Today, my friend Nancy and I embarked on getting her Real ID here in Pennsylvania.
We have prepared for this for weeks. We went online– at least twice– and checked the document requirements. We checked that the federal shut down wouldn’t impact state services. We reviewed the documents ourselves, provided extra ones where we could, and organized them.
Nancy has never had a Real ID, but she has had state-issued photo identification. It expires at the end of the year, and with the nature of life recently and the talk of needing certain forms of identification to enter federal buildings, Nancy thought a Real ID was smart. Nancy is blind, and should she ever have to turn up at the Social Security Office to straighten out any messes, she might need it.
With the rules in general on travel and proving one’s identity, it seems smart indeed.
I went through all the documents. We had an original birth certificate with raised seal, social security card, tax documents, marriage certificate with raised seal, utility bills for proof of address, and who knows what else we had in that envelope.
We could have gone to the local driver’s license center and had them verify our documents. If we passed their inspection, the next step would have been to apply online for the ID. Then, the state would mail a camera card for us to get the photo taken and the final product issued.
I talked Nan into going to the larger center in Whitehall because theoretically they could do everything all at once.
I was optimistic but also pragmatic.
We got there when it opened. There was three regular spaces and two handicapped spaces left open in the parking lot. I chastised Nan for not bringing her parking pass. The center had at least 10 counters open in a space that resembled a small airport terminal. The line extended out the door. We got inside within three minutes, chuckling at the guy behind us who had to answer the guy behind him about what documents he needed to renew his driver’s license.
And then that person loudly proclaimed, “I can’t stand here in line; I have to get to work.”
Then, why did you even show up if you don’t have the documents you need and you don’t have time. I literally cleared my whole day, just in case the wait was long. I had snacks, too.
We progress toward the end of the rug that lines the floor in front of the door. The man in front of us steps off the rug. A security card tersely tells him to get back on the rug.
The first stop is what might be reception desk where you are issued a number based on what you need to do. Nan states her purpose.
The gatekeeper, like a troll guarding a bridge, asked for her state-issued ID.
Boom.
He follows up with a request for her birth certificate.
Boom.
He then asks for social security card.
Boom.
Next, marriage license. Now, if we ace this, we only have proof of address left. I am nervous about the marriage license because all the married and especially divorced women I know have had problems with this step. Nan is nervous about address because she has moved since her state identification was issued.
The gatekeeper unfolds the paper. The one I studied so carefully because it had a raised seal.
“This is just a church certificate,” he said.
“What else would it be?” Nan asked.
As my heart fell, he said what I expected. “It needs to be the marriage license from the county courthouse. You should be able to walk in and pick it up.”
So we didn’t get to proof of address.
And I felt terrible because I knew they were picky, but I don’t know what the county-issued document looks like. I don’t believe they hand those out. I think the officiant files them and you have to request a copy in order to get one.
On the way home, Nan was apologetic and annoyed. I was upset with myself because I knew better.
But then we both got pissed.
Nan got pissed because this feels like another attempt to further impoverish people. If you have a disability or if you have a certain background that makes paper record-keeping difficult, or if you can’t drive or don’t have a car or reliable public transportation, how do you collect these documents and transport them to a formal government office like this? Especially when such places are typically crowded and require patience and waiting; and they are typically open at hours like 8 a.m. to 4:15 p.m. Monday through Thursday when normal people are also working.
I got pissed because look what document tripped us up–
The Marriage License.
Have you ever heard of a man being denied something because of a “discrepancy” with his name? (Actually, yes, I have. Men are much more prone to carry the name of a father or grandfather which can cause problems.)
In this case, Nan was denied a Real ID because we don’t have a county marriage license proving she married and changed her name.
But… Nancy has paid her taxes for 30 years with that name.
She has bank accounts in that name, and you can’t open a bank account without proving you are who you say you are.
Nancy receives her social security disability payments in the name of Nancy Scott.
And you know another thing that ALL THOSE OFFICIAL items have in common? The use her social security number as the factor that connects her to everything.
So what does her marital history have to do with anything? This does NOT have to be part of the process. At first I thought it made sense, because obviously you have to explain the name change. But if you have a track record of DECADES of use of the same name in association with your social security number, I don’t see its necessity.
We went back to her house and she did not have a county-issued document recording her marriage. And trust me, if someone had given Nan such a paper, she would have it.
We could have stopped by the courthouse but we opted to call first and went for a doughnut instead– trying the new shop Bill & Siobhan’s No BS Doughnut Shop.
Angel Ackerman 