Not Very Social, but Hopefully Secure

Soon after we brought Louis home from China, I strapped him into his car seat, drove to our local Social Security office, waited our turn, and applied for his Social Security card. One week later, it arrived in the mail.

Voila.

When we brought Michael home from China, I realized some tasks weren't quite as easy with two. I also didn't recall that the Social Security office offered a two-seat race car shopping cart that could confine/entertain my boys while we waited.



The idea of going as a group of three was a bit daunting, so we never went while I was on family leave.

Then I got back to work. Then it was Thanksgiving. And then Christmas. Then suddenly it was January and my tax preparer (aka Baba) started asking about Michael's Social Security number. In theory, I had checked off a box on Form XYZ-999, and his card was supposed to arrive automatically, but we both knew that wasn't going to happen.

Easy enough, I told him. I'll run by the Social Security office near my office one day and apply.

So I did. I assembled documents in English and Chinese, photocopied them, brought extras of everything, drove to the office, and found the entrance to the building. Taped to the door was a printed out sheet of paper announcing that the Social Security office was closed "at least through Wednesday, Jan. 18" (the day I was there) "due to safety concerns."

Hmm.

I was discouraged, but optimistic (or, perhaps, foolish) enough to try it again a week and a half later. This time the sign had been upgraded to a white board in the lobby with pieces of paper glued to it and letters all in different sizes--sort of like a ransom note, but less attractive, and less informative.

Now the office was closed "until further notice." Why, you may ask? "Due to elevator repairs needed to ensure the (large black rectangle) of our visitors."

In a sloppy pile next to the sign were print-outs to two other locations, neither of which was convenient. I might have stormed out, but no one was there to notice. I even tried to call the 1-800 number to complain, but it was pointless. I never reached a human.

Finally one day this week I took off time from work--yet again--drove to a different Social Security office, got a number, and sat in a stiff chair for 1 1/2 hours trying to block out the Jerry Springer show blaring from a loud TV in the corner. (Please don't tell me that those people aren't actors because I found it all terribly depressing. And I was very happy my sons--one of whom asked me today why there was a "beep" in Johnny Cash's song "Boy Named Sue"--weren't with me.)



I tried to amuse myself by translating the Spanish signs, but I didn't get very far. Wondering what Social Security's latest public awareness campaign revolves around? A Star Trek actor encouraging people to "boldly go" to the Social Security website rather than waiting to speak to a human being. I would happily have gone to the website instead of sitting like a trapped rat awaiting my morsel of cheese, but I wasn't willing to mail our only copies of irreplaceable documents from China to Social Security.

And why wouldn't I trust such an efficient operation that is so concerned for my safety, you might ask? After all, they didn't even want me to get stuck on an elevator. Maybe I'm not that bold after all.

Anyway, when it was finally my turn and "A103" was called, I jumped up, ran to the window, submitted our application, painstakingly explained to the clerk what each piece of paper was, and--after pausing to order pizza for her lunch--she assured me that Michael would get his card in the mail in a week or so.

I didn't exactly do cartwheels out of the office, but I was relieved. I'll be even happier when the card is here and Michael's name is spelled right.



Then yesterday at work, my supervisor, who has been exceedingly patient about my lost time during my Social Security Card Quest, mentioned that she had been sharing my saga with her father.

Something about my story sounded familiar to him. Oh, that Social Security office? The one that was closed until further notice? He remembers going there himself--and finding the elevator was also in need of repair. When was that, you might ask?

Oh, about fifteen years ago.

All I could do was laugh.