Socially Secure

I was lying in bed reading a book or something, which is my want, when that is what my want wants me to do. And I glanced down at the floor and my discarded clothing and such. I guess I wanted to do that, too. I saw a slipper. And something inside said slipper. Something familiar and old and extremely odd in said slipper. Before going back to the next chapter of my book, I paused. What? What was that in my said slipper that my wants wantingly wanted me to see? Is that? Seriously? My Social Security Card? What the-

Um. Yes. Late at night... in bed... while reading a book... my social Security Card... was in a slipper... on the floor... by my dresser... in my bedroom... bobbled with other discarded clothes... clearly visible for me to see... while reading a book... in bed... late at night... You can't make this shit up.

I fished it out. How did it get in my slipper, exactly? Never mind. Life is about what is. How it happened is history. That's another kettle of worms. About forty five years ago I had my SocSec card laminated. After all. I was supposed to carry it with me everywhere. Or so I thought. You know? To keep back the Commies? Or the Capitalists? It was my lifeline to security? Socially? It was just a piece of paper, of course. Even security needed protection.

So I sealed it in plastic. Today it would be an app. I kept it in my wallet for decades. I thought I needed it to prove that I was Socially Secure or something. Gradually the plastic deteriorated. Friction in my wallet, I guess. Lamination does not stand up to intimidation. Or laceration.

OK. So there's a piece of paper inside a really rattly piece of plastic. The paper looks preserved, so I guess the sacrificial plastic played its role. Sweet. Hmm. On top of the card are the words SOCIAL SECURITY in a large, art deco font sweeping the marquee. There's a seal in the middle with a shield containing a book and maybe an eagle. Republics like eagles. And sticks. No. Fascists like sticks. And axes. Forget the sticks.  Something underneath the shield is obscured by the deteriorating plastic. Around the shield are the words, DEPARTMENT OF HEALTH AND HUMAN SERVICES. U.S.A.

We used to be concerned with health? And serving humans? And not in the Twilight Zone way? Who knew? And can we get back to that?

On either side, under the art deco banner with the improbable declaration, are doric columns. More nods to Republicanism. And then an honest to life typewriter typed number, followed by HAS BEEN ESTABLISHED FOR, and then my name, neatly typed, and SIGNATURE, which I had dutifully signed, being my social responsibility. I had sworn to the social contract.

And one last warning at the bottom: FOR SOCIAL SECURITY AND TAX PURPOSES - NOT FOR IDENTIFICATION

I wouldn't dream of it.

The back of the card had suffered more from the radishes of time. (I would not add them to salad.) Most of the plastic was gone. The lower left third was scraped down to pulp. Decoding it would be an exercise in guesswork. (It's surely available from the Dept of Health and Human Services and undoubtedly on line. I'm only using this as an exercise in archeology.) Here is the remaining text, as best as I can record.


KEEP this card. SIGN it immediately. SHOW it to
your employer. Mention the number in all letters about
your account. If you lose this card apply for a duplicate,
not a new number....
....On.... ...ou can get a statement of wages credited
to your (account?).... (Get?).... a form for this purpose from any
Social Security Administration District Office.
....change your name notify the nearest Social....
....ministration District Office immediately....
....FAMILY TO NOTIFY THE NEAREST....
OFFICE IN THE EVENT OF YOUR...
....E TO GET IN TOUCH WITH....
....ICE WHEN YOU REACH....
U BE(C?)OME SEVERELY....

(H?), EDUCATION, AND WELFARE....
....ITY ADMINISTRATION

In the upper, left corner at right angles to the rest is: (R?)ev. (11-61)

Hmm. So what did I just fish out of a slipper on my bedroom floor at night when I had wanted to be reading a book but was thrown into social archeology instead? (I still want to know how the fuck it got there.) A piece of history? A real thing? A relic? Archeology? A point in time? An obsolete, bankrupt bad idea that was doomed to fail eventually? A good idea that served the many but deprived the privileged few who were sure to loot it eventually? No good pocket goes unpicked? Well. History has a lot to say about that. There are pockets aplenty for the picking.

Well, a memory, for sure. Looking at it I remember how I felt over the past five decades about my social contract with my greater society and how I felt my obligations were towards it and what I should look forward to in return. And what I expected. And what I was willing to sacrifice. And how it was all supposed to work out.

Do you feel secure?