LESSONS AT THE SOCIAL SECURITY OFFICE

My lesson learned at the Social Security Office today is...'a bad day at work is better than a good day at the Social Security Office' !

For reasons that may be best not to discuss here...Cindy and I are in need of Mason's Social Security card. He has a SSN, we just don't have his card. It was lost somewhere along the way in his 8+ years. To do what we need to do...we need his original birth certificate (check), copies of some specific court orders (check), and his Social Security card (nope).

So...after I got off work...I headed to our local Social Security Office branch. When I walked in...I had no idea it ran similarly to the Bureau of Motor Vehicles. The waiting room was full. I was greeted by a note posted above a computer saying...'Read the information on the computer screen'. The computer screen said...'If you have a scheduled appointment-press 1. If you do not have an appointment-press 2'. I press '2'. A nearby printer spits out a piece of paper that says I am number 70.

I head to an available chair...wondering if they 'are now serving' anywhere near number 70. I'm in the front row of chairs that face a wall. Behind me are several rows of chairs and behind them...are the work stations where the staff are working. So my back...is to the place I somewhere need to report when called. A TV hangs from the ceiling immediately in front, and above me, with the volume at about 8 (on a scale of 10). A commercial is playing. I sit down and...fortunately...am looking out a window...so I can at least see trees and grass and daylight. The commercial ends...and a daytime soap opera comes on. I HATE SOAPS. Did I tell you the volume was about an 8 out of 10? I guess that was for the benefit of the people working in the back offices!

I look out the window because I can't stand to 'watch' the soap...it's bad enough that I have to 'hear' it. I stare at the trees blowing in the wind. I realize this is my early week (up at 430am) and I'm tired. I close my eyes and, a minute or so later, catch myself 'jerk' as my chin slips out of my hand. I continue this pattern...eyes closed...jump as I startle myself. I finally hear a voice from the back...'number 64!' Oh my God...can this get worse?

The answer comes in just a few moments. The soap is over...but it gets worse...Dr. Phil is coming on. Did I tell you the volume was......?

I consider leaving. Do we 'really' need this card? He's only 8 years old. Can I get it next year?...when Dr. Phil's not on?

'Number 65.'

'Lord...I'm a pretty good guy...but you're really testing me'...I pray to myself silently.

I think about our upcoming trip to Disney World. Maybe I can keep my mind busy and not hear (yea...right) the TV...but still listen for my magic number to be called. 'Number 66'.

What seems like hours later...'number 70' is called. I trip as I hurredly race to the work station before they call 'number 71'.

I get to the counter...hoping this won't be any more painful than it already has been. I state that I'm wanting to apply for a replacement card for my grandson.

After showing the court orders that show I have the right to do so...show my ID...show Mason's birth certificate...I'm told I need a photo ID of Mason. 'We need a state issued driver's license, or a passport or an other state issued ID.'

"He's 8 years old", I say.

'We don't change our policy because of age', she replies. 'We could also use a U.S. military identity card', she replies...as if she didn't 'just' hear me say..."He's...8...years...old!"

'I have one of his school pictures at home...and one of them is made like an ID with his date of birth...'. Before I can finish the sentence I'm told 'once again' that it must be 'state issued'.

My brain is about to explode...but I pause. 'So do I need to take him to the BMV and ask them to make him an ID just like a driver's license?, I ask. 'Well...I don't know what additional information they'll require...but you could try that', she says.

Well...I could try to understand this whole bureaucratic pile of "$@/#*%" too...but I don't think I can.

Tomorrow...it's off to the BMV. Wish me luck!


Dan