Things I Have Learned Since Moving From the Suburbs To the Country

1. Chickens can drown. I learned that in my first staff meeting.
2. If you see a brown dog running down the road it’s probably a deer, not a dog. Dogs don’t run in front of your car nearly as often as deer.
3. Apparently there is a time warp in the country. People show up, or don’t, for appointments when they are darn good and ready. This is not supposed to annoy you.
4. It’s acceptable to have goats live in the house. And to ride in cars. But not drive. I've only seen them ride shotgun.
5. There really are places in the U.S. that don’t have internet, or it’s limited access. This is NOT cool!
6. Small towns sometimes have big events downtown in the evenings but all the stores will close. I guess the business people want to go to the events too.
7. You can get a pretty good steak dinner at a gas station.
8. Alligators can appear in stream fed ponds. At least the camp director says so. But he also tells the kids there is an Octopus in the camp pond.
9. There is NOT really a Starbucks on every corner, everywhere.
10. Beer is legal tender for gratuities and can have an effect on #3, above, when left in plain view on the kitchen counter.
11. Walmarts are weird, no matter where they are.
12. When goats get loose from their pasture they will head straight for the nearest asphalt surface and try to start a gang fight with cars. Maybe they do want to drive after all.
13. There are many roadside truck stands selling veggies, but sometimes, if you look behind the pickup trucks, you can see the store boxes and bags.
14. People look at you as if you are strange when you wear a shark shirt. Even when it’s Shark Week.
15. Cowboy boots look good with lots of shiny bling. But only on cowgirls. Police will arrest cowboys when they try that.
16. Kids in rural areas are just as smart as suburban kids. In fact, when the zombies come I’d rather be where people know how to use a pitchfork because unless you drop the entire works of Shakespeare on a zombie you’re done for.

Born Again, and Again

I won’t regale you with all the events of my physical birth some *cough* years ago. It’s enough to know it was an election day in Kentucky, with a rare white out blizzard, and I was born backwards with no eyebrows. That should have told any and everyone that my life was not going to be normal.

There’s no need for much detail about when I was born again as a Christian during my junior high school years. This was in spite of the issues I had with the Church of Christ and how the church teachers often had to go talk to my father about the questions I would ask in Sunday School. I have now reverted to the faith of my forefathers (two generations back) and become Methodist. So has my sister. Neither of us is normal.

But the third birth, let’s call it a birth by government, was the roughest of all. It wouldn't have been necessary at all if they hadn't killed me back in 1984. I didn't even know I was dead for 16 years. This birth is the story I will tell today.

In the spring of 2000 I was doing home party shows in Tennessee for a rubber stamp business. I wanted to keep proceeds separate from the family accounts (so I could spend everything I made and buy more rubber stamps), and I went to the local bank to see about getting a little checking account for my very own.

They knew me at the bank and I filled out the paperwork with ease and light chatter. The account manager took the paperwork and went to set up the account. Twenty minutes later I was starting to realize that all was not well. People behind the teller counter kept looking at me oddly. Another 15 minutes and the manager came back, sat down, and said, “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’re dead.”

“”Scuse me??” I asked.

“You’re dead. You have been for 16 years now,” was the answer.

Okay, that’s not the usual reason people have looked at me strangely over the course of my life. It took me a few minutes to judge if she was kidding me or not. She wasn't kidding. I could tell by the look in her eyes that I should curb the impulse to say that I was a spy and my cover was blown, darn it. No, this looked serious.

She finally smiled a bit and told me the social security number was reporting back as a deceased person’s and I should probably begin by calling them, since I appeared to be breathing while sitting in the bank’s chair. OK, so I just needed to call the local office and have them fix a paperwork error. I could do that! How hard can it be?

Stupid question. REALLY hard, that’s how.

I called as soon as I got home and explained to the lady on the other line that I had tried to get a bank account but the SS number came back as me being deceased. She asked me if I was using my own SS number. Believe me, if I were going to steal someone else’s life it wouldn't be mine. I would go for someone much higher up the food chain.

Then she informed me that I had died 16 years ago, on March 16th, 1984. That’s when I realized that on that day, a Friday, I had gone to that very same SS office to officially change my name to Effler on my card. The next day, St. Patrick’s day, was my wedding day. 

I was so relieved! I explained that the person at SS that day must have mixed it up and killed me instead of marrying me! All they had to do was fix the notation! That’s when I found out just how hard this was going to be.

“We don’t make mistakes like that in the SS Administration,” she said. “You must have told them you were dead.”

I was stunned. “Do you hear yourself?” I asked. “Do you really think anyone would believe me if I said I was Mona Mason and I’m dead? Doesn't it make more sense to say I need to change my name because I’m getting married?”

Not to her, apparently. “Well, obviously, you didn't tell them who you were,” she retorted. “You must have told her you were the next of kin.”

“And why would I do that?” I asked.

“We don’t know why people do things like that,” she said. “We see all kinds of strange people in the SS office.”

Yeah, and I bet they all work there. Then she informed me that what I did was illegal and I could face criminal charges. At that, I asked her for the federal numbers to call because I realized I was working above her pay grade and IQ.

Stage two: a phone call to the higher ups didn't fare much better. They also started out by insisting they don’t make mistakes like that. But at least they didn't go as far as fitting me for an orange jump suit. I showed them where I had held two jobs, bought three houses, and given birth to two children while I was dead and SS didn't have any problems taking money out of my paychecks. I guess money is money, dead or alive, but you think they would have noticed it was strange to work from beyond the grave. Or maybe the government has more reach than we thought.

They told me to take all my paperwork, including my marriage license, down to the local office and have them fix it. Mind you, this is the same local office I had already talked with and who were about as helpful as a fish in a tutu. I took a friend with me just case I needed bail money.

Nothing got fixed. Many days, phone calls, and visits later I was informed it couldn't be fixed because they didn't have a dedicated government form for the resurrection. I guess it was that separation of church and state issue.

Meanwhile, the days went by. It was summer when my husband’s job sent us back to Texas. I had stayed behind to sell the house when the inevitable phone call came.

“Honey, can you talk to this nice lady? I’m at the bank trying to get an account and you’re still dead,” said my husband.

At least the lady was laughing when she took the phone. We had to use the same bank we were using in Tennessee since no one would allow a dead person banking privileges. The government would take dead money but not a bank.

We had a few more issues before I could get to Texas. Suffice it to say the Realtor was not happy when we asked if a death would show up on a title search. 

Finally, in late fall, I was able to get a document from Washington allowing me to live again. Our State Representative was very helpful after he had finished laughing. The SS office took an existing document and modified it to restore my life. They had seen no reason to make a new document specifically for rebirth since they assured me they had never needed one before and would never need one again. 

I was told I would need to contact all three major credit agencies and get them a copy in order to clear up my credit history. That took another year to work through, but, knock on wood, I have been free to live my life for a number of years now. I do have to wonder, however, what will happen with my Social Security account when I really do go on to the great beyond? I may just be permanently alive!

PS Over the years I have seen many a news story or blog post about others who have been caught in the same death predicament as I. You’d think the government would just give up and start photocopying the document they created for me. Otherwise, this may create the zombie apocalypse we've all been warned about.