On the sowsh

My Social Security card arrived today. This was an exciting bit of progress and given that I thought I was going to be murdered in the Social Security office by the 7ft bloke in the dirty jeans who kept asking me if I had a boyfriend, it felt like a double score.

It was relatively straight forward (apart from fearing for my life). I went to the West Hollywood office, took my ticket and waited for my number to be called. Because you're in Hollywood, it's very easy to forget that this city has a huge population of Have Nots and many of them were in the office that day.

The staff barked a never-ending stream of foreign sounding names, calling people up to the window. I knew I was showing too much boob for a social security office when Kwasi lumbered over to inquire about my relationship status. I hate lying and don't think it's ever OK. "Do you have a boyfriend?", he droned. "Yeeeees" I said with an apologetic smile. Everything was crossed.

Luckily, a few moments later, anice lady called out my foreign sounding name, saving me from having my head crushed, Of Mice and Men style by my own Ghanian Lenny.

I was surprised when the card arrived as it was literally that. A flimsy bit of card. I need plastic, America! You can't feel official with a bit of paper validating you. It's like James Bond settling his bar bill with coupons. Not cool. Apart from the poor stationery choices of the Los Angeles Social Security department, I was delighted to receive the card. Now all I have to is get a job and a bank account to put the cash in and I am away. No problem....