Bureaucrats, Lord love 'em

My wife answered the phone Monday evening. The caller said she was with a state-sponsored agency that provides services to John, my wife’s brother. She asked if she could speak to John. My wife said, “John does not live here. I am his sister; how may I help you?” The state person asked my wife’s name, and when given that, said, “You are not on the list of people authorized to speak for John.” My wife said, “I am his legal guardian.” The woman said, “You are not on the list. We need to speak with John personally.” My wife said, “You do realize John has the mental capacity of a 5-year-old.” Silence from the state person. Then: “We need to speak with John.” My wife said, “All right. If you will call tomorrow, I will be at John’s assisted living home, and you can talk to him.” The state person and my wife agreed for 10 a.m. today.

How this has gone in the past: The state person calls. My wife holds the phone. The state person says, “Can you tell me your name?”

My wife: “John, tell the woman your name.” John does.

State person: “What is your birthday?”

My wife: “John, say Ten.” John says Ten. “Twelve.” John says Twelve. “Nineteen Fifty-Six.” John says Nineteen Fifty-Six.

State person: “What is your Social Security Number?”

My wife: “John, say Five.” And then the remaining numbers, one at a time.

This year would have some additional remarks from John. First additional remark: “We had a hurricane. Wind blew big. Wheew, wheew! And it rained real hard.” Second additional remark: “My bowels move good. I go and go.” This has been a good year for John’s bowels. He tells everyone.

Like telemarketers, bureaucrats work from a script. Say A, get response. Say B, get response. Not on script: ““You do realize John has the mental capacity of a 5-year-old.”