INDEF

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I had a Milestone yesterday, a minor but important one, amid the landmines in the battlefield of about to turn 65 summers old. It wasn’t about the pool, though that is the milestone of Memorial Day, and I can’t wait for it to open.

I won’t go into the first one- the dreaded Medicare, Parts “A” and “B.” It happens- and forgive me for sputtering when I discovered that this entitlement actually costs no-shit real money for something I haven’t even used yet.

I am not going to go into that particular outrage. Only the Vets would consider that healthcare is supposed to be kind of free- you know, annoying and hard to get at, sometimes, but always there when you need it. I know that is not the case with many of us, and hence the somewhat dispassionate view of the Affordable Care Act, or at least until I realized that it was a whole different side of the government I was going to have to deal with.

Not that the VA is a walk in the park- or a wait in the line at Disneyland, in the view of some of our senior leadership. Anyway, most of the readership is dealing with that symbolic 65th birthday with it either bearing down with horrifying speed, or receding rapidly in the rear view.

I was doing some other things under the first clear skies we have seen in the coolest and rainiest May since 1882, and my spirits were predictably upbeat. I have had a task on my little pad of action items for a few weeks, and it was going to mean dealing with the Green Machine over at Fort Myer.

Normally it is kind of fun to go over there and visit the Gas Station and the Class Six Store, and once a month or so stock up on necessaries at the Commissary, which is not quite as enjoyable since they decided to remodel the place with the low-bid contractor.

This task was not routine, or grocery-or-alcohol related. This was official business. Last year someone decided that the ID cards should not display our Social Security Numbers. Moreover, some rocket scientist had decided they could save on the budget for gate cards by using the bar code on the back of ID to control access to the base, yielding huge savings or something, though making the cards a sort of key to the kingdom, regardless of who was using it. Thankfully, the system didn’t work and they gave up.

Anyway, I got with the program and visited the Pass and ID Office with a hoard of other cranky old retirees, pregnant spouses and kids and close-cropped active members of the Old Guard, the 3rd Infantry Division to which the post is home.

It was a Zoo at the Pass office, with everyone having to get their IDs re-issued.

The system worked like the one at the DMV. You enter, punch your status into a keypad on a kiosk, and are issued a ticket with a number and an alphabetical code: “A” for active duty priority, “D” for dependents, and the dreaded “C” for the retired inconvenient.

It took two visits to get it done, and I was so relieved that I did not look at the new card until after I had returned to my palatial one-bedroom apartment at Big Pink. I cursed when I saw it. My damned Retired ID card had been issued with an expiration date! It was only good to the last day of May, 2016, the month before my birthday.

I summered in outrage. I have always had the expiration box on my ID marked “INDEF,” which is to say I only had to visit the Pass Office once in a blue moon. I figured it was because they are forcing me onto Medicare- which costs $136 a month! Whiskey Tango Foxtrot!

This meant the agony was already bearing down, and it took a while to figure out that it was because something was about to happen to me that had nothing to do with groceries, gas or cocktails.

So, with the weather so pleasant and the end of the month bearing down, I decided to take the afternoon and claw my way onto Ft. Myer and get the job done. The Pass Office is located on the back-side of the hill in a historic old brick building, appropriately below the stables and the Officer’s Club, both exactly the same in appearance as they were in the 1880s when the identical designs were used for Army bases all around the new American Empire.

I parked the Panzer down-slope and trudged up to the building in my colorful aloha shirt- hell, if I had to have my official picture taken, I wanted something festive.

I walked into the office and saw that it was not particularly crowded, though oddly composed. There were a couple officers in those comic-opera uniforms preferred by our neighbors to the South- could have been Colonels or Generals, though I did not recognize the insignia of rank. They also had their families with them, perhaps a dozen in all, very nicely dressed and all looking a little apprehensive about the system that would be credentialing them.

I had a chance to check them out, as I walked up and down the corridor looking for the ticket machine. It was not where it used to be, and felt more than a little stupid for my ignorance and bright shirt.

The Retired Captain in me stirred, and finally I stuck my head in an office and asked the nice young man who was helping someone dozens of numbers ahead of me where the machine was located.

“You don’t have an appointment?” he asked, looking up.

“You need an appointment to get an ID card?” I asked cleverly, as my stomach lurched and my plans for the day collapsed.

“The Colonel says so.”

Ah, of course. There is an “appointment” system, no “take a number” machine in the Spartan office.

“Why no numbers?”

“Colonel said so.”

“Well, how do you get an appointment?” My ID card is expiring and they are throwing me off military medical coverage!”

“Don’t you know someone?”

I looked at him, dumbfounded. This was exactly like how the old Soviet State worked. There were too few resources to go around, so the way the system operated was to allocate them behind the scenes, by people who you knew personally.

You had to know someone on the inside, or it was out to the long lines, where people queued up not knowing what might be available- toilet paper, shoes, whatever- at the head of the line, just in case it was something useful.

That is how “single payer” health care works in advanced countries like the UK- or the VA here.

Anyway, the young man took pity on me, and produced a ticket from someplace mysterious that he passed to me surreptitiously as I sat surrounded by the Latin American families. I had a book on my smart phone, and knew I was going to wait anyway, so I was hoping something might happen at some point.

I got three chapters into the book before a number changed on the screen at the front of the room, next to the flat-screen TV that was showing something inane on CNN- protestors in front of a Trump rally throwing rocks, or something. I was startled when a chime rang and I was summoned to Workstation 3, where a vibrant young African American lady took care of me, assuring me that everything was going to be fine.

“You are Green on everything,” she said. “CHAMPUS transitions to Tri-Care For Life, you got Medicare A and B. You are going to be fine.”

I was still suspicious as she took my picture- “You going on vacation from here?” she asked, but I didn’t mind, and was relieved that I had actually accomplished something necessary on the list of things to do.

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She handed my new card over to me, and sure enough, the expiration block was filled with something that made me smile. I was “INDEF” again, and all was right with the world. As I slid the card into my wallet, I realized I now have credentials that will likely outlast me.

I think I was whistling as I walked back down the hill toward the car. The fife and drum corps of the Army Ceremonial Band struck up a tune as I walked, putting a bounce into my arthritic step.

I smiled. I would never have to go back to the Pass Office again!

At least, not this one.

When I got home I saw that they had strung the lane-buoys on the glittering blue water of the pool, which is going to open in three days. I put out the chairs around the patio table and yanked the cover off the umbrella I bought at the sad auction of the Willow Restaurant furnishings.

Life is good, considering the alternatives.

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Copyright 2016 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com

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