The Social Security Administration Office

I went to the Social Security Administration office today. See, I put in an application for a Social Security Number last summer, but never received it. They had told me it could take up to six months, but more time than that had passed by now. This morning I decided to call to find out what happened. I was told I DO have a number, I just never received the card. So, I was asked to go stand in line at the Social Security Administration Office to apply for a new SSN card.

Oh boy...

Maybe that office is only like that in DC, I don't know, but it is the most powerful magnet in the city for all imaginable types of weirdoes. The wait there is always long (the first time I waited for three hours, today, 1 1/2 hour), and you don't even need to bring a book - watching everyone around is distraction enough.

This morning, one man was wearing a sea-through shower cap, the kind you get in cheap motels. Another one had a walking cane, although he clearly did not need it. He did, however, drop his cane at every second step, and expect others to pick it up for him: "Could you kindly help a crippled man?" Two people came in at different times, with disorderly piles of crumpled papers in their hands, and proceeded to spill their whole life's documentation all over the floor.

Sitting behind me in the waiting room , two ladies, who took up four chairs, loudly discussed their tortured existences in chewy southern accents. I tried as much as possible not to pay too much attention to their deliberations but a few odd phrases caught my ears: "Oh, my husband was a snake when I met 'em and he's still a snake", "I thank the Baby Jesus everyday I got knocked up when I did", and my favorite: "Oh, it's nasty when it gets you in the vagina!" At that point one of their neighbors yelled in desperation: "Would you two quiet down, we can't hear the numbers being called out!"

Oh and the numbers! They became a charged source of controversy. See, the call numbers were racing ahead on the board, and nobody was getting served. The security guards explained to us a few times to not pay attention to the board, but unfortunately, most people were also not paying attention to the guards! The tellers behind the counter were screaming out numbers once in a while and that was the only way we knew when our turn was up. Such fodder for all the conspiracy theorists in the crowd! They did not want to hear about no malfunctioning board!

They also could not understand the fact that numbers were not being called in sequence of arrival, but rather by the serie's number on the ticket, since different people with different questions were directed to different windows. "You are trying to keep me away because you want to take my money from me!" one lady started yelling. Of course when one begins to panic, it ignites the others. "I got my eye on you, don't you go touching my money!" another threatened. "I have been here since the very start and nobody's called me yet! What? You racists!?" And that last voice soon found a friend: "Yes, they don't like to serve black people here!" An absurd comment, considering over 90% of the employees there were African-Americans.

The security guards had to step in, make these people sit down and ask them to wait until their number was called. One lady who had gotten all worked up was pacing the room up and down, panting loudly, fists clenched, tightly pursed lips and eyes wide like saucers. A guard escorted her out to cool down, which triggered an arm-flailing hissy fit.

Finally my number was called, and I went towards the teller, who had just berated her previous client: "Don't you talk to me with that tone!" In this sea of insanity, our little booth became an island of calm and amiability. It took her 5 minutes, she handed me my Social Security Number with a smile, and sent me on my way. I quickly grabbed all my things and whisked myself out before the waiting room's tentacles of craziness latched themselves on to me too.

Gaston