Adventures in Pension Land - Round 4

Here is where things stood on December 22, 2012:

Christmas was coming and I had promised I would spend it with my son the doctor (that sounds like something a Jewish mother would say) who is working on his specialization in Mexico City. He was recently married so his lovely wife (also a doctor) and he would be hosting our immediate family in their first ever apartment as a married couple.

On the other hand, the Social Security people had demanded an account statement of my retirement funds, and the bank which kept my retirement funds said they could not provide the statement until I was registered in their system, something that would take 8 working days.

So, for the next two days I did nothing but watch television and eat tamales.

Several kilos later, I flew to Mexico City for the above mentioned Christmas dinner. I knew that nothing would happen between Christmas and New Year's so I hung around Mexico City, spent New Year's Eve with friends getting properly blotto, and then flew back to Monterrey to continue my quest for a pension.

As soon as I was back in the "Sultan of the North", as they used to call Monterrey because of it prominent Lebanese/Arab population, I called the magic 800 number and--oh surprise!--I was registered in the Social Security/Banamex/Pension system.

Off I went in a little green taxi to the Banamex office to get my Account Statement!

Taxis are small in Monterrey!

When I got to the Banamex office, horror of horrors--it was far from being empty! I suppose that word had got out that the downtown office was always crowded and that this one was always empty, so it was empty no more.

With a heavy heart, I took a number--sigh!

Of course, the number on the counter was 20!

To make matters worse, I had assumed that the so-called executives would be there during lunch hour, as they had been the time before, but this day it was not the case. All but one had gone to lunch! And, the guy who was there had a customer/relative who took his visit to his relative/friend/executive as a time to catch up on all the news, gossip, personal stories, family history, and sundry subject matter of the last two or three years.

As they spoke of football, the customer's mother's ills, the executive's vacation, the customer's car trouble, something that made them both laugh heartily, and so on, they seemed oblivious to the fact that there were dozens of people waiting for service.

Blah...blah...football...blah...my mother... blah...my trip to Europe

I think that anyone who has read my blogs will have come to understand that I am not a man of infinite patience, and the I tend to be brash, impulsive, and outspoken when the little patience I do have is tried to the limit.

Mexicans, as a people, tend to be docile, and contain any anger they might feel when faced with an "authority" that might do them harm if said "authority" is rankled. I, on the other hand, might have inherited genes from rampaging vikings, hoodlum Spanish conquistadors, raiding Chichimecas, or charging hoards of Genghis Khan or all of the above, because I am not docile and do not contain my anger when said "authority" rankles ME!

I got up from my chair and went into the executive's office.

"Hey," I said, "you two guys might have a lot to talk about, what with this guy (I pointed to the customer) having gone to the Football World Cup and his mother being in a poor state of health, and you, Mr. Executive, having had lots of car trouble, but there are people waiting out here. So, how about if you continue your personal conversation on your own time?"

They looked at me as if I had just told them something ugly about their respective mothers, kicked their dog, and said their children were ugly. But, they said nothing. After a moment, the executive recovered and ignoring me said to the customer, "OK, so I will send you the papers tomorrow."

I went back to my seat and the customer left the office, head down, sheepishly avoiding looking at the persons he had kept waiting.

Well, my outburst did clear the log jam but it did me little good. I had number 85 this time and the counter showed number 20!

Fortunately, the other three executive soon came back from lunch (looking well-fed and in dire need of some Alka-Seltzers), so things started to move rather briskly. Within only two hours number 85 came up on the counter and I jauntily sauntered into one of the girl-executive's office.

I think word had got around that I was a "difficult" customer because she was very curt and lacking the faux smile proper of an account executive. Without looking away from her computer screen, she asked, "How can I help you, sir?"

"I was here about 10 days ago asking for an account statement which I will need to request a pension from the Social Security," I answered. "One of your colleges put my information into your system and registered me, so I am here to collect my statement."

"Your social security number," she said without looking at me. I gave it to her. She typed on her keyboard, hmmed, and hawed, and typed some more. Without a word, she got up and left the office. She came back a few minutes later with some printed sheets of paper. From such bizarre actions I deduced that these "executives" do not have individual printers but must go to the back office to get printouts. Real efficient.

"Please sign this," she said putting a pen next to the print out.

"Why?" I asked.

She blinked and stared at me with a puzzled and hurt look as if I had just said, "I am NOT the father of your baby!"

"Because, because it's the, I mean, this is your statement," she stammered.

"Ah, you had not said so. Can you please explain what is on the statement? I want to know what I am signing."

She sighed a sigh that said, "Why do I always get these lunatics?"  But, she gamely took the pen and started to point out and underline the figures on the first sheet.

"This is how much you have saved," she said circling a number, "this is what the Social Security has provided, this is what you have saved in the Infonavit system as a provision for you to use in buying a house, and this is the amount of interest that the money has accrued this year to date."

"OK, I get it; but why do I have to sign it?"

"Well, well, you must, because, it means you have received it."

"The money?" I said surprised.

"No, of course not. I mean the statement."

"Ah, OK. Than I'll sign." She breathed a sigh of relief as I signed all six copies of my statement. "OK, what's next?" I asked.

"Well, you will have to go back to "them" and present this so you can request your pension."

It was my turn to sigh. "Them" was the Social Security bureaucrats. It meant I had to go back to square one, that is, the little window in the Family Clinic. There was nothing for it. I took my statement, bid adieu to the girl and the other chumps waiting their turn to have an "executive" maltreat them, and left the bank's office. Outside, I waved down one of the innumerable taxis I was to use during my saga. Reflecting on how much I spent on public transport, I might was well have bought a car.

I arrived at the Family Clinic around 2:00 PM. I knew they closed shop at 4:00 PM so I figured I had time to get something done. I went straight to the little window. Of course, there was a queue. The usual men in walkers, ladies in crutches, sundry pensioners and would.be pensioners were sitting or standing, waiting for their turn at the little window.

To my surprise, things went quickly and just minutes before the closing bell rang (there is no bell, that is just a metaphor, folks), I got to the window. I gave the girl the papers she had clipped together along with my newly issued savings statement.

"Very good," she said and my heart sang. "Where is your bank contract," she added and my heart sank.

"Contract? What contract?" I asked panicking.

"You are supposed to have a bank contract with a bank account number where your pension will be deposited when and if it is approved," she said.

My mind raced back to the fat girl, the so-called executive who had not mentioned the damned bank account and contract. Agh! she had trounced me. I could imagine her laughing at my present trouble.

"You have to go to a bank of your choice," the girl in the little window said, "and open an account for this purpose. Tell them what it is for. They will know what to do. I will keep your papers until you bring me your bank account contract."

Now I felt as if the girl had said to me, "We did everything we could, sir, but your dog died on the operating table." I went away from the little window, slump-shouldered and feeling more dejected than ever.

Dejected and rejected, I left (notice the tamale paunch I had developed)

But, outside, the sun was shining, the air was cool, and there was yet another trip in a taxi to be taken, so, chin up, shoulders squared, I marched to a taxi and ordered, "Take me to the Banamex bank on Americas Avenue."

Next installment: Triumph over Adversity. I finally get my "Request for a Pension" done in "Adventures in Pension Land - Round 5. But, will that be the end of that? Tune in tomorrow when the caped avenger...no wait that's another story.