Once a Social Security card is lost, it isn’t meant to be found. The Island has bigger plans for it.
At least, that was my thought while searching for Jay’s card.
He had started his first summer job through a work program at school and needed to provide a copy to get paid. Only no matter how thoroughly I trashed the cupboards, closet and desk drawers, I couldn’t find it.
That meant I had to face my worst enemy. I had to drive to the government office and chat with my antagonist behind the counter.
The last face-off I had with the Social Security clerk had been just as dangerous and complex — but less sexy — as Jack, Kate and Sawyer going head-to-head with their nemesis Ben on the TV show Lost.
At least this time I didn’t have to wear armor. I was requesting a replacement card. I was only asking for what had already been granted.
I planned accordingly. The journey would be a swift one-hour trip.
Not so fast
I had to come back? That was ridiculous. I had already waited two hours sandwiched between the pink flip-flop lady smacking on her gum and the Kat Von D lookalike who didn’t sport a single tattoo.
The only entertainment was the semi-friendly police officer who made exaggerated pen-clicking thumb movements when prompting people to turn off their cell phones. Even that got old after the first 45 minutes.
“He’s 15, he doesn’t have a photo ID,” I said to the clerk.
“An insurance card with his birth date on it would work.”
I lifted my purse, pried it open, grabbed my wallet, pulled out Jay’s insurance card and slid it across the counter.
“This won’t work. His birthday isn’t listed.”
The denial was blunt and unapologetic. I felt certain she remembered me from six months earlier. She had been friendly to the previous person. There were chitchat and laughs in that exchange.
She didn’t show me a sliver of a smile.
Of course her memory of my lovely face couldn’t have been pleasant. I had unleashed 4 years of anger, fury and frustration on her that day when obtaining a Social Security card for Craig.
It had taken three years to finalize his adoption. During that time our request for a temporary number was rejected. We couldn’t claim him on our taxes.
Once we had the finalization papers, I was informed we needed his post-adoption birth certificate. His original one was invalid. (In fact, except for the copy I have, it no longer exists.) That took a year to arrive.
So finally … finally when the clerk (this lady) accepted and processed our son’s information I was jubilant. No, it was more than that. Fireworks of joy exploded. I could’ve leaped across the counter and hugged her as tight as grandma holds onto a jar of pickles.
But then, in the same manner of Ben on the show Lost, she parted out another piece of pertinent information.
It changed everything.
It would take several months or more, instead of two weeks, before the card arrived.
Why? Because the birth certificate I just submitted had to be verified by the state’s vital statistics office.
You know, the office that took a year to send me his post-adoption birth certificate in the first place?
“What can I do?”
The clerk appeared irritated and, for a moment, didn’t respond. I felt hopeless and it showed.
Maybe the desperation in my eyes softened her … or maybe she just liked the game. Either way, she helped.
“You can use his school ID card. It’ll have a photo.”
There wasn’t room to negotiate, so I thanked her and left the office empty handed.
However, I wasn’t defeated. The next morning I pulled my dusty armor out of the closet and had Jimmy help strap me in. I grabbed Jay’s ID card and returned to the battle zone.
I would not be defeated.
I. would. not.
After parking my trusty steed in the lot, I marched into the office.
I glared at the guard with an angry steel-eyed Jack stare. Her clicking thumb faltered. She skipped past the cell phone question and printed out my number ticket. With an exaggerated swooshing motion of her hand, she guided me to the best seat in the house.
When my number was called, the clerk took one look at the officer for backup and realized she had been betrayed — Juliet style. With a few curt words she accepted my information, processed it and gave me a confirmation copy Jay could use.
“In two weeks your new card will arrive in the mail.”
Her round, bug-eyed expression let me know I might have won this time – but the war wasn’t over yet.
I’d deal with that later. In the mean time, I had to travel swiftly to deliver the document to the proper people.
Triumph
Several days later, Jay emerged from his room disheveled. He’d been napping.
“So … how did work go?”
It had been his first day. Since that morning, before he had even clocked in, I had eagerly anticipated finding out how it went.
“That’s so weird.” He grinned and looked proud. “I never thought I’d hear someone ask me that.”
To see him stand taller, puff out his chest and give me a big toothy smile was worth the second trip and additional three hours at the Social Security office.
“Well, tell me?” I asked tentatively. Jay didn’t like to be in the spotlight and asked 20 questions at once – or even two in a row for that matter.
He mulled a bit and then said, “Meh, it went fine.”
I laughed. “That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
We may never find the first, lost Social Security card. But that’s alright. Even though the battle was dangerous, tedious and difficult, we were victorious against “The Others” and obtained the second one.
Once a Social Security card is lost, it isn’t meant to be found. The Island has bigger plans for it.
At least, that was my thought while searching for Jay’s card.
He had started his first summer job through a work program at school and needed to provide a copy to get paid. Only no matter how thoroughly I trashed the cupboards, closet and desk drawers, I couldn’t find it.
That meant I had to face my worst enemy. I had to drive to the government office and chat with my antagonist behind the counter.
The last face-off I had with the Social Security clerk had been just as dangerous and complex — but less sexy — as Jack, Kate and Sawyer going head-to-head with their nemesis Ben on the TV show Lost.
At least this time I didn’t have to wear armor. I was requesting a replacement card. I was only asking for what had already been granted.
I planned accordingly. The journey would be a swift one-hour trip.
Not so fast
I had to come back? That was ridiculous. I had already waited two hours sandwiched between the pink flip-flop lady smacking on her gum and the Kat Von D lookalike who didn’t sport a single tattoo.
The only entertainment was the semi-friendly police officer who made exaggerated pen-clicking thumb movements when prompting people to turn off their cell phones. Even that got old after the first 45 minutes.
“He’s 15, he doesn’t have a photo ID,” I said to the clerk.
“An insurance card with his birth date on it would work.”
I lifted my purse, pried it open, grabbed my wallet, pulled out Jay’s insurance card and slid it across the counter.
“This won’t work. His birthday isn’t listed.”
The denial was blunt and unapologetic. I felt certain she remembered me from six months earlier. She had been friendly to the previous person. There were chitchat and laughs in that exchange.
She didn’t show me a sliver of a smile.
Of course her memory of my lovely face couldn’t have been pleasant. I had unleashed 4 years of anger, fury and frustration on her that day when obtaining a Social Security card for Craig.
It had taken three years to finalize his adoption. During that time our request for a temporary number was rejected. We couldn’t claim him on our taxes.
Once we had the finalization papers, I was informed we needed his post-adoption birth certificate. His original one was invalid. (In fact, except for the copy I have, it no longer exists.) That took a year to arrive.
So finally … finally when the clerk (this lady) accepted and processed our son’s information I was jubilant. No, it was more than that. Fireworks of joy exploded. I could’ve leaped across the counter and hugged her as tight as grandma holds onto a jar of pickles.
But then, in the same manner of Ben on the show Lost, she parted out another piece of pertinent information.
It changed everything.
It would take several months or more, instead of two weeks, before the card arrived.
Why? Because the birth certificate I just submitted had to be verified by the state’s vital statistics office.
You know, the office that took a year to send me his post-adoption birth certificate in the first place?
“What can I do?”
The clerk appeared irritated and, for a moment, didn’t respond. I felt hopeless and it showed.
Maybe the desperation in my eyes softened her … or maybe she just liked the game. Either way, she helped.
“You can use his school ID card. It’ll have a photo.”
There wasn’t room to negotiate, so I thanked her and left the office empty handed.
However, I wasn’t defeated. The next morning I pulled my dusty armor out of the closet and had Jimmy help strap me in. I grabbed Jay’s ID card and returned to the battle zone.
I would not be defeated.
I. would. not.
After parking my trusty steed in the lot, I marched into the office.
I glared at the guard with an angry steel-eyed Jack stare. Her clicking thumb faltered. She skipped past the cell phone question and printed out my number ticket. With an exaggerated swooshing motion of her hand, she guided me to the best seat in the house.
When my number was called, the clerk took one look at the officer for backup and realized she had been betrayed — Juliet style. With a few curt words she accepted my information, processed it and gave me a confirmation copy Jay could use.
“In two weeks your new card will arrive in the mail.”
Her round, bug-eyed expression let me know I might have won this time – but the war wasn’t over yet.
I’d deal with that later. In the mean time, I had to travel swiftly to deliver the document to the proper people.
Triumph
Several days later, Jay emerged from his room disheveled. He’d been napping.
“So … how did work go?”
It had been his first day. Since that morning, before he had even clocked in, I had eagerly anticipated finding out how it went.
“That’s so weird.” He grinned and looked proud. “I never thought I’d hear someone ask me that.”
To see him stand taller, puff out his chest and give me a big toothy smile was worth the second trip and additional three hours at the Social Security office.
“Well, tell me?” I asked tentatively. Jay didn’t like to be in the spotlight and asked 20 questions at once – or even two in a row for that matter.
He mulled a bit and then said, “Meh, it went fine.”
I laughed. “That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
We may never find the first, lost Social Security card. But that’s alright. Even though the battle was dangerous, tedious and difficult, we were victorious against “The Others” and obtained the second one.