The Ultimate Endurance Test

Apparently there are illegal immigrants who have obtained Social Security cards.  If this is true--which it probably is since I read it on the Internet--these people need to be found and interrogated.

I was born in this country.  I'm a United States citizen.  I pay taxes.  But for the life of me, I can't seem to get a social security card.  Perhaps these illegals can help.

It all started a couple weeks ago when my wife suggested I get my documents together in case I need a passport.  "Sure, no problem," I thought. I headed to the local Social Security Administration Office to acquire a replacement card. This particular office, unfortunately, didn't distribute Social Security cards.

I ventured to the correct office, nearly an hour drive, a few days later. It was closed.  Due to a power outage. There wasn't a single building on the street other than this office that suffered the same fate.

I'd like to interrupt this post an offer a book review of Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (And It's All Small Stuff): This book is stupid. Not a single thing in it prepared me for my feelings at this moment.

I needed to renew my driver's license too, so I thought I'd take care of two fun activities at once. I found a DMV in the same neighborhood as the aforementioned Social Security Office. Four years ago when I last renewed my driver's license, it was a much simpler world. You just showed them your license, paid some money, got your picture taken, and received your brand new license before you left.

That system was much too convenient.

A stereotypical DMV visits involves an interminable wait. This stereotype exists for a reason. "Hooray," I thought as I plucked a number from the information desk. "Only 113 people in front of me." Luckily I had my Kindle and could read about how we can control our anger.

After a couple hours, I entered the DMV worker's desk, showed her my license, paid my $22, and watched as she hole punched my old license, handed it back with a temporary license, sent me to the photo booth to get my picture taken, and told me I'd get a new license in the mail in 7-10 days.

I then ventured to the Social Security Office.  The power was back on. "Hurray," I thought as I plucked a number from the automated machine. "Only 84 people in front of me."

I sat around for a couple hours. My number arrived. I handed the government bureaucrat my driver's license. He told me it was no longer valid. I smugly handed over the piece of paper the DMV lady gave me. He told me it was no longer valid.

I'd like to interrupt this post an offer a book review of Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (And It's All Small Stuff): This book is stupid. Not a single thing in it prepared me for my feelings at this moment.

I will not reveal what conversation transpired at this point. I don't seek to excuse my actions, nor am I proud of the verbal abuse launched on the automaton government bureaucrat, but come on!

I'm really excited about these people being in charge of my health care.