The Lifeguard had to go to the local office of the Social Security Administration to get a replacement Social Security card. There, The Lifeguard discovered the reason why their slogan is, "You think the DMV is bad? Welcome to the Ninth Level of Hell."
In a room full of fat people--adults and children--and immigrants, The Lifeguard found himself thinking that Mayor Michael Bloomberg just might be right. This was not a room of people in need of information regarding Social Security benefits, this was a room filled with people in need of a gym membership and a low-carb diet. (At the very least, a shitload of duct tape with which to cover their over-active pie-holes.)
Honestly, doesn't the inability to wear clothes with buttons, zippers, or clasps signal a need to eschew the 72 ounce Coke? Doesn't the fact that you can't walk 10 feet without getting winded indicate a need for fewer Big Macs (and more fruits)? And, why must The Lifeguard struggle to get down a supermarket aisle when a fleshy behemoth is astride the powered shopping scooter, blocking all comers from the Twinkies, Oreos, and fudgie things?
The Lifeguard is not opposed to people who are overweight (and trying to lose those extra pounds), just to those who simply don't give a shit about their personal appearance.
And the canes. Oh, the canes. (The Lifeguard noted the close proximity of Canes 'R' Us to the office.)
Witness the hirsute fat cat (wearing a too-small Guinea-Tee), cane in hand, talking to his spawn. (Four overweight children, boys in shorts and wife-beaters, girls in stretch pants that were stretched to the breaking point.)
[Fat Boy]: Dad, I want to play a game. (On an iPhone.)
[Fat Girl]: It's my turn.
[Fat Boy]: Then, I get to play X-Box. I want a cheeseburger.
And, for the record, how is it that everyone at the Social Security office has an iPhone? Really. How?
After arriving at 9:30am, and taking a number (which, according to the board, was the next number to be called), The Lifeguard watched no fewer than ten people waltz up to the only staffed window in the place. (The Lifeguard must have arrived at public sector union break time, because he could see three other people toiling away at Soduku, the crossword, and examination of their horoscopes.)
Finally, The Lifeguard's number was called a mere 60 minutes later, and his paperwork was processed quickly, efficiently, and without an intelligible word of English being spoken by the clerk.
There can only be one solution to this nightmare, and The Lifeguard has it.
He just has to sober up from the post-SSA bender.