Like any good law abiding, taxpaying citizen today was the day to head to the Social Security Administration for my “social” the US version of the tax file number.
I head “downtown”, find the building and up I go to the 22nd floor. Following a group who had obviously been here before, I wonder if I am in the right building as this place is the most run-down place I have seen in a while.
We find the door, I walk in, take a ticket and sit down.
Little did I know I had a front row seat to the scariest place in town and the show was about to begin.
As I sit on my own, in a room full of seats – I select an aisle seat close to the security guard, and sneak a look around and try not to stare. Bare feet, old clothes and people being escorted in by security I start to wonder if I am in the right place.
A number is called, and I deduct that yes indeed I am in the right place. Shut up Schilo, sit tight and be quiet.
I make the decision to stare straight ahead because the fruit loops in this place were just too left of centre for me and one look in the wrong direction could have me killed.
A girl to my right starts screaming. “when’s my number going to be called?” the guard tells her he will let her know.
Another number gets called, and the girl screams again “when’s my number going to be called”. The guard asks her what “number you got” and she screams back “60”.
Well that was number 56 I think and my guess is that this routine will continue to play out until we hit 60.
I look down at my number and see that I am hitting 3 digits so I’ll be here for a while yet. Awesome.
I fold my arms, try to get comfortable and deduct that reading material to take my mind of the crazies would have been ideal. Where’s a Marie Claire when you need one?
I stare straight ahead and don’t flinch as the woman screams out again, and another crazy is escorted through the door screaming out and demanding answers as to why his welfare got cut off.
Where the hell am I? Psychiatrics 101? Did I miss the right door?
I must have looked a bit concerned, because the guard sitting near to me says “and why you so quiet?”
I turned to him, eyes wide open as if to say “keep your voice down… the crazy people might hear you” but this guy seems to be a mind reader because he says don’t worry about them. “This just a normal day at the SSA”.
That makes me laugh and we start to have a chat about Australia and the wildlife. Right on key, because there is enough wildlife in here to keep us going for a while.
Another number is called, and before the lady could turn around and scream out, the guard yells out “that’s not your number ma’am”. I start I chuckle.
He says “don’t worry about her, she is ok. We haven’t seen her for a few months. She told me she been having a spiritual battle and hasn’t been able to collect her welfare cheques.”
A spiritual batte? Oh God. Then, as if on cue a guy walks in looking like a shorter version of Christian Bale from the Fighter with a glazed look in his eye, and staring straight forward. I thought if anyone needed an escort – it was this guy and with that he walks right past me.
Oh for the love of God, he has 666 tattooed on the back of his neck, each number about 8cm long. The guard and I look at each other.
What the hell? Eat your heart out Keiser Soze.
The guard says out aloud “well, well well, we got one fighting a spiritual battle, and look, in walks the devil”
I’ve seen my fair share of Paranormal State and what the devil types can do when antagonized so I shrink in my seat trying to disappear and half smile at the joke.
Now is a good time to start cranking up the numbers on order I think, and the guard says “oh girl this place is good today, its Wednesday. Wednesday good. Don’t come on a Monday, Friday or the first or second of the month. Coz that’s when welfare is paid. It just crazy in here. Like a zoo”
A zoo? I am practically between heaven and hell and I am starting to get a little worried that I start with a silent “hail mary” and I am not even Catholic!
Another number gets called, the woman with the spiritual battle screams, and the devil looks up.
Christ.
Just as I think of making the sign of the cross, saying the Lords prayer and reminding the man above I went to church at Easter, my 3 digit number gets called. Thank God new applications are processed out of order and I fly out of my seat so quick the woman was stunned when I arrive at her window.
So stunned in fact she didn’t talk to me the whole time, and instead grunted her way through my application process.
Maybe that’s how she keeps sane in this place. Mind you she is protected behind what looks to be the thickest perspex I have ever seen, and so scratched I can barely make out her face. With the devil in here that’s not a bad idea. You don’t want a guy like that knowing what you look like.
Ten minutes later, and lots of entries keyed, the woman points to the paper and gestures me to sign. Oh god, do I have to pick up that pen? Do I have my wet-ones? And as I start searching for my own pen she taps the paper impatiently and makes me sign with the communal one.
She gets up and leaves and I’m not sure what to do next other than grab my wet-ones out of my bag wiping every exposed part of my body as if it’s holy water.
She comes back and she slips me a piece of paper.
I read out the top paragraph almost questioning her that my social is processing and will take about 4 weeks? She just nods her head. I am now actually quite impressed that this woman has processed my application and not said one single word to me, not counting the grunting.
I am confused and I’m not quite sure that is the end of my application process but I get up gingerly to leave. The devil walks right past me and the guard says “I hope you come back to see me again soon”
You have got to be kidding. I barely force a smiile and nod.
I am about to go through my own spiritual battle as I head to the lift.
And who in hell even knows if I will get my social security number!
