changing my name

Bureaucracy. Social Security lives to feed itself -- has nothing to do with the well- being of those it claims to serve.

Here's how it went. I got married, as you all know, and wanted to change my name. I've had the old one a long time, and I figure leaving it all behind means leaving all my names, pseudonyms and aliases as well. Marriage seems so legitimate, but in Portland Oregon, in the spring of 2004, it isn't that simple. I've worked around bureaucracies most of my adult life, and I know some things, like: bring a book and plan to spend the day. I know: bring I.D. get there early and grab a number. I know: sit alone and don't make eye contact. I know: If you appear to be in a hurry, the federal gods know it like dogs know fear and the whole process become as snarled as a 100 foot extension cord. I swear I walked in as zen as Ashland. Even the security guard smiled at me. I showed my ID, I took a number. I was first in line, for chrissake. FIRST. My number was 37, but I was first. I sat, I waited, my number was called. And I think where I went wrong was where I usually go wrong. Arrogance. I thought I had it wired. And I don't know why I feel compelled to relay this information to the cosmos of blog-world, but here goes.

Changing My Name. A play in four acts.

ACT I


the guy at the bullet proof window says: Do you have your old social security card?
I say: No. (oversight #1)
Do you have ID with your old name on it?
Yes (I yank out my Driver's license)
Okay, fine. Why are you changing your name?
I got married.
Oh, congratulations.
Smile, nod.
Do you have your marriage certificate?
Yes I do. (arrogance: you bet I do, buddy. Do you think I'd come all this way without it? I am so ready for this....)
Hmmm. Let's see. No, I'm sorry. This won't work.
Huh?
This document. It isn't valid as identification.
Huh?
This was issued between the dates of April 20 and May whatever.
Huh?
You see, this license was issued duing the time gay marriages were being performed and so it isn't valid.
Huh? But I'm not gay.
Yes. Than doesn't matter.
Matters to me motherfucker. (I didn't really say that last thing.) Okay. (I take a breath, regain some of the zen composure I walked in with.) Okay, I'm confused. (That's what enlightened people say instead of "bullshit.")
He says: Yes. I'm sorry. Do you have other ID?
Other than my driver's license?
Yes. It has to be something with your new name on it.
But... (I struggle here) I am here to CHANGE my name. I don't have anything with my new name on it because MY NAME HAS NOT BEEN CHANGED. (you fucking idiot.... as composure slips between my fingers, off my lap and pools on the floor next to me.) Tell me what I need to do.
You need to get something with your new name on it.
(No shit.)
Like a health insurance card or your driver's license.
If you won't change it, why would DMV?
Sometimes they do.
Just sometimes? (I'm picking a fight. I'm prone to this.)
He goes on to cover his ass by saying he can't promise anything, like THAT matters.
I leave.

ACT II

I go to DMV and the guy gives me a new license with very little trouble. The picture is shitty, but that's nothing new. I surrender my old license like a lost battle, and I ask him about the difference between Federal and state law and the marriage certificate. He tells me the governor is his boss and all he has to do is look at the certificate and see that an M and F box are checked. Not two of the same one. See?

ACT III

My husband comes home from work. "Look honey, your name is on the new insurance card!!!" Yippee. I'm covered. I have two pieces of ID with my new name on it.

ACT IV

Back to SS office. This time I'm more confident than ever. (slow learner) I have my original SS card and 2 (count 'em) pieces of ID, fresh off the printer. I'm not first in line, but that's okay. This will be a breeze.

Do you have your original SS card?
Yes. Yes I do. Right here.
Okay. You know that isn't useable as identification.
Oh, God. (my resolve dissipates.)
Do you have any identification with your new name?
Yes. I do. (I perk up)
Okay, fine. Now, I need something wiht your old name on it.
This is very bad. I've surrendered the old license. Have nothing else. I should have known better than to give it up. Never surrender. Who said that? I point feebly to the SS card.
She shakes her head.
I consider my options and tell her: I had these things in my old name, really, just last week, but the guy sitting in that chair told me to get them in my new name.
I'm sorry, I guess he wasn't thinking.
(ya think?)
Do you have the marriage certificate?
(Now, I'm smart enough not to go down that road again.) No, I tell her. It was issued during the April 20 dates.
She nods like that makes perfect sense.
I don't know what to do, I tell her.
Did you graduate from High school? Do you have a diploma?
Oh, shit yeah. I've graduated from so many fucking things you wouldn't even believe how smart I am.
Get that. She says.

And so I did. I drove home, grabbed all of my various degrees and marched back into that Social Security office like a terrorist.

Okay. so my name is changed, but I am not.