Many of you know what it is like to deal with a major governmental agency. You can feel your brain cells being sucked out due to the extreme stupidity of the encounter. My husband is trying to get his papers in order as he explores the possibility of retiring. He has made many appointments with several governmental drones. Last week he discovered that he had to proove that I exsist. What fun we had.
In our state, you need two forms of ID to get your driver's license, unless ofcourse you are an illegal alien. Then all you need is an accent.
"Buenos dias, yees I waas born een Meecheegan"
I had to bring in my brth certificate and my social security card. That's right, it is more difficult to get a license than to become president. And that was the last time I needed my social security card.
My husband called me and said he needed birth certificates for me and the kids. No problem, between school, youth programs and church there is always a need for proof of age, but we also needed our social security cards. What !!?? I haven't been asked for my SS card in thirty....I mean a few years anyway. My husband asked,
"You do have one, don't you?"
"Ofcouse I do, Gringo. It's just that after so much time and human moisture (ie. sweat) it looks like a small piece of tattered blue felt."
So, off I went to find the paperwork needed. I had the children's SS cards in their babybooks.
"Why on earth would you glue them in their babybooks?" My cute and innocent husband asked me.
"Because I can find a 2 X 3 piece of blue paper that was issued fifteen years ago and has been moved clear across the state only if it is glued inside a telephone book, that's why!" He's so funny...
My tattered piece of blue felt, however, has disintegrated into lint. My sweet toyboy, husband jumped up holding a copy of my W2 form from our taxes like he had found a copy of the Constitution at a yard sale.
"This should do it, but just incase order a duplicate card."
At the Social Security Office there are new security rules. I walked in talking on my cell phone with a nail clipper in my hand. I was "hands upped" by a security guard who looked like John Candy without the charming smile.
"New Homeland Security rules ma'm. No cell phones and nothing sharp or pointy over 2 inches long, under penalty of five years in a federal prison"
Great, now the federal marshals can proove my identity after I'm arrested. No such luck, the guard "let me off with a warning". So I put my purse with my deadly cell phone and nail clippers in my car. I came back in and waited 20 minutes for the window. I explained what I was there for and the lady said,
"I need a picture ID, please."
A picture ID? The SS card has no picture. My purse is in my car out in the lot. I have to walk past Barney Fife and then come back in and get in line again. Are you kidding!!??
"Beunos Dias, I waas born een Meecheegan"
Peace and love to you all.....
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