Identity check...

Interesting story...I have been married for almost 7 years, but according to the US Government, I am still Destry Long...well, I was until yesterday.



I have a distinct aversion to governmental agency offices...like, say the Social Security Administration Office...and I tend to avoid said offices at all costs.



When Mark and I were first married, I had my drivers license changed the week after our honeymoon. I had to. In order to have a joint checking account, etc, I had to have a photo ID with my correct last name.



I had intended on having my Social Security card changed as well. There was no way that I could change my drivers license and Social Security card on the same day because (1) the driver testing center claimed over four hours of my life and by the time I left, the Social Security office had closed (2) even if it had been open, I wouldn't have gone because I had reached my government office attendance limit for the month.



Well, one month turned into nine. When Mark filed our taxes the following January, TurboTax denied our filing. Why...because there was no such person as Mrs. Mark Suffridge. Oops.



Mark filed as Mark Suffridge and Destry Long. After being called Mrs. Long for the next two weeks, I swore that I would brave the SS office and correct the problem. 12 months later, while filing our taxes, Mark asks if I have had my card changed. Oops again.



Ditto for years three, four, and five. Sad, I know. I have been living in last name limbo for almost seven years. In my defense, other than the tax thing, it hasn't been an issue. My drivers license, voter's registration, gym photo ID...they all say Suffridge.



So, why the sudden courage to face my irrational avoidance of the afore mentioned office? Did I finally get tired of being called Mrs. Long by Mr. Suffridge, was I afraid that we would be audited, did Mark's look of annoyance mingled with a touch of hurt spur me into action? No. I needed a passport. And, to get a passport, all of my identities needed to be merged into one legal, government wide, recognized name.



Yesterday, I merged. Yes, I am officially Mrs. Mark Suffridge (now if I win the Publisher's Clearing House, there will be no confusion over who to make the check out to).



For the record, I still do not like government offices. After psyching myself up for the experience..."it's not that bad"..." it can't take that long"..."if I don't get the stinkin' passport, there will be no mission trip to Guatemala, so get over your issues and go get the card changed already"... I headed to the office with Cammie in tow. I had 2 hours before time to pick up Chloe.



I scored a front parking space...I'm thinking that's a good sign. I open the door to the office and there aren't any seats available...bad sign. The heavily armed security guard (very bad sign) hands me a number and points me towards the counter to fill out forms. All of the forms were in Spanish...I, do not speak Spanish.



The nice guard fetches a form that I can actually read. I listen to the chatter in the waiting room as I fill out the paperwork. Evidently, there are a few people that have been waiting for over 4 hours (bad sign) and think that by heckling the nice ladies working behind the bulletproof glass (bad sign) they might speed up the process. (Note to hecklers...(1) if you are old enough to be a grandmother, you are old enough to know better, (2) the nice ladies can and will keep pushing your number to the bottom of the pile and (3) the security guard is heavily armed).



I finish with my forms and turn to see that two seats have opened up (good sign). Sigh of relief. I coax Cammie out from under the counter that she has been hiding under (better to survey the new and interesting specimen of humanity) and head to the chairs that were conveniently placed between the trench coated man with his baseball cap pulled low over his eyes (who was at the moment showing his lack of vocabulary by swearing in a semi-raised tone as he read the newspaper) (bad sign) and a tattooed and pierced individual that was examining the crowded room with as much disdain as I.



I scooted our chairs a little further from Mr. Vocabulary and a little closer to Mr. Body Art. Cammie, sat quietly, swinging her feet...kicking Mr. Body Art repeatedly in the process. He was good sport about it (good sign, I don't think Mr. Vocabulary would have been as kind).



Mr. Vocabulary kept up his diatribe in conversational tones to the room at large. When Mr. Security pointed a newcomer towards the form table, Mr. Vocab swiveled in his chair and barked "YOU didn't tell me I needed to fill anything out". (Thus confirming his lack of intelligence by (1) raising his voice at someone wearing a firearm and (2) thinking that it is possible to interact with the government without a mass of paperwork involved). Mr. Guard simply pointed at the counter and raised his eyebrows.



Mr. Vocab picks up a form and says in an outside voice "This s$@# is written in Spanish... I thought we were in America". This outburst causes all of the Mexican-Americans in attendance to glare across the room at Mr. Vocab, the bullet-proof workers to stop mid-sentence and raise their brows, Mr. Body Art to snicker, me to wonder how quickly I can get out the door with Cammie in the event of an emergency and Mr. Guard to say "Hey, buddy, don't even go there" and then head to the back to bring out a batch of English forms (why he didn't bring them out when he brought mine, I don't know).



Mr. Vocab fills out the form at the counter and brings it back to read. Mr. Security goes back into the inner sanctum of the office only to reappear a few minutes later. He tells Mr. Body Art that he had to call the police. Why? Someone was on the phone with a caller who was threatening to commit suicide. (Why would you call the SS office and tell them you were going to kill yourself)?



At this point. Mr. Vocab says a few very bad words in a very loud voice. Evidently, he didn't think that he should have to show proof of citizenship and identity in order to get a new SS card.

He storms out. Whew.



Cammie, sits watching the strangers (and trust me, they were strange...think Wal-Mart at midnight...you can see some strange folks). She decides that she needs to go potty. To which she gets a stern "No, you can wait". A few seconds go by and she decides that she would like a drink from the water fountain followed by another "NO". Of course she wants to know why not and I explain that we don't want to get any germs. This seems to suffice and we continue singing the songs from the Christmas Program that the kids have been practicing for and that I have been using to distract Cammie from all of the colorful and disrespectful language that has been flying around us for the last hour.



She notices a woman come out of the restroom and a man drinking from the fountain and says in a loud voice "They don't care if they catch germs, do they mamma"? A few people laugh, the woman gives us a not-so-nice look and I start humming Christmas songs a little bit louder. Ahh... children.



After 1 hour and 5o minutes...just as I am working myself into hives because it almost time for me to leave to get Chloe and I still haven't had my turn with the bulletproof ladies which means that I am going to have to come back again and do this all over...my number is called.



I am nice and pleasant to the bulletproof lady helping me. She is genuinely surprised. As I turn to leave, I say to Cammie "that wasn't too bad, was it" I see three of the hecklers still sitting in their seats...glaring at me. Hey, it's not my fault their number was pushed to the bottom.



I just don't get it. Why, does Government Office = Strange People. Where were all the "normal" or even "semi-normal" people...you know...the people that had just gotten married, or needed a card for their child...just plain old, regular, normal people? It was like the Twilight Zone.



When we got back into the car, I was so thankful that it was taken care of...I might have skipped the mission trip if it meant a return visit to the SS office.



Now, I can't wait to see what interesting things happen in the passport application process.