1/14/16
Today I had to go to the social security office downtown. The last time I went, ten or twenty years ago, was such a horrific experience that it is permanently etched in my mind. I was carrying a Swiss army knife my dad had given me in my purse, as I always did. I had to go through a metal detector, and was told to get rid of my knife. Of course it wasn’t as if they had a locker or were willing to keep it for me or be helpful in any way whatsoever, so this entailed walking several blocks to my car and then back. I must have said something in a frustrated tone of voice, and the rude and ill-willed employee accused me of threatening her (ridiculous!) and called a security guard to forcibly eject me from the building! So I was not looking forward to my appointment today.
I showed up to the scene of a long line of broken-down looking people in the front. However I was amazed at how nice, positive and helpful all the employees were. The uniformed guard in the front said to each person, “Go to this lovely man at desk ___, and then to window ___” … really going out of his way to create a positive tone. Another uniformed guard who was dealing with a large man babbling crazily the whole time I was there was calm and kind. The woman who took my appointment was helpful. What a change! Are people receiving better training (I think so)? Did the complaint I filed about the woman ten or twenty years ago have an effect (probably not, but perhaps many people filed such complaints). Some accuse Americans of being “superficially nice,” but I sure appreciate it!
1/22/16
My morning with social security. I am taking over the affairs of my mother with Alzheimer’s and my autistic sister, with the social security administration. I had a phone call scheduled at noon with “Susan,” the social security person who is handling our case. So I went to the county courthouse this morning to try to dig up some conservatorship records that are needed to process this case.
I struggled to use the microfilm reader to locate her case records and copy them. Of course not being an attorney, it was difficult for me to sort through 30 pages of legalese records and know which ones to copy. I could not find the page with the judge’s signature, and started to get panicky, worried that I would not get home in time for my phone appointment.
This is a critical matter, since you cannot call social security workers nor can you email them. All you can do is receive calls at prearranged times, go there in person or fax them, and I don’t even have a home fax. Finally I remembered that I had actually passed the social security office in walking the eight blocks from my parking space to the courthouse, so I thought – I will just walk to the office and talk to Susan in person rather than the phone call! Problem solved! Of course a little voice told me that changing a single detail within a rigid bureaucracy might not work …
Meanwhile there was an atmosphere of desperation at the courthouse records department, as I was not the only one there on a social security mission … the lifeline for many people … and it was hard to get much help. As I finally gave up and went to pay for my copies without the judge’s signature, the clerk took pity on me and helped me locate the correct pages. I copied them and walked quickly to the social security office, getting there 15 minutes before my scheduled appointment.
Daria (to uniformed officer): I have a phone appointment at noon, but I won’t be able to get home in time because I was at the county courthouse getting some documents I need for the meeting. So I would like to meet with “Susan” in person instead of over the phone, if you could let her know that I am here.
Officer: We don’t deliver any messages. You’ll have to take a number, sit down, and when they call you to the window, they can let her know.
Daria: How long a wait is it?
Officer: About 40 minutes.
Daria: Then that won’t work! The time for my appointment will have passed!
Officer: Well that’s how we do things. Have a nice day!
I resisted saying, “That’s unlikely, due to you, asshole,” and took off at a run, despite my sprained ankle and the fact that I have not been able to run in months. I sprinted the several blocks to my car, and by the time I got there had exactly eight minutes to get from downtown to Mission Hills. So I took off like a bat outta hell, as my father used to say. I called our roommate and told him, “I’m expecting a really important call. Could you pick up the home phone if it rings, and say, “just a minute, I’ll get her,” and I’ll be home by then.
I got home at 12:01 and Susan did not call until 12:10. I told her about my attempt to meet with her in person, and she said, “You could have just dropped the papers in the express box!” Yeah, as if I knew about the express box or had time. Maybe next time, only I pray there will not be a next time.
Daria Doering 
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