Existentialism in the Social Security Office

I lost my social security card and need a new one in order to renew my driver’s license, as the State of Georgia now requires either an US passport (mine expired last year) or FIVE forms of ID just to get a new piece of hologramized plastic that says I know how to operate a motor vehicle on a public roadway. These forms of identification include, but are not limited to, my original birth certificate, social security card, marriage license, and two bills in my name. I’m sure they might also accept my original placenta or a sample of my umbilical cord blood.

All this to ensure I’m not in this country illegally, which…. Well, no matter what I think about that, I would like to direct the State of Georgia’s attention to me in general.  My whole gestalt.  I’m American, okay? Give me my goddamn license and stop wasting my goddamn time.

Anyway, this morning I was at the Social Security office and discovered I was totally on top of SOMETHING during the 16 seconds I was married to my college boyfriend when I was 24: for whatever bonkers reason, one of the things I decided to do in that time was to tell the Social Security Administration that I had changed my surname from Shields (which is what I was born with, use now, and will continue to use until the day I croak) to Storey. A perfectly good name, but not particularly useful to me at this point.

Lady at the Social Security office: When you get to the Driver’s Services office, they might give you a hard time about the name on your social security card not matching the name on your diver’s license.  I can’t change it here because I’d need a driver’s license with your current name on it to change it.

Me: My driver’s license does have my current name on it.

LATSSO: But it might not after they figure out that your social security card doesn’t have your current name.  But I can’t issue you a card without your driver’s license, and you can’t get a driver’s license without a correct Social Security card. Anyway, they’ll probably hassle you about it.  Just warning you.

Me: Well, if there’s a problem, I’ll deal with it. That’s just the way life works.

LATSSO: You’re right. It is. How old are you, by the way?

Me: I’m 35.

LATSSO: Oh. You didn’t look old enough to know the way life works.

Me: I’m plenty old.

LATSSO: You have a good day, Mrs. Storey.

Me: Nice one.



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