I had already waited three months for the approval that was supposed to take 30 days. My Social Security application was in some kind of paper purgatory. It was understandable. Thousands of employees had been fired. Offices, closed. The phone system was jammed and the computer system was down. As DOGE tore deeper into the failing heart of America, I convinced myself it was too late.
Before giving up, I set aside a day to spend on the phone. Maybe there was a person somewhere who could help, not that I really believed it.
I called the national toll-free number first. I waited an hour before I hung up. I called the SSA office 600 miles away where my online application had been routed. I was on hold three times before being disconnected all three times. Then I called my local office and in under 30 minutes an actual voice answered. It was Ms. Thomas, she said, and how could she help me? I suddenly felt as if I didn’t have a problem any more, not with Ms. Thomas on the line, but I told her anyway.
You’ve been waiting since when?
(I told her.)
She repeated the date, sounding suitably shocked.
I’m so sorry you’ve been waiting but have you heard about what’s going on over here?
Yes, I said. That’s why I’m amazed to be speaking to you.
Your application is not being handled in our office but I will contact the office that has it, leave a message for the person it was assigned to, and let you know the status. Can you hold while I do that?
Yes.
(Scary long wait.)
Ms. Miller? The person who has your application has not responded, but when they do, I will call you back. I will definitely call you back today.
She stressed “definitely” and “today.”
I told her how sorry I was for what she was going through, how much I appreciated her and her co-workers, and how cruel, unfair, unjust and downright criminal this situation was. She was obviously doing everything she could for every caller who got through, everyone who would otherwise be left behind.
We just want to be here for you as long as we can.
That stopped me, that phrase repeated again: here for you. It was but a slender filament, that lifeline, but all lifelines are.
A few hours later, she called. After languishing in the afterlife, my application had been approved. Because of her.
I have to believe that on every corner of every street in every town in this once-great nation there are people who just want to be here for you, people who want to do their jobs and get stuff done and feel good about it.
It feels good to help people, you see. It feels bad to only help the billionaires. But here we are.