Urgently needed records

Urgent need for personal records

For many years I have often thought about the strange custom the government and private business institutions have of maintaining personal files on us as individuals. They hold them in private from our view as if classified. Then, much later in life, when one needs them urgently they have now been moved to storage in government archives in a remote outpost out of state. It takes weeks to process a request for those. (Luckily this was not the case this time).
I recently needed my last 12 months of medical records from the local hospital. I could have gotten President Bush's or president Obama's just about as easy. It started with an official looking letter signed and dated by my own hand and 48 hours for the records office to comply. All that was really needed was a few minutes to go into the files, pull out the one with my name in alphabetical order, and copy the entire year of records. (maybe 20 pages or less). This official delay tactic is typical practice instead of me being able to sort through and remove only the ones I needed pertaining to my heart treatments and then making only those copies. No, the rules are rules and I must comply.
  With the official letter signed and presented properly 5 days ago, as weekend days do not count towards rapid response time outlined in the rulebook,  ( which I have personally never seen). I wind through the crowded parking lot eventually finding a space not numbered or reserved for special persons or special needs persons. I then splash through the puddles of the parking lot in the pouring rain as I grimly remind myself to replace the umbrella I left drying in the garage several days ago. In fact, the same day I presented the letter. Once inside, I am directed down the hall and up two floors to the end room of the passageway where I will be attended to. I find the room and enter. I then take a number and wait as the sign indicates. 89 is the count but I am the only person waiting.
The attending clerk fiddles with papers and folders for several minutes before acknowledging my solitary presence. He approaches the counter but about three feet over to one side so I have to move over to be in front of him where he wants to do business. Middle aged, overweight, balding. He perfected the stereotype image we all have of people in these positions. His ornate nameplate was clearly the most elegant decoration in the entire office and I noted he also carried a huge ring of keys clipped to his belt. There were enough keys there for the whole base and half the town as well. Uh huh!...an amusing quip from my earlier days in the Navy came to me. He must be the "key" man in the outfit, haha...I mused. He accepts my approved request for specific records and reviews it in detail.He moved to a stack of folders in a basket on a file cabinet by the desk and removed a thick one with my name at the top. He then bends over it and slowly leafs through the contents slowly. He also keeps a safe distance away and shelters it from my view with his body. I did manage to get a fast and furtive glance at the open folder before the clerk feined realization of his "intentional" error of blatantly placing the folder for all the world to see...(he and I and of course that tricky spy cam that would not be revealed until I someday make a bid for public office!)  This guy was good, really good, and thoroughly practiced in his movements. At one point he suddenly makes an indistinguishable remark of what sounded like surprise under his breath and rushes to the back room clutching my records folder and darts behind the door. My momentary rush of anxiety rescinded as I noted through the crack of the door that he was simply finishing his coffee and doughnuts before they got cold and stale. He returned shortly still chewing and swallowing the last but enormous chunk of a doughnut and 1/4 cup of coffee. Hmnnn, sugar coated and jelly filled I noted as he smiled a practiced smile and simply said, " Sommy 'bout tat" and I automatically muttered a muffled reply of " Oh, no problem, no problem at all" as I checked the time delibertly and impatiently so he would get the message to stop "doddering" and get back to business. I could see as well that he must routinely feast on doughnuts for breakfast due to his protruding double stomach caused by a too tight belt cinched firmly in place. His shirt was smeared with jelly and powdered sugar. His pants had recently been 'let out' as well. This is his whole world I acknowledged. He is the commanding General of this office, his own world. I also thought something like, Can't you see that I am old and tired?  Also retired, and my feet are killing me because there are no chairs anywhere. It reminded me how often I have smiled at "no loitering" signs in official buildings with nothing to do or see anywhere nearby. As if someone would come here just to while away idle time. However, I always remember that at least one person has done that to merit the procurement and placement of these signs. Another sign I love is the one on a door of  beautiful entranceways all over military installations that say, "Use the back entrance only!". Like the one on the building I had just entered.
"Givemeyourfullnamesocialsecuritynumberdateofbirthandhomeaddress" he suddenly blurts out and I snap back to reality from nearly dozing off on my feet. Score one for him. I brace myself for the bout of wits to follow. I slowly recite everything he asks for but have the order of things all jumbled up on purpose while silently congratulating  myself on my mental ability to still do these things at this late stage of my life. After all, he started this little game. This guy is really experienced, I acknowledge, as he clears his throat and asks me if a different date of birth was what I had just said.
Game on!.. I thought gleefully as I hesitated and closed one eye and put on that expression of straining my brain to come up with the correct date of my birthday. Then, I asked in return...do you want my date of birth or the day of the week I was born on?...a Tuesday I think but my memory is failing...I replied matter of factly. He tried to hide his scowl but I caught it and felt a little better now. (gotcha!)
I inwardly marked a 1 in the plus column under my imaginary score card along with several more I had been waiting to score since the encounter began. Close, I thought, but I am ahead...
Bam!, he slams the folder shut on the counter, smiles to himself as he measures the competitiveness in my demeanor, and heads for the back room again. (you know, that forbidden entry space in the back of every office in every town in every country in the world.)
"This may take some time", he says smugly and with authority as he almost closes the door yet leaves it slightly ajar so I can catch glimpses of the other clandestine figures moving about in that forbidden room. I hear muffled chatter coming from within and scattered laughter from time to time. He is taking a very long time.
I now occupy my attention checking out the family pictures all over the desk, (one kid certainly looks a lot like his best friend, I surmise), and turn to take in the tattered file cabinet covered with several cartoons and cute sayings about life. "Ah ha, there it is!", I think to myself as I spot the one of the Frog gripping the neck of the Crane who is gamely trying to make a meal of him. ( if a new building opens tomorrow, that cartoon from the late '60's will quickly show up by the desk in front so it can be seen by everyone.)
I catch sight of a spider busy storing a fly it has caught and a small mouse trap in the corner with stale cheese. Then suddenly the door opens in a rush that sucks loose papers off the desk and cabinets while I note that this isn't the first time because one of them still has a dusty shoe print on it.
He deftly places a stack of papers in a large yellow envelope, bends the retainer clips, labels and seals the package as if it is ready for mailing. "Have a nice day" he chirps happily as the tick in his right eye begins to move rapidly. I now know I have been victorious and my reply is honey coated as I give the "Coupe de gratis" and thank him for valiant efforts to overcome such a tremendous undertaking in a very short period of time for an undeserving lower echelon as myself.
I drive home cheerfully and in the comfort of my living room I open my package carefully to avoid touching the licked glue area and begin to carefully revise the contents. The very first page blatantly blares out the bold letters of a woman named Smith!
Next are 3 copies of the same page. Following is a blurry half page. I grimace as I realize he and the rest of the office must be rolling on the floor in laughter at this very moment. Then I find my proper ones mixed up with a thick pile of non-essential other copies of nothingness. I carefully sort through them while visions of unmerciful tortures flash through my mind.
Sigh!...tomorrow I will have to visit the tax office to get a typo in my property title corrected...can't wait...I smile a little to hide the furrows in my forehead...I will win this one for sure...I am prepared for whatever that clerk brings...