When I'm 64

is when I'm expecting I'll finally get my social security number.

Sometimes I wonder why I went to all the trouble to come to this country legally. All those illegal immigrants — or "aliens," as they call them in America — we always heard so much about. Living and working here illegally. Where did I go wrong?

I crossed the border, legally, into the United States of America, on August 17. The American customs officers at the Toronto airport checked my papers, checked my luggage, examined Pinky's teeth, ran my passport through their electronic thingamagig; then filled out an I-94 form, signed it, sealed it, and stapled it into my passport.

The next morning I was at the social security office in downtown San Jose.

"When did you enter the country?"

"Yesterday."

Clickety click click. Then: "You're not in the system yet."

Have you ever noticed how the people that work in government offices always look at you with suspicion? They don't even make an effort to mask it. Some things are exactly the same here as they are at home.

The clerk sighed, took my passport and my I-94 form, and made copies of everything. She told me to expect the card in four weeks.

On September 22 — I gave it five weeks, because, well, it's a government office; no one expects them to process paperwork in the timeframe they tell you they can process paperwork in &mdash I called the social security office.

I was on hold for nearly an hour til I was able to explain my situation to another clerk. My first payday at USJ was nine days hence. I thought there might still be a chance.

Silly me.

"It seems your paperwork got caught in the backlog, but I've sent it in now."

You've sent it in? Sent it in where? Aren't you the place it's supposed to go? Haven't you had everything you needed for five weeks?

"So it will take four to five weeks."

"You mean from today."

"Yes."

"So, what you're saying is, about ten weeks all in all."

"Yes."

"And this is because I did what i was supposed to do. I filled out the paperwork as soon as I had legally entered the country."

"Yes."

"If I had waited, say, two weeks before coming to show you my paperwork, you would have been able to issue me a number straightaway?"

"Well..."

Usually, that German efficiency thing is a good thing. But nothing's what I expected it to be, here.

One year ago, Postmodern Sass and Angela discussed men. Two years ago, Postmodern Sass watched the American election insanity from a hotel room in Mississippi.

Postmodern Sass's social security card arrives 25 years early, but before it does she's reminded of a failed Internet company called Pointcast, gets an email from her friend Angela, and has a Bizarro World conversation with a student.