This column starts with one of the great mysteries of the universe.
OK, well maybe not that humongous … but it was certainly a head-scratcher in my little world. How in the heck did my Social Security file get changed back to my maiden name in 1992 – long before my divorce and without me ever being aware of it?
I got hit with that unexpected news recently when I began making inquiries about my Social Security benefits. And although I still can’t figure out how this misinformation became part of my permanent records, I was told the error had to be cleared up before I could even think about collecting any future money.
Which meant a trip last week to the land of the Lost and Confused — the office of the Social Security Administration.
The gentleman handling my case told me to make an appointment at a local office to avoid a wait, but when I called to do just that, the voice on the other end declared “that won’t be necessary” and to just come in during business hours.
As I walked through the doors, I scanned the room quickly and settled on a seat in the second row for one reason: It was the only chair available.
Forever delusional, I figured I’d be out of there within the hour, despite the crowded waiting room. Unfortunately, the only thing moving quickly were the little kids scurrying between rows, trying to burn off energy as the numbers on the monitor rolled over ever so slowly.
Soon bored with my own thoughts and those posted on Facebook … and growing increasingly frustrated at the hours wasting away, I did what I would strongly suggest anyone do when walking into a government office without your patience pants on: Strike up a conversation with those sitting next to you.
My chair happened to be between two teachers — one a quick-witted Batavia math instructor, the other a soft-spoken retired educator formerly from North Aurora who now lives in Batavia.
Carolyn Smith, the math teacher, found herself caught up in a bureaucratic web while trying to get her driver’s license renewed. After a two-hour wait — this one with her kids in tow — at the Department of Motor Vehicles, she was told her Social Security number did not match her name. In essence, “I was not anywhere in the system,” she lamented, and until it got straightened out, there was no way she could get her license renewed.
The woman to my right was Melissa Heinen, a retired teacher there to help Nasiba Bakhryeva, a young Russian immigrant she’d befriended 12 years ago when working with a group teaching English to residents at Victory Courts apartments on the West Side of Aurora.
Even after Bakhryeva, now 31, got married and moved to Idaho, teacher and student remained friends, a relationship that grew closer when Bakhryeva moved back to Aurora to live with her parents because her baby had been born with health problems and needed to be near Chicago specialists.
The good news — and the reason they were sitting in that office — after three years, the little girl “is doing much better,” her mother told me, and is now off the feeding tube keeping her alive. On Saturday, Bakhryeva and her child were rejoining her husband in Idaho, so they wanted to also get her daughter off Social Security. Heinen said she accompanied her to the local office “to makes sure there were no issues.”
Sitting between these two women — discussing topics ranging from stolen identities to kids’ summer reading programs — my wait didn’t seem so intolerable. Together we pondered other mysteries of the universe: Why were some folks standing at the window forever? Why was no one coming out of Door E, which I assumed from the number I was assigned, my final destination?
Why did the guy who came in on a skateboard get called before those of us waiting much longer? They had told us earlier we’d be served in order of importance, but did that really mean order of impatience?
We all agreed two things terrified us most: Our number coming up when we were in the restroom, and finding out we did not have all our paperwork once we got in front of a live person.
As it turned out, Smith and my new friends to the right got called within 30 seconds of each other, leaving me alone to contemplate the meaning of life in a Social Security office and whether I would have to skip lunch.
Both were in and out in less time than it took to check my email.
Despite being told getting off Social Security could have been done online, Heinen left the office smiling, and I wished Bakhryeva good luck in Idaho. Smith was not quite as happy. She’s going to have to wait for her new card to come in the mail, which could take up to two weeks, before going back to the DMV to get her license renewed.
As for me, not long after Door E finally opened, my number came up and I crossed its threshold, not without a tinge of trepidation. There, I met a friendly employee who greeted me with a beautiful smile and kind eyes and quickly took care of that name error — although its origin remains a mystery.
“I’ll bet you get all sorts of reactions from people once they reach you,” I told the woman, indicating the long wait and crowded room outside her door.
She smiled again. “Yes, some are very upset … others make friends out there and don’t seem to mind.
“You meet all kinds,” she added.
And if you’re lucky, some will tell you their names.
