I want to tell you a story that happened many years ago, as recently as today and will happen again tomorrow. It is a story about a deceptively familiar place where securing the basic necessities of life, health care, housing, transportation and communication, requires persistence to overcome one obstacle after another. I call this place The Parallel Universe.
Trila knows a personal identification card is an essential thing to carry around and keep track of, so she set out to obtain one and asked me to come along. Neither of us realized what we were getting ourselves into, but it quickly became evident we were back in The Parallel Universe.
Here’s where we begin: Trila had none of the following: No birth certificate; no driver’s license; no Social Security card; no veteran’s ID; no utility bills; no credit or debit card; no voter registration; no passport and no police record.
Here’s the reason Trila has none of these: All forms of personal identification were either stolen or lost in the chaos of eviction, becoming homeless and living on the street for a year before qualifying for a place of her own.
We quickly discover that applying for official identification with no identification papers in hand is a discombobulating experience. Trila and I are standing in the proper line in front of the proper window and the clerk says, “I need such-and-such ID in order to proceed.” Trila does not have the “such-and-such ID.” In order to obtain an officially recognized personal identification card, she must present an officially recognized form of identification! Every single one of us, the clerk, the woman standing behind us in line, the folks waiting in the lobby for their number to be called, and I know Trila is a real live human being, but without proof she is who she says she is, Trila cannot get the ID required to prove she is who she says she is.
Back in my car we pondered a way out of this depressing cul-de-sac. “I’ll call my sister. Maybe she knows how to get a copy of my birth certificate.” She did, ordered one sent to her address, then forwarded it to Trila. With the birth certificate in hand, we drove back to the local Bureau of Motor Vehicles (BMV) to see if the birth certificate was adequate documentation for a personal ID card. It was not. The clerk required proof of Trila’s social security number. I made an appointment with the Social Security Offices and three days later drove 18 miles to the nearest office.
With a new SS card in hand, Trila and I went back to the BMV. Trila sat for her photograph and walked out with a temporary card, the permanent one to arrive within the next 10 days. After waiting two weeks and still no card, Trila called the number on her temporary card and was informed that she’d neglected to put her apartment number on the street address line, so the mail room clerk in her building returned the envelope with the card inside to the sender. Trila straightened out the missing apartment number, and 10 days after that her new, permanent personal ID card arrived in the mail.
It was a reminder that In The Parallel Universe each step toward success is dependent on the person behind the desk. At any moment the process could be stopped. Trila starts the process armed only with a story of loss and her trust that the folks she must deal with are following institutional rules to the best of their ability. Discouragement and exhaustion and a sense of hopelessness are never far away.
In today’s story, the four miles from Wilmington to the BMV plus the four miles back into town demand more stamina than a woman with a cane and a backpack can manage on her own. Two taxicab rides out of town to the BMV is out of reach when the only cash in her wallet is pocket change. There is no public transportation to the SS Office. Perhaps Trila should try hitchhiking? The choices can be very difficult in The Parallel Universe.
* To protect their identity, Trila is a composite of these women. All the stories are true and describe my experience as companion in each case.
