She dropped an envelope on the table.
"You need to respond to this."
A letter from the government, Social Security and Medicare to be exact.
Now what?
Apparently the drop-off billing site designated by my wife and I six or seven years ago (daughter's Vail, Arizona address) was a mismatch with recent medical bills from our coastal address.
Imagine that.
Dire instructions on the envelope: Call 1-800-772-1213
Am I the only one who hasn't figured out that the initial (1) is unnecessary...
Or had I flunked some kind of adherence-to-authority terrorist test?
So I called right away.
The first 15 seconds thanked me for calling Social Security and ensured me that my call was valued.
The next 10 minutes explained in painful depths the inner workings of this agency, followed by another half hour detailing how recent percentage changes would affect a monthly income that I am not qualified to receive.
Then things got scary, "Those who give incorrect statements, attempt to defraud or sexually abuse the Social Security Administration will be subject to punishments such as, but not limited to, death, dismemberment and disbarment from all film societies."
Well, that last part got my attention.
Scarier still: "Because of high volume calling, your wait time is approximately 57 minutes."
This statement was followed by 139 minutes of very sad Asian Musac, repeating at 25 second intervals.
* * *
My HotPocket was in the microwave when a random human voice interrupted the second snack of a long afternoon.
"Is this John Richardson?"
"Yes, it is," I said and deftly burned my fingers on a nuked pastry.
"Well first of all we apologize for the wait time--"
"No worries," I said, "got a a bad cold, nothing else to do, been reading a book."
"Yes, but we want you to know there are several ways to improve your access to Social Security."
"Okay," I said amiably.
"First, you chose a terrible time to call from your California time zone. If you had just waited until our eastern and midwestern call centers had closed due to local service times..."
(I'm listening to him in Tucson Arizona, CMT, and he's pee-pee spanking me because of a 559 cell area code--but for all he knew I could be in Waco Texas hanging out with my friends Chip and Joanna)
"Furthermore you could also have contacted us on the internet (he pronounced this last word carefully in case I was more familiar with smoke signals and telegraphs).
"Excuse me," I interrupted, "but it says right here on the envelope I was to contact you by phone, no mention of that fancy-shmancy thing you call the in-ter-net. And when the government comes knocking on your door, don't you reckon it's best to follow the letter of their desires?'
"Well, yes, sir in most cases. But if you had just gone online with Social Security and answered a few extra security questions you could have created an account--"
"Extra security questions? You mean something beyond those I answered to reach you--my name, first last and middle, complete social security number, address I was born and begat in, name of my favorite long dead pet, mother's maiden name and the exact year she ceased to believe in Santy Clause--"
"These account questions, sir, would go beyond that level and contact credit organizations with whom you affiliate--"
"Just a minute here, darlin',
I've heard it's never a good idea to stir up those credit folks. They might just DOWN-adjust your ratings."
"That's true in the case of credit inquiries but would not be applicable in your case--"
"Hold on now you little side-winder!
I ponied up nearly two hours trying to fix this difference between you and me and kindly gave you kit and caboodle at the very start of my call--complete with that zip-thingy extension.
Maybe we should just stop jawin' so you can move on to other folks who need help?"
"Actually, sir, we're done here."
"Got that right, Sonny."
