’re poor everything
is a 10-step process that ends up
costing w ay m ore t han if you actu-
ally have resources,” Vought said
before started his walk to Western
Union, a mile and a half away at a
Safeway on Georgia Avenue.
He h ad l oved working a t the b ar
in Georgetown, a fancy cocktail
joint called L’Annexe.
Vought wasn’t a b ig d rinker, but
he enjoyed the intricacy of the
elegant drink recipes.
Music was his true love — specif-
ically punk. He had tattooed arms
and a nose piercing to prove it.
But a few years of touring had
punctured his rock star aspira-
tions. He started imagining him-
self in hospitality long-term. Until
Bowser shut down bars and res-
taurants on March 16.
He couldn’t find other work.
His dad wired $50 or $100 when
he could, small lifelines that
brought a mix of relief and shame.
“That’s another 100 b ucks that’s
now not in my dad’s pocket,” he
would think.
Vought had come close to
homelessness before. When he
was 17, after h is s ister was k illed in
a car accident, his relationship
with his mother got ugly, and he
left their house in Alexandria. He
bounced between friends, he said,
but spent a few nights curled un-
der a p layground’s slide. Two years
ago, he was couch surfing, and
sleeping in his car sometimes. Un-
til the car was totaled.
But now he felt like he was
fighting a gainst a different kind o f
downward pull. As screwed up as
his personal or family life had
been in the past, he still sensed
there were opportunities out
there he could reach for.
“A t least b efore I c ould get a job,
try to work or do something,” he
said as the Safeway swung into
view two blocks ahead.
Now, h e just felt hopeless — and
ashamed.
“Nobody wants to date a guy
who doesn’t know where he’s go-
BENEFITS FROM A
claim, but an important email end-
ed up in his spam folder, costing
him another month without aid.
“I don’t have a computer,” he
explained. “It’s sort of embarrass-
ing to tell people that you don’t,
but I just don’t.”
Vought made it to the Western
Union, and soon was placing five
$20 bills into his wallet. He hadn’t
eaten a full meal in days, so he
thought about buying some break-
fast. At the very least, a bottled
water for the hot walk home.
The cellphone bill — there was
probably a Metro PCS store close
by. Would they let him pay the bill
with cash? Or should he try to get
an emergency extension and pay
later?
And then there was New York.
And getting his boxes there. How
would all that work?
But now he had $107 in his
wallet.another friend was sending her a
message saying their own unem-
ployment had arrived.
When she learned that one of
the holdups on her claim was due
to mistakes on the 2019 tax form
she had filled out by hand before
the pandemic, Rollins was so em-
barrassed that she didn’t tell any-
one — or ask for help from friends
and family.
“I see everyone else is thriving
but what about me?” she said. “I
was unraveling.”
She hoped her coping skills —
meditation, making s oap — would
keep her occupied.
Kennerly’s frustrations cen-
tered on his lack of a computer.
His benefits were held up, a city
worker finally told him, because
he’d provided incorrect informa-
tion when trying to fill out the form
on his phone. In June, the depart-
ment promised to expedite hismeet. They look at me like I’m
crazy. I look at them like they’re
stupid.”
There was no way he could
know, but across the Anacostia
River, Rollins was trying to untan-
gle similar thoughts. She felt
alone. It seemed like every daying to be living next. Nobody wants
to hang out with somebody that
smells... because they haven’t h ad
a shower in three days,” he said.
“The economic differences are
becoming so stark in such a small
area like here that I can’t even
relate to people anymore that IPHOTOS BY MICHAEL S. WILLIAMSON/THE WASHINGTON POSTABOVE: Daniel Vought is overcome with emotion as he talks about
his options for housing. LEFT: Lakeisha Rollins, 30 , was forced to
make a difficult decision: pay rent or buy food for her and her son.the coronavirus pandemic
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