Dear Soviet Union

(Robison Wells hasn't slept in three weeks, due to a small pea beneath his many mattresses. A pea named Whitney. Consequently, today you'll be getting one of the Robison Wells Blog Classics®. This was originally posted to his blog on March 2, 2006.)

Dear Soviet Union,

Hi! How are things? It's been a while. I miss you -- I really do! You guys always made the greatest movie villians, what with your accents and vodka and inherent evilness.

The reason I'm writing is because I thought about you the other day. You see, my son was born about six months ago, and he never received his Social Security card in the mail. And without that card, there's no way that I can file my taxes. And without my taxes filed, I'll go to jail. (And while I totally think Lenin was awesome for rebelling against The Man and going to prison, I'm still a little squeamish about that kind of thing.)

So, I had to go to the Social Security Administration offices, and it was like my own little piece of Russia, right here in Utah. Fifty chairs were arranged theater-style, facing a row of five windows, although only two of the five windows were staffed and open for business. As I entered, I picked a number -- I got '3', and as I sat down the clerk called for number 'U-1606'. The walls were drab, and the floors unmopped, and the security guard occasionally sprayed air-freshener around himself to make the odor tolerable.

And I waited. The next number called was something like 'B528', and after that was 'U-1607'. It would be a while before they got to '3'.

Most of the patrons were patient and understanding. There was an old woman who couldn't figure out the Get-A-Number machine, and someone kindly helped her. A long -haired foreigner (who talked on the phone for, like, forever) (I think he was German) couldn't understand the forms he'd been given, and someone gave him aid. We all had to endure the same afflictions, and like prisoners in Siberia we pulled together to find strength. (Except for the foul-mouthed girls on the front row, who came in and only waited for ten minutes, and then swore and left. You know the saying: If you can't take the bureaucracy, get out of the Social Security Office. No salvation-through-suffering for them!)

And what salvation it was! After an hour and a half I finally had my moment in the sun, sitting in front of the window, talking to the clerk. He was surpringly pleasant for working in such a red-tape nightmare, and he never once uttered the Social Security Administration's motto: "I'm sorry, you don't have the right forms." On the contrary, after two minutes at his desk I had Sammy's number, and by the end of the day I'd completed my taxes.

And was the return big? You bet it was, Soviet Union. Way bigger than it would have been under communist control. America so totally rocks. I mean, honestly: give it up, pinkos.

My best to the wife and kids.

Hugs and kisses,

Rob