The AFORE (Administradora de Fondos para el Retiro; Manager of Retirement Funds) began operating in 1997 when the new Social Security Law took effect, replacing the 1973 Law. If you were paying attention (and I understand if you were not, because this stuff is boring) you will remember that the IMSS changed the amount of weeks one has to pay "contributions" to it, from 500 to 1295 in that same year.
These AFORE are supposed to invest a portion of your salary, which is matched by your employer, into an account in your name. The idea was that the meager amount of money the Social Security System pays a retired person would be supplemented by his or her savings plus the interest accumulated by the good investment policies of the bank which holds said savings.
If you think about it, it was a great deal for the banks and the SS system. The banks got a ton of money to invest and were allowed to charge investment commissions on it, the SS system got off the hook of having to be the only source of retirement money, and the government could claim it was doing a lot for retired workers.
Well that is the theory, the practice is another thing entirely.
Here is my story:
There is a 65 year old guy who has been working for 45 years. He has accumulated more than enough weeks to be eligible for either the '73 Law (500 weeks) or the '97 Law (1295) weeks. He goes to claim his pension and he is told that if he wants to apply for it, he must first deal with the bank who is managing his AFORE.
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| DEJECTED ME |
Sigh! Yet another hurdle to jump, another obstacle in the "parcours du combattant", as the French say, another queue to stand in, another bunch of papers to gather, and so on, and so on. OK, so there was nothing for it, but to jump through the hoop, fight the bear, tame the tiger, bite the proverbial bullet.
I went on the Internet and googled "AFORES". I got a million hits but most importantly an 800 number to call.
I grabbed the phone with unusual vigor and called the said number. Much to my surprise, I got a person on the line who was actually in Mexico. He asked me for my SS number and in two seconds told me that my AFORE was Banamex. This bit of intelligence came not only as a surprise but as a sense of wonder: how did that happen? When and who assigned my retirement savings to that bank? The young man on the phone told me I could consult my AFORE online. Banamex has a website for said purpose, he assured me. This was another surprise. They actually made things easier for a user.
After consulting online, I found out that these AFORE are like sharks. There is a feeding frenzy and the smaller ones are eaten up by the larger ones. In theory, any bank can bid for your money and offer you services and good rates of return on your dough, but in practice, only the large ones have the muscle to manage such large investment amounts for such a huge number of people. Looking at the ratings of the banks that are still in the game, I noticed that Banamex was up at the head of the table with more than 8% return on your investment. I was delighted by this bit of good news. The web site also tole me where I could go to get a statement of the amount I had saved over the years.
SIDEBAR: OK, I am a computer savy person; I have access to the Internet 24/7. So, I had the resources to dig into all of this and find the information I needed. But, what about Juan Pérez (this is our mythical John Doe) who lives in a small town, who has worked for some small company for 30 years and now is about to retire? How does he find out what he needs to know to get the SS system to give him his money? I pity the man.
Right! So, back to my story. Now I am armed with information that says I have to go to my bank's AFORE office and claim my statement of account. You, dear reader, are an intelligent person . Guess what I found when I got to my bank's AFORE office?
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| THE DREADED QUEUE! |
ANOTHER SIDEBAR: It seems that the reasons unemployment is so low in Mexico (4.3%) is that millions of people are employed at information desks! In Mexico City, for example, no matter where you go, there is always someone at a desk (usually in a badly fitting uniform) who asks your business, demands an identity card from you before you can go in the building, asks you to sign a smudged log book, and directs you to where you already know you are going. Someday, someone will invent an "Information Desk Robot, Version 1.0" and make a fortune.
So, there I was, in the queue for the information desk. Again, the idea was to get a number so one of the FOUR "executives" could help me with my request for a statement showing my savings and affiliation to an AFORE.
From the looks of things, I was going to be there all day, maybe even a week: there were some 30 people waiting in chairs, and another thirty on the queue. I took the time a person was taking with the AFORE executive, and it was like 30 minutes. So, 30 + 30 X 30? I did the math and got the Hell out of there.
I had taken the precaution of jotting down the address of the TWO Banamex AFORE offices in Monterrey. Of course, a metropolitan area of nearly five million people need not have more then two offices with just four executives each. Banamex is taking good care of our money by not spending it on such frivolities as good service.
Off I went to the second office hoping that I would have good luck and that it would be less crowded than this one. It was, literally, on the other side of town. It took me a half hour to get there. And when I did, here is what I found:
"What can we do for you?" asked the girl at the information desk.
"I need a copy of my statement of account," I replied.
"Please take a number and sit down," she said.
I was about the say to her that I didn't need a number since there was no one there, but I decided to humor the girl. After all, she was probably bored and I was the first distraction of the day for her. I took a number--it was 38--and I sat down.
I noticed that there was a big counter on the wall and that the number on it was 35. I wondered where she or he was, as well as numbers 36 and 37 because there was no one sitting on the chairs and there were no persons in the offices other than the executives themselves.
"Hmmm, this is curiouser and curiouser," I said remembering "Alice in Wonderland."
All four executives were oblivious of my presence; they were busily clicking and clacking at their computer keyboards. Once in a while, one of them would pick up a phone and call someone. At last, about 15 minutes after I had arrived, one of them, a young man, got up and put on his coat. My spirits lifted. Surely he would ask me into his office.
But, alas, no: my spirits were dashed when the said executive announced, "I'm going to lunch!"
"Damned! Of all the cheek," I thought. But, I kept my cool and waited some more.
Another 15 minutes passed and another executive--he too was a young man--came out of his office and looking around as if trying to find a lost person, he said, "Number 36! Number 36, please!"
I had had enough! I said, "There is no one here! There are no invisible persons, or customers hiding under the chairs, or people too small to be seen! There is NO ONE HERE BUT ME!"
He ignored me and went back into his office, sat down and started to click and clack at his computer. The number on the counter changed to number 37.
After a couple of minutes another executive, this time a young woman, came out of her office and said, "Number 37! Number 37, please!"
I couldn't believe it! I thought I had fallen into a scene of a Kafka novel or something.
"What the hell is this?" I asked. "Is this some sort of meeting for the Braille Bible Study Group? A resource for the blind office? I am the only person here. Can't you people see that?"
My ranting was to no avail. She went back into her office and sat down to fool around with her computer. But, the number did change and the third executive, a young man, came out of his office and was about to say something when I got up from my chair and said,
"Wait, wait, let me guess: is it, perchance, number 38's turn?"
He seemed startled and said, "Why, yes. Yes it is."
"Really?" I said and turned to the empty chairs and asked, "Number thirty eight? Yooohoo, number thirty eight!" I looked down at my paper, "Oh, its me!"
I followed the young man into his office. He kept looking back at me, perhaps wondering if I was not insane.
He sat down at his desk and I sat down as well.
"What can we do for you today?" he asked and I felt like saying something nasty but I did not.
"I need a statement of my account with the total of my saving to date," I said calmly, surprising myself at how calmly I had said it.
"OK," he said, but first we will check to see if you are in our system." Phrases like that always mean trouble and this time was no exception. "Please give me your Social Security number," he asked.
I gave him the SS pink sheet and he typed the number into his computer; he waited a few seconds and then announced with a smile, "Ah, you are not registered in our system."
"And, what can we do about that?" I asked through clenched teeth.
"We can register you right now," he said cheerfully.
He started the litany of request for papers: SS proof, birth certificate, Voter Credential, and so on. I had everything. Lastly, he asked for proof of my domicile. Although I no longer live in Monterrey, the electricity bill still arrives in my name, and I had borrowed that from my ex-wife. In Mexico, electricity, or gas, or other kinds of bills are always taken as proof of where you live.
He looked at that last piece of documentation and puzzled over it. Finally he said, "This is not valid. It has to be less than three month old."
"It is less than three months old," I said. "It was issued on the 2oth of October. We are the 22nd of December."
"Uh, uh," he uttered and puzzled over the date some more.
"Do the math," I said, "20th of October, and 30 days, brings you to the 20th of November. Thirty more days and it brings you to the 20th of December. That is only 60 days, so the electricity bill is valid as proof of my current address."
"Ah, no," he stammered but the rule says 60 days or less."
"No," I said, "the rule says 90 days or less." I was about to add "you dunderhead" but thought better of it.
He got up and went to the next office to consult with the girl executive. Since the walls of the all the offices are made of glass, I could see what was going on. He showed the girl the electricity bill. Gestured to me. The girl looked at the bill. She looked at me. Said something to the boy executive and then she went back to her clicking and clacking on her computer. The boy executive came back to his office.
"What's the verdict?" I asked feeling like the guy who is trying to pass a bad check.
"Oh, she said it was OK," he answered and cheerfully started to type on his keyboard. I wondered why I had not had the good luck to be in the girl's office instead of the math whiz'.
"So, we are going to be able to register me in your system?" I asked.
"Yes, yes, of course," he said cheerfully.
He typed and typed and typed. After a good 20 minutes he said, "There, you are in the system now."
"Good," I said. "Can I have my statement of account now?"
"No," he said.
"Why not?" I said whining like a child who has been denied a second helping of ice cream.
"It will take the system eight days to complete your registration," he replied.
"Jeez! These are computers, not some guy running with a piece of paper all the way the Mexico City or somewhere like that. Why does it take so long? Do you send it by Pony Express or by carrier pigeon? No wait, a pigeon would take less than eight days. Why so long?"
"Well, actually, it is not up to us. We send the information to the Social Security system and the Infonavit system (the system that allows workers to save up for a home), and a few other government agencies, and it is they who take a long time to confirm the registration."
"So, I have to wait eight days before I can go back to the Social Security people to claim my Request for a Pension Form?"
"Yup, that's it," he said smiling. "But first you will have to come back to us for your printed account statement."
I left the Banamex office and waved to a taxi. As I got on, the driver said, "It will take a while to where you are going. There's lot of construction and traffic."
I said. "Oh, I don't mind. I got eight days to waste anyway."
Next: Eureka! I am told I am registered and I go back into the breach, dear friends!
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