He had been working at odd jobs that paid off the books. Now to get a job he needed a Social Security number. Ann sympathized with his fear of the government and assured him that everything would be fine.
“They stare at you and you want to confess something , anything to stop that stare,” Fred told her.
Nevertheless, he stood in a long line where he could get the number that would confirm him even more a citizen – or send him back to East Germany. Some people in the line wore suits, some had dirt stained shirts and pants and some sported tie-dyed shirts and sandals. For forty-five minutes he alternated between looking nonchalant, fiddling nervously with the coins in his pocket, or looking back at Ann in the waiting area. Every ten minutes or so the line shuffled toward the clerk’s desk. Now and then an angry outburst from the desk made Fred’s heart pound and he wanted to dash for the exit. When he finally stood in front of the desk, the young man, without looking up, asked for the application he had filled out earlier and his birth certificate. The clerk looked over the papers and had Fred sign more papers which Fred did not read nor would they have meant anything to him in his dazed state. After stamping the papers and handing Fred the copies, the clerk said, “This paper will allow your employer to hire you and you’ll receive your card in six to ten days.