After a dispiriting attempt to get help from the Ontario Disability Support Program — a journey from indifferent pillar to forlorn post — my friend Ben was finally steered to the offices of Ontario Works, which is the first step on the way to getting ODSP.

Who knew?

Because, believe me, if you don’t have to know, then there is no reason why you should. And oh, it isn’t easy to find out.

The tiniest of recaps:

Ben suffers from crippling depression, has been out of work for a year, and has left his apartment and gone to live with his mother, Rose. She is a retired teacher and a smart cookie, but Ben has medical and other expenses, and Rose’s resources are strained in retirement.

Eventually, after bouncing roughly off three different — or perhaps indifferent — ODSP offices, they ended up at Ontario Works.

Ben said, “This office was cleaner and brighter. There was a security guard, and two women behind a glass barrier. I told one of the women where I’d been. She asked me if I had an eviction notice.”

A woman behind a glass barrier? I guess the poor are frightening in their desperate numbers. An eviction notice? Ben said, “I had a place to live; apparently that’s a strike against me. She said if I didn’t have an eviction notice, there was nothing she could do; she was adamant about that.

“I asked her for a package of forms so I could apply. She said there was no package. She said I had to apply online. I said I’d tried that. She said yeah, she knew the website really doesn’t work; she said I’d be better off trying by phone.

“But when I tried by phone, I got a voicemail message to wait. I waited 40 minutes. It seemed like a waste of time, so I just showed up. She said I should have waited longer.”

Ben and Rose are smart people. They felt helpless. They were about to give up, but then Rose called her family doctor, and the doctor put her in touch with a social worker, and the social worker wrote a letter outlining Ben’s circumstances.

That was a glimmer of hope.

It didn’t help.

They were both in despair when an acquaintance who is a social activist chanced to drop by the house, and she latched onto Ben’s story like a tiger; she knew some shortcuts through the computer system, and she started the ball rolling.

But even with seasoned help, there were weeks and weeks of frustration: missing file numbers, without which nothing could be done; messages which were left and not returned; workers who knew what was going on but who closed their active files and left on vacation; and yes, a phone number they were given to call for information which connected them not to Ontario Works but to the City of Toronto Sewage Department.

No comment.

In the end, Ben was taken into the Ontario Works program. He was told he’d get a drug card in the mail, important because his meds are not cheap. He was also told that there would be a sum of money deposited in his bank account.

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Nope, and nope.

He was told he’d get a new drug card for June. It arrived late. He sent an email letter asking for reimbursement for his May drugs, a sum of $200. The letter went unanswered. I remind you, Ben suffers from crippling depression. It has helped, but not much, that some initial money has come through, and he now seems to be in the system.

The good news is all his own: he has just found a temporary job. He has called his worker to discuss what that might mean to his benefits; no answer, so he left a message.

Sigh.

This is a house on fire. You cannot see the flames. I am disgusted by this province which, on our behalf, punishes those it should help.

And yes, I know I ought to call ODSP and OW and ask some poor media person for the usual duck-and-cover comment.

Not going to do it. I want a real, ranking, senior official from either office to call me and explain how and where I am wrong.

Here’s also what I want:

A single point of contact for ODSP and OW, so that someone in trouble can find out the shortest route to help; workers who will answer questions with useful and timely information; oh, and staff who will call back when you leave a message.