The changes could further strain an already overwhelmed system: Of the nearly 15,000 calls made on average each day to DTA in November, nearly 4,500 were unable to connect, according to DTA’s own statistics. Another 7,000 were answered by a voice assistant, and just under 3,000 people were connected to a call center.
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Dany Rodriguez, a 41-year-old DTA caseworker, tries not to focus too much on the politics, or how overwhelming the need is. “I just want to help clients,” said Rodriguez, who has been at the agency for five years and handles about 220 clients who use SNAP, cash benefits, or both. “I want to be there for them, to support them.”
Rodriguez started her morning taking calls from clients. Some, she would be able to help. For many others, the needs were too great, and the problems too deep: decades of homelessness, persistent health issues, unemployment, economic marginality. Rodriguez could try, but she was limited by the tools at her disposal.
First, there was a woman who wanted to know if she could get part of her gas bill covered for the winter. Like many SNAP recipients, she works as a personal care attendant, and with her wages low — around $17-$22 an hour — she was finding the bill “is too much, I can’t do that.” Rodriguez replied that the application for the state’s Home Energy Assistance Program, which can cover winter heating bills for some low-income households, was already in the mail. The woman thanked her profusely.
Rodriguez went to call a mother of three, taking a deep breath before dialing the number. She had to tell the client that she was no longer eligible for a cash assistance program DTA oversees, since she now makes about $2,000 a month as a cleaner. Even with the income, the mother is financially strapped: She pays $600 a month for rent, plus $780 a month in child care. Her income is so low she’ll continue to receive $994 in SNAP, the max for a family of four.
Next, Rodriguez called a client to recertify his application, something all SNAP users are required to do every six to 12 months. Despite having an appointment, he didn’t pick up. The man is homeless, bouncing between family members. He’s also disabled. Rodriguez wasn’t surprised he missed the call. She rescheduled his appointment and mailed a notice to his mom’s house. If he doesn’t get back to her within 30 days, his case will close and he’ll have to reapply.
Through each phone call, Rodriguez remained composed. She never slouched, her breathing was steady. In over three hours, she took just one sip from her pink Stanley water bottle and didn’t touch the granola bar on her desk. Throughout the morning, she toggled between three screens, keeping color-coded calendar reminders as notes to herself alongside an unwieldy client database.
The Jackson Square office where Rodriguez works is new, created to take some of the workload off the much larger Nubian Square office just a couple miles down the road. One staffer described the client load there as a “deluge.” Just over a quarter of the 34,454 people who visited a DTA office in November did so because they otherwise could not get through to staff.
Late morning, Rodriguez saw her first in-person client.
The visit was unexpected. The man showed up at reception, said he had been calling and had not gotten through. His case had been closed in October, when he started making too much money to receive any cash benefits. He still received some SNAP, though just $24 a month.
“What am I going to do, buy candy?” he told the receptionist, who popped her head into Rodriguez’s office. “I just want to give you a heads up,” she said. ”He’s mad!”
Rodriguez quickly reviewed his case, cross-referencing his name with work numbers shared by several agencies and employers. The man started working for a moving company in August where he was slated to have 40-hour work weeks at $22 an hour. But often, he only logged 20 hours, sometimes as few as six.
After sitting down in a corner chair, the client explained he lost his job just after Christmas and was now living in a shelter. He wanted to apply for cash benefits again. Rodriguez explained he had to first apply for unemployment, and only if that’s denied could he apply for cash benefits. He would need a termination letter and a new designation of disability from a doctor. On the other hand, without any income, his SNAP would go up, to $298 a month.
Rodriguez has an unusually intimate window into her clients’ lives. With this client, she learned about how his disability makes holding a job nearly impossible, which embarrasses him. When calling another client, she could hear the din of busy Boston outside: the rev of buses, the rush of traffic. She asked if anything had changed in his life. “Same situation financially, same situation, staying with family. I am still homeless.” She asked if he has any other income. “No. I wish.”
Chatting at the end of their call, the client asked whether it’s true that people can no longer use SNAP to buy sweets. “I don’t buy any myself, but you’re telling a mom you can’t buy her kids cookies?”
Rodriguez answered plainly, “We haven’t received any instructions about that.”
She has seen how news about SNAP changes can impact her clients. In the last year, she noticed fewer people coming to the office — many of Rodriguez’s clients are immigrants. “They’re afraid just to even walk out of their house,” she said.
“I love what I do,” she continued. “The political piece is something else. I try to avoid it.”
Rodriguez turned back to her computer, and clicked through her database, to see who needed help next.
This story was produced by the Globe’s Money, Power, Inequality team, which covers the racial wealth gap in Greater Boston. You can sign up for the newsletter here.
Mara Kardas-Nelson can be reached at mara.kardas-nelson@globe.com.
