The surreality of it all...

So, there I was, sitting in the Social Security office at 9:15 in the morning. I had my little number clutched in my fist, Z17, and they were only serving Z5. I also had my folder with my retirement info in it, including my birth certificate (I had a feeling they would need it). Well, it beat the DMV, where one has to stand in line. I guessed it was because most of us were either old or disabled. I didn't feel I fit in either category, no really. I spent a happy half hour playing hide and seek with a blond toddler in the row in front of me. By the time he and his mother got to the window, he was pretty tired out and cranky. An hour, later, they got to me, only to ask me to take a seat for my interview, whenever that number came up in their inner sanctum. That was when I went out to the car for a book, which I always keep in the car for just such occasions. I didn't need it though, because this older couple sat down next to me, and the wife began this long, rather one-sided conversation; her husband was a Superior Court judge, he went to Stanford, after going to West Point, they lived in Japan, she had lost her Medicare Card, which was too big to fit in the slots in her wallet, etc., etc., etc. Dear as she was, I was grateful when I was called in to my interview. Trish was a perky young woman who looked about 15 years old, a skinny little thing with a whole bunch of diamonds on her left hand. During our conversation, I learned she had a Masters degree, and I wondered why she was working for the government, but I felt assured she would not screw up my application. It took about another half hour, and voila, I was all signed up for benefits. Funny, it was so easy to pay the money in. Getting it out, well that's a different story. I was kind of expecting an argument, too, like "wait till you're 66 and you'll get more money". I had my retort all figured out; it would take 12 years to make up for what I didn't get at 62. So there.