Whereas the part of the Sub-Delegation where people go to get problems resolved (but they rarely do, get problems resolved, that is), is always jammed with persons queueing at the information desk, waiting for their number to come up so they can approach one of the fourteen or so desks, and so on, in the Pensions office, there was no one. That should tell you how "efficient" the IMSS is at NOT solving any problems would-be pensioners have. In other words, very few get through the sieve of problems and bureaucratic obstacles, and even fewer reach the Holy Grail of approval of a paid pension.
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And the place was empty... |
I went and sat next to my companion survivors. There was a sepulchral silence in the room that was interrupted once in a while by laughter and whoops and shouts that seemed to come from an inner room.
Looking about the room, I spied two interesting things: one was a banner proclaiming that the persons who worked in this office, and indeed the entire IMSS organization, was there to be of service to us, the would-be pensioners and other IMSS users. Well, that WAS news to ME! The other interesting thing was a fellow, barely visible behind two stacks of folders, who from time to time peeked at us from behind the counter. Imagine a soldier in the trenches in World War One, who is afraid of being shot so he barely raises his head above the edge of the trench. That is what this fellow resembled.
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He was hidden behind his desk... |
"Who the hell is that?" I said to my fellow sufferers (who turned out to be a married couple. It was the man who was seeking his pension.)
"He is the fellow who gives out the numbers," offered the man.
There was not a sign or any other indication that you had to "take a number". Of course, why would they do that? That would put them dangerously close to being helpful.
So, I went up the the guy in hiding and said, "Hey, are you the guy who gives out the numbers?"
A muffled "Yes" came from behind the stack of folders.
"Well, come on! Give me one!"
A hand came out from between the stack of folders. It held a square of cardboard heavily wrapped in clear cellophane tape. On it I saw, written by hand, the number two!
Oh, joy! It meant that only the man with his wife were ahead of me. My agony would soon end. I was near the goal line, about to score!
Well, not quite.
A few stragglers, like shell-schocked soldiers, began to trudge in. Soon there were a dozen or so people waiting. I had to tell people to go get a number from the hidden fellow. They would walk up to the stack of folders, peek in, and ask the fellow for a number, and the hand would come out with a square of cardboard, wrapped in cellophane, with a hand-printed number on it. You'd think that the damned IMSS system, which has spend millions on the empty office space that surrounds the Pensions office, could come up with a few bucks to install a number issuing machine! No, of course not! That would make things easy for the user, and God knows that the IMSS does not want that sort of frivolity going on in their offices.
Well, the hands on the clock now showed ten o'clock and no one, save the fellow in hiding, had come out of the inner office to take care of business. But, the revelry seemed to go on back there, so I got up and went to the fellow in hiding.
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...laughter and whoops came from the inner room. |
"Hey, what's going on back there? Why are the people not here to take care of our business?"
"It's a birthday party," he mumbled.
"What?" I almost yelled.
"It's the birthday of one of the girls and their having cake and tamales."
If he had come out from behind the counter and kicked me in the...well, in the most noble of my male body parts...I could not have been more annoyed.
I slapped the desk and yelled, "Halooo!" After a couple of rounds of that, a fellow came out. He looked as if I had interrupted an emergency meeting of the President and his Cabinet.
"Yes?" he said frowning.
"If you care to look at the door over there," I said pointing at the glass door of the entrance, "it says that SERVICE is offered from nine in the morning until four o'clock in the afternoon. It is now ten in the morning and no one has offered the dozen people sitting here any sort of service."
The fellow did not say anything to me but rather looked over at the guy hiding behind the folders. He said to him, "Have you got anything?"
"Just three or four possibles," said the man in hiding.
"Ok, give them to me," he said and the man in hiding gave him some folders from one of the stacks. Then he turned to me and asked, "Are you presenting your Request for a Pension?"
"Yes," I answered.
"Please give it to me," he said.
"I will but I am number two," I said waving the cardboard square in his face, "that gentleman over there is number one. You should take care of his first."
He ignored my request and said, "All those with Requests for Pensions, please give them to me."
A few persons stood up and handed him the papers he requested. As this was happening, other men and women from the inner room started drifting out and occupying their posts under the various signs of "services": clarifications, request for pension cards, and so on. People started queuing before each one of the "service" stations.
Once the man had reviewed all the "Request for Pension" papers and asked us for individual identification, and copies of those, he announced, "I will check these with the system and I will be back shortly to give you your resolutions." And, off he went into the inner office.
I have a feeling that there is no "checking with the system". This going to "inner rooms" by service people seems rather shady to me. What do they do back there and why can't they do it in plain sight? I think they just go out for a smoke in the back garden and then after a while they come back and tell us whatever the Hell they want to tell us.
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...tell them we are busy consulting the system. |
After about an hour, the man came back with the papers. He started calling out names, stamping the paper, having the person called sign the paper, and then he would explain the "Resolution": Pension granted, go to your AFORE and they will start the payments in a week or two; pension denied, you don't have the proper blah, blah. This went on for fifteen minutes or so. I was the last one, of course.
He said, "Pension denied, you don't have the proper amount of weeks."
"What do you mean I don't have the proper amount of weeks?"
"You have not paid or your employers did not pay for more than 500 weeks. You only have 402 weeks paid."
"How can that be," I protested, "I have been working since 1967. Surely I have been in the system more than 400 weeks."
"Ah," he said, "the system only records weeks after 1982. Weeks that were worked before that are in paper and you have to request a recount so that someone in Mexico City goes to the paper files and extracts any weeks you might have worked from those files and makes an official report to that effect."
"Ok, where do I do to request a recount?"
"Oh, you can go to the Sub-Delegation. You can request it there but for all intents and purposes, your request for a pension is denied." He stamped my paper, signed it, gave it to me, and said, "Next."
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...the damned guy was smiling when he gave me my denial. |
I can't even being to describe how furious I felt. Had I had a flamethrower, I would have burned the place down. Like Al Pacino in "Scent of a Woman", I would have "burrrrnnned the place"!
But, I didn't. Off I went to the Sub-Delegation. I was not in the mood to take any guff from anyone so I went directly to the information desk without queuing and said, "I need a recount of my weeks. I don't have time to fool around with your number and crap so who do I talk to and where is he or she?"
The girl at the information desk gulped and said, "You should talk to Samuel. He is at desk number 13."
Off I went to desk 13. No one was there. A couple of guys were at a near-by desk behind the counter. I gathered from their animated conversation that they were busy talking about where the best deal on new tires for their cars could be had.
"Excuse me," I said, "who is Samuel."
"I am," said one of the fellows.
"I need to talk to you about a recount of weeks," I said, and before he could protests, I added, "now!"
Samuel got up from his desk and sauntered over.
I put my Request for a Pension with the "denied" stamp on it before him. I said, "I have been denied a pension because I do not have 500 weeks of paid Social Security. They say I only have 402. So, I am here to request a recount. I have worked and paid SS or my employers have paid since 1967. I must have much more than 402 weeks."
He looked at my paper and said, "When was the last time you or your employer paid for your Social Security?"
"Oh, maybe 2002 or 2003."
"Ah," he said, "then you have been dropped from the system. If you fail to pay for Social Security for more than six years, you are dropped."
"And?"
"And if you want a recount, you have to be reinstated."
"How can I be reinstated?"
"You would have to work for a year, paying Social Security for that year...52 weeks, at least. Then you can come back and ask for a recount."
"Ok, what if I pay voluntary Social Security,"
"No, it has to be by a legal employer."
"I am 65 years old. Who in the Hell is going to employ me for a year and pay for my Social Security?"
He shrugged.
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...I could have burned the place down! |
"You mean," I said, "that just because I have been 'out of the system' for more than six years, the Social Security can ignore all of the work and all of the payments I have done, and what my employers have paid in my behalf? They can just keep the money and deny me everything?"
"Yes, that is what I am saying. You see, the Social Security system is not in the business of GRANTING pensions; it is in the business of DENYING pensions."
Again, I could have burned the place down.
And that, dear folks, was that. All that was left was for me to drown my sorrows.
In the last installment I will describe what I was able to rescue from the disaster that is our Social Security system.
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