Social Security and You.

Today Tracy and I went on a random trip to Salem. We braved the social security office. Our goal was to obtain Kai's social security number for his passport application. And in addition to the number, we obtained a pretty entertaining people watching session.

I honestly have no idea where my social security card is. I am a bit sensitive about it. My sweet madre let me sign the darn thing when I was in fifth grade. You know, that all important time in your life when you are establishing how your handwriting will be set apart from others. I, at the tender age of 10ish decided that I should always, always sign my name with a tiny, bubbly heart dotting the i in Melissa. And that folks is how I signed, proudly, boldly, in blue pen, my social security card. Bummer. So, it became important for me to attend college where I was forced to memorize my SSN for a wide variety or reasons. Some days I think it is the most important, or only thing I learned in those four years. And even if I never use my degrees I will be grateful that we paid thousands and thousands of dollars so I don't have to pull out the slightly worn, heart dotted card, which will always serve as a reminder of my tendency as a child to do all I could to bug my mom long enough until I got my way. Sorry Madre!

Until today I would say that my favorite places to people watch were airports and DMVs but today numero 3 was added. I found myself wondering if I really do experience stranger things than most peeps or if I simply look for the strange everywhere I go. After some careful soul searching I believe the latter to be true. I also came to the conclusion that I may in fact be a big jerk, really, is it ok for me to find enjoyment in laughing at others? That one is still up for debate. So in this careful deliberation time I'll take the opportunity to tell you about today's experience.

For those of you who have never had the grand privilege of going to your local social security office I don't what you to feel left out. Here's what you may experience.

Let's see if I can paint you a word picture. Because, the security guard (who had to inspect our purses as we entered) informed a guy sitting near us (with an amazing grey ponytail, you know the kind with 15 or so rubber bands around various parts of the pony, holding in all the hair and making it virtually impossible for a stray hair to sneak out.) that it is illegal to take pictures in federal buildings. Whatev.

Intense ponytail man was instructed to erase the pictures from his cell phone. bummer. I'll never know what the picture was but I have a pretty good idea or about a baker's dozen, they were all around us, big man with really obnoxious Big Dog brand t-shirt, fidgety lady with entirely too much paper work, bloomers and ski mask guy, awkward sunglasses wearer and super fast motorized wheelchair driver. Ahhh, endless possibilities.

So, we sit and begin to survey our surroundings. Let's start with security guard JoBob-a-roo. Tell me, why is it that security guards are all about standing with their hands on their hips? Is that power stance suppose to be intimidating? If so I think this guy needs some lessons on what cancels out the power stance's intimidation factor. 1.) Taking long, frequent swigs of your soda while on the job. AND 2.) Sitting at a tiny desk under a television that plays (on a loop) random video footage of a duck and her ducklings floating down a nearly stagnant river. This guy was classic, and really he has a big job. He has to ask each person who comes in if they have any guns or pocket knives on them, instruct people how to use the computer touch screen that prints out your number and generally put up with the crazies.

As I looked around I tried to come up with stories about why each person was there. But nothing could prepare me for awkward sunglasses wearer. Maybe I should rename him lazy sunglasses wearer. In he struts, faded black dress pants, complete with pleats, black and purple printed rayon shirt tucked in tight, long dark trench coat (he could have had a gun, or seven in there) milk chocolate colored hair a bit frizzy, reaching about the middle of his back, he was a sight for sore eyes. But my favorite part, the part that gives him the nickname is the sunglasses. Not really worn on his head, not down around his neck. No, just resting on his forehead right above his eyebrows. So, if an unexpected ray of light, sun, laser beam, what-have-you happened to enter his field of vision his shades would be in place with nothing more than a simple nod of his head. Glorious.

Mr. Security JoBob also had to put the smack down on fidgety lady with entirely too much paper work who just kept busy shuffling around the office, her arms full of files. At one point she sat down at one of the desks that was closed and he informed her that she had to move in fear that she was copying down other's SSNs. What? Was that the desk where they just have random SSNs posted, what in the world? The thing is she wasn't any closer to those being helped (maybe revealing personal information) than we were. But rules are rules and Mr. Security JoBob is not to be messed with.

Moral of the story, the social security office is the new airport. I highly recommend it for your future people watching needs. I may head back soon to see if I can get a new copy of my card, a fresh card to sign, moving forward from my fifth grade tendencies, I'm going to start practicing my signature now.