The Horror! The Horror!

Gah! Grumble! Snorf!

I have spent over five hours in the past two weeks waiting in senseless lines in Government offices trying to "be a good citizen" and comply with all the rigamarole of moving and other bullshit.

It began with a trip to the DMV. I scoped it all our beforehand on the internet so that I would arrive when they were less busy and I made sure I had all the proper documentation with me. Hubby and I needed to get Georgia licenses and register our vehicles. I gathered together the birth certificates and a bill in each of our names to prove we really live in Georgia and we left the house at 8:00 am in order to be first in line. We even dragged Dr. P out with us so he could get his Georgia license, even though he normally never gets up before 10:00.

We purposely drove to a smaller office in a small town north of us and away from the city so that it would be less busy. I guess I forgot what I learned in the three years we lived in Hicksville WI; small town government office = the land that tax dollars forgot. This office was smaller than my bedroom and was stuffed to the gills with people who had the same brilliant plan to escape "busyness" that I had. Damn!

There were a number of small problems (we needed cash to pay, they didn't DO tags there, I accidentally grabbed our marriage license instead of Hubby's birth certificate, a bunch of guys kept looking down my shirt every time I leaned over and so on) but the biggest problem was the way people who came in HOURS after we did kept getting their numbers called before ours.

I know the DMV uses some magical system to determine how they categorize and rank the speed and efficiency with which they address their myriad supplicants, but DAMMIT, I got here hours ago and I have two small children going crazy in your shoebox sized "waiting room", so call my freakin' number already!!!

Once I was finally admitted to the inner sanctum of the counter space and I was waiting to get my new photo taken I discovered that people were totally wandering in and cutting in line and were getting served first and the very fact that I was patiently following directions was my greatest detriment in getting the help I needed. Great system, folks! I'll remember next time.

Hubby's number was right after mine but he wasn't called for a full 45 minutes after me. Sigh. Oh, and Dr. P didn't have all the right stuff with him, so he got to help wrangle children (and look down my shirt occasionally) for 3 hours and didn't even walk away with the coveted license with peaches on it.

A week later I went to the local Social Security office. I needed a new social security card issued for me, but more importantly, I needed a social security number and card issued for Ribh. In Wisconsin, following my other homebirths, when I sent for the birth certificate, they automatically sent the pertinent info on to the feds and a few weeks later I got a social security card in the mail for each child. In Iowa, they sent me a notice with the birth certificate saying essentially, Get your own damn social security card because we are not going to hold your freakin' hand anymore. Ooookaaay.

Well, I know the feds want each child numbered and accounted for within the first year and I will need her number for my taxes. I am finally trying to get this matter taken care of, because they require it! And here's the problem: the paperwork asks for proof of identification for the child, but they will not accept a birth certificate (huh???). They want a medical record or a school record to prove your child is who you say they are. This makes no freakin' sense to me (I know medical records, Not hard to fake. At all. Or school records for that matter.) Plus, I don't HAVE any medical records and will not be taking my perfectly healthy child to a freakin' doctor so that the social security freakin' administration lackawits can check the appropriate box in their bullshit checklist.

So, I decided to go to the office in person to talk to an actual human being to figure out how we can remedy the matter. It seemed reasonable at the time.

I arrived in their big semi-shiny office (stuffed to the gills with people and only three of 12 windows open) and took a number. And I waited. And waited. Again with the magical system of people with certain kinds of numbers (the "A's") being called about every two minutes and the kind of number I had (an "F") being called about every 15 minutes, at best. In fact, the only window calling "F's" completely closed down and locked up for 20 minutes, presumably while the window woman went for a smoking break or some such errand. I took the opportunity to nurse Peevers in public and just waited for someone to challenge that! ( Luckily, no one did. I was so riled up by then it could have been quite the show down. With milk squirting everywhere while I raged about not losing my place in line and Peever's rights and so on.)

When it was my turn (two hours later) I explained the situation to the charming (note my dripping sarcasm now) window woman. The follow account of our conversation is not literal but is a fair and true representation of both the text and the subtext of the encounter.

She was like: You just need to show me ID for your baby, lady.

And I was like: Yes, I know. Here she is. Here is her birth certificate. Here is my ID.

And she was all: But, people can FAKE birth certificates.

And I'm like: Yes and people can fake medical records and school records too!

And she was all: How do we know you didn't get this baby from someone else!

And I was all: Would you like to see my freakin' stretch marks? Shall I nurse the child for you right now? I have already sworn to the state people that this child is mine, what the hell else do you need?

And she was all: Well, girly, just ask your doctor for the records.

And I was all: But she was born at home, like I said, and has never been to a medical doctor.

And she was all: Gasp. (Horrified shock and disgust.) Well...it's things like this that...(trailing off)...How can you NOT BRING YOUR CHILD TO A DOCTOR!

And I was all: I AM a freakin' doctor! My child is healthy! Why would I bring my child to medical doctor for no earthly reason? There has to be some other option. I have done this twice before with no hassles.

And she was all: No. There are rules. I am an inflexible bureaucrat beeootch. I will not even consider your request because I personally think you are crazy and dangerous and I plan to make you suffer for it.

And I was all: Fine. I will take her to a chiropractor. Will that be record-y enough for you? What type of record are you looking for specifically?

And she was all: Oh, they'll know.

And I was all: Um, how? This is not something they normally provide for the social security administration.

And she was all: Oh, yes, they will. It is so simple if you just follow my non-sensical directions.

And I was all: Remember how I told you I am a chiropractor? This is how I know they do NOT normally provide proof of a child belonging to a mother and being born on a certain date paperwork. This is not routine. I don't want to go to all this trouble just to jump through this hoop for you and have you tell me it's not the right kind of record.

And she was all: Well, Missy, you will just have to wait in our crazyland two hour bullshit line again to find out, won't you?

And that was that. If I had more money I would consider getting an attorney involved because I know that this is complete bullshit. But, since I don't have the money to fight them, I will just jump through their freaking invisible hoops. And that's why they get away with it.

Bah! Grump!