Carded

The friendly lady on the phone said that she could take care of my problem, "right away."

She wasn't kidding.

The friendly lady worked for the State Bar Association, and she was, in fact, able to help me right away. See, the years of my weighty ass bearing down upon the contents of my wallet eventually took its toll on my flimsy plastic Bar Card.

The Bar Card, low-end technology, yet it's like a magical pass into exciting places like the county law library, and the state penitentiary.

My card was broken, cracked in two, and it was time to order a new one. The phone call was quick, and the help I received was immediate. The new card arrived today, after a one-day turn around.

Unlike my missing Social Security card, which was lost, I think, perhaps filed away in that magic fairy file under the house. I ordered a new one of those as well, in person, though, from a mu mu-wearing manatee at the window of the local Social Security office. It was a mid-day trek across downtown, and involved riding the Max at least part way.

14 days for a new one. All I had to do was show my drivers license to the sea-cow. That, of course, contained my picture to prove who I was. Although, all I needed to present for that was my birth certificate, which contains no identifying information whatsoever. I think, perhaps, I needed to show my SS card for the license, which creates a sort of infinite logic circle.

All that I am, I guess, who I am, what I do, where I live, it's all on the cards which ride around in my pocket against my ass. Appropriate, I suppose.