A FORUM FOR COMMUNITY ISSUES : Gripe

As a professor, I’ve always been treated with respect--or I was until I went to the Social Security office on Sunset Boulevard to deliver my birth certificate to clear up an eligibility question.

“Call me on the office telephone,” the counselor had said. “If you can’t get through, ask the guard to fetch me.” I dialed the requisite number. No answer.

Two armed guards herded the crowd like cattle, barking orders, yelling numbers.

“You can’t stand there,” one said. “Sit over there!” Ignoring him, I redialed the number and was told, “Miss P’s away from her desk.”

The guard returned. “This is the second time I’m telling you. Sit over there or wait in the street!” I studied the notices on the wall. Spanish, Russian, English, Korean.

“This is the third time. Either sit over there or go outside!” Mustering dignity, I said, “I’m not used to being ordered about. Miss P. is coming right out. I’ll wait here.”

“They can say what they like. We’ve got our orders.” He went on, “And you’re parked illegally. We could tow your car.”

I snapped back: “I’m not parked illegally. I’m not going to sit down. And I won’t be bullied like this!” Suddenly obsequious, he went and fetched Miss P., himself.

I told Miss P about being pushed around. She shrugged. “That’s just the way it is around here.”

Among chickens, those near the bottom of the pecking order are the most cruel to those under them. So it is in bureaucracies. Where the poor or “lower classes” or immigrants seek help, the guards (near-poor themselves) are vested with power by the uniform, the gun on the hip.

This was new to me and it made me angry. I fumed all day, felt a lump in my throat, felt helpless, felt just a hint of what it’s like for those without my advantages, who routinely endure third-class treatment by third-class peons. And I understood how people might eventually refuse to take it. And might rebel.