FEMALE PROBLEMS
The good people at the Social Security Administration are partly responsible for my feeling financially secure, but they have done a lousy job at making me feel secure socially. Hey, isn’t that what the name says? My story begins with an actual letter I received this week from my supplemental Medicare provider…
Dear Richard Wolfsie
Our records show that the gender we have for you doesn’t match the information received from the Center for Medicare and Medicaid. To have your gender corrected, please contact your local Social Security Office.
I dialed immediately, hoping to reach a real person who could look into everything without having to actually look at anything, if you know what I mean. After I answered a few automated questions, a man who identified himself as Art came on the phone and offered to assist me. I told him my last name and Social Security number.
“Yes, we have you on file. What can I do for you, Ma’am?”
I could see this wasn’t starting out very well. I explained to Art the confusion that had arisen but I tried talking with a deeper voice, hoping that might move the conversation along in the right direction. At first Art thought his office had a software problem, as opposed to my having…I guess what you’d call a hardware problem, but he was clearly stumped by how to fix this dilemma.
“This is a new one for me, Wolfsie. By the way, mind if I just call you Wolfsie? At least until we satisfactorily address this problem? Not sure I can fix this with a simple keystroke. This may require a face-to-face meeting.”
I was uncomfortable with that possibility. I’m not a rugged looking guy. I even have some soft features. I tried to talk him out of it. “Look, how about an eyewitness report. Can you take my wife’s word for it? Or I can have the guys from the gym sign an affidavit. Or maybe the security agents at the airport could give you a buzz. Those guys have seen it all.”
I’m very sorry, but we do have our standard operating procedures,” said Art.
The term “operating procedures” really creeped me out. This seemed an extreme way to get all the information to match.
“Are you on Medicare?” Art asked.
“Yes, for the past several months.”
“Which parts?”
“Gee whiz, you don’t have a record of those parts, either? There must be some explanation for all this.”
”Wolfsie, maybe the computer read your first name as being either a man’s or a woman’s—thus the confusion.”
“You must be right, Art. Who doesn’t have a nieces or a grandmother named Richard?”
“I need to put you on hold again, Wolfsie. Sorry to make you wait.”
“No problem. I’ll pass the time flipping through Bride magazine.”
Moments later…
“It looks to me, Wolfsie, that we have you officially listed as a man all your life, but for some reason you became a woman in our system when you signed up for Medicare. That was effective March 2, 2012.
“Well, if it’s so effective, why didn’t I get half-off Ladies’ Night at Victory Field or a free dirty martini during Cougar Happy Hour at Harry & Izzy’s?”
We had been on the phone almost an hour when Art said he needed to check one more thing. He promised he’d return in a few seconds. I held for another five minutes but he never came back on the line. He just kept me hanging.
Isn’t that just like a man?
