SOCIAL IN-SECURITY:
MY VISIT TODAY TO THE SOCIAL SECURITY OFFICE
Early this afternoon, I stepped into the local SSA office to take care of some family business. I did the responsible thing: (1) Made my appointment online, (2) had to wait 5 weeks, (3) but I finally got the appointment, (4) then I showed up half an hour early, and (5) ended up sitting and waiting for more than two hours inside the local office on Buffalo.
The waiting room, which was maybe the size of a 7-11 store, was so packed that no seats were available. Maybe 200 people inside. Crying babies. Wheelchairs. People talking to themselves. Think of a refugee camp mish-mashed with the United Nations, pureed into a blender. Lots of human wreckage.
Instantly I encounter the premise’s security guard –picture the guy who couldn’t cut the police force or pass the fire department physical, but still desperately wants to wear a badge and gun and be a boss– who clearly has some serious authority and control issues. I had just come in from 111-degree heat and couldn’t adjust to the light difference so it was hard to read the signs when entering. Deputy Dog hollers at me, “Go back outside!!!” He scolds me the moment I walked in because I had no idea where to go and apparently stepped in the incorrect line. But rather than argue with him or fight about it, I just swallowed my disbelief and let it slide. What’s the point–all it would do is get me thrown out if I make a scene.
After a few mins waiting in the heat I get back inside, and get my paper number, then I finally locate a seat in a crammed corner of the room surrounded by sprawled out trailer trash on both sides of the connected chairs, as in they don’t even attempt to move their feet when I’m trying to snake past them.
Pro Tip (Dealing with the Masses): When you’re sardined into a too-small room like this, the very last thing on the face of the earth you want to do is make eye contact, and you sure as shit don’t want to start any conversations, unless your number gets called and it’s the caseworker, but still I couldn’t escape the horror.
No eye contact (check).
No casual conversations (check).
Then, my plan falls apart.
A trampy-looking woman across from me, no more a few feet away and practically touching me with her big toe, has open sores all over her legs, which made me feel kinda’ sorry for her because I certainly can sympathize with anyone suffering serious health problems, but then then then she does the one thing that shoves me from the lifeboat christened as my compassion. She opens her mouth and starts fucking talking. Yapping. Not to anyone in particular. Just talking. Talking loud. Or, I should say, unnecessarily loud. I’m able to quickly surmise from this brief encounter that the woman had more than just health problems–she also had serious legal problems and perhaps mental issues too, but this bundle of twisted troubles also made her something of a legal authority. I didn’t want to look up and see precisely who (if anyone) she was aiming her legal eagle opinions at, and I cowered myself into an invisible shell as best I could, burying myself into a cellphone with 8 percent battery life remaining and my number is probably still 90 minutes from being called. Gawd, just let me have enough juice to get through this without talking to anyone.
A younger guy behind me overhears the woman and bored, volunteers his own life story for free for everyone to hear, that he just got out of jail a few weeks ago. Oh, joy! The woman isn’t impressed with his story and of course, she must move in over the top with her own life’s drama. Woman with leg sores snaps back, “Well, I was supposed to get 15 years for heroin, but the judge only gave me three years probation.”
I resisted the temptation to commensurate with my fellow citizens, “Yeah, well, I did a little hard time myself and….” A bonding experience was lost. Saddenz.
It all reminded me of the hilarious scene from the Cheech and Chong movie in the welfare office.
