The depth of idiocy that can be found in our state and federal governments sometimes stuns me. To clarify, I am not referring to particular individuals; rather, I am referring to the Frankenstein that is Government Bureaucracy, the stand-alone piece of the larger entity that seems to have run away from its creators.
A bureaucracy that has created a federal tax code which, according to The Economist, has grown to approximately 70,000 pages? The same tax code that causes the head of the IRS, Douglas Shulman, to hire an accountant to do his taxes? That’s what I’m talking about.
A bureaucracy that provides a sadistic main phone number to the Catonsville branch of the Department of Social Services, one that is never answered by an actual person but instead sends the hapless caller on an endless loop of automation, only to end in a dead end extension that rings indefinitely? The specter of government bureaucracy rises again.
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I could go on to describe the $219,000 study funded by stimulus money, which allowed a Syracuse professor to study the sex patterns of college women. Actually, that's not really a good example of idiotic bureaucracy, but it was so ridiculous I had to include it.
Anyway, I think you get the picture.
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My latest encounter with our Government-at-Work involved a trip to the MVA with my 15-year-old in the hopes of obtaining her learner’s permit. I entered the building with some trepidation, well prepared for long lines, and was pleasantly surprised to find us standing before the customer service agent after only a very short wait. My daughter explained the reason for our visit, and then focused her gaze upon the state employee, her eyes full of innocent expectation. Poor child.
“Ok,” said the customer service agent in a kind voice. “You’ve provided your passport, an original Social Security card and verification that you are a current high school student. However, since you’ve given me a passport instead of a birth certificate, I will need the adult with you to provide her identification.”
I was a bit taken aback. I have to admit, up until that point I had been feeling fairly confident that I had brought the necessary documentation, just as described on the MVA website. Heck, I was pretty proud of myself for finding my kid’s original Social Security card, as I swear it fell out of my butt where I found it on the floor during my search for her passport.
And why provide a passport instead of a birth certificate you may ask? Well, I reasoned that one needs a birth certificate to obtain a passport, but not vice versa. And a birth certificate won’t allow you to fly to Canada or Mexico. Ergo, in my simplified view of the world, a passport seems to provide multilayered proof of identity, more comprehensive than a mere birth certificate.
Oh well, if my i.d. was the only additional documentation needed, then we were not doing so badly.
I reached for my driver's license.
“No,” said Joe, the customer service agent (not his actual name). “I need verification that you are the young lady’s legal guardian or mother. This verification can be in the form of a tax return, proving you claim her on your taxes.”
“But…but I don’t usually carry my tax returns with me,” I stammered.
Joe fell silent, blinking owlishly from behind the thick frames of his glasses (not his actual glasses).
“And this is my LICENSE,” I clarified, waggling the card closer to his face. “You are employed by the M....V….A, the place I obtained said license. Can’t you pull the information you need up on your computer?”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Joe replied calmly. “I need to verify that you are this young lady’s mother. We once had a grandmother accompany a minor to obtain a learner’s permit, only to find later that the minor’s mother had not provided permission. We now require verification of guardianship.”
“But can’t we employ reason?” I implored, still suffering from disbelief that this was happening. “I’m obviously her mother. We look alike, and we have the same last name. I’m too young to be her grandmother. It’s impossible. I didn’t even begin to date until I was in college.”
Joe merely shrugged and settled back, clearly recognizing the storm that was brewing.
I began to fume. “Let me clarify,” I said. “The documents we’ve provided would allow my daughter to enter many foreign countries but are not sufficient to obtain a Maryland learner’s permit?”
Joe replied with a single and prolonged blink.
“For God’s sake, it’s a learner’s permit,” I continued, “not a license to carry plutonium!”
Nothing.
“What do you think she’s going to do with a learner’s permit? Lure unsuspecting adults into her car, and then force them to allow her to drive them in circles in the high school parking lot?!!
I ended this last bit slightly out of breath.
Joe remained unperturbed. He merely stared at me, possibly bolstered by the years of governmental employment behind him, and the pension and health insurance benefits just a few years in his future.
I returned his gaze, with nothing but anger to fuel me.
Of course I blinked first...Newman.
Anger and frustration coursed through me as I grabbed our papers and turned to leave. The security guard, obviously used to witnessing quite a bit of anger and frustration in the course of a normal workday, could not have held the door open any wider for us as we exited the building.
Needless to say, the ride home was not pleasant. I’d like to claim that I used this incident as a learning opportunity, exhibiting grace upon my encounter with adversity and providing a teachable moment for my daughter.
Unfortunately, this was not so. I railed against the MVA, the CIA and, oddly, the NBA and AAA. I linked curse words into combinations heretofore only familiar to certain inmates of high security prisons. And I vowed we would return. Return! RETURN!!
My daughter turned up the volume of her iPod and became absorbed by the scenery passing by her window.
Return we did, that very same day, this time with a large bag full of documentation, including (and I do not lie):
-my daughter’s birth certificate
-my birth certificate
-my daughter’s passport
-my passport
-my daughter’s original Social Security card
-our tax documents
-my daughter’s current high school transcripts
-my high school transcripts
-my father’s college transcripts, circa 1946
-the lease from my first apartment
-a letter from my gynecologist stating my 2011 pap smear was normal
-a Lyle Lovett CD
Joe received this information in good humor and checked us through without incident. I am proud to report, after four hours and two round trips to the MVA, my daughter is now in possession of a learner’s permit, allowing her to test the efficacy of our seatbelt restraints as she violently applies the brakes in her efforts to pull out of our driveway.
My chiropractor is going to be a very rich man.
As for Joe, I hold no lasting grudge. I understand he is only the messenger, a cog in the rusty wheel that is the MVA bureaucracy.
I just hope the next time I return, I can identify Joe through all that red tape.