Caught Up in Social Security Fuss at 28

I confess that I usually steer clear of senior hotspots such as the post office, drugstore pharmacies, Hallmark shops and all restaurants that serve dinner at 4 p.m. But when I needed an antibiotic for a tooth infection, I had no choice. And that's what it took -- standing in line for more than 17 minutes at the Walgreen's pharmacy behind a woman whose wig was slightly askew, using a shopping cart as a walker and going on about "well, I'll be darned" coincidences -- for me to step back and consider what's behind all the fuss over Social Security.

At first, I tried to keep from rolling my eyes as she went on about the No. 5 (her number in line, the quantity of prescriptions she was picking up and the age of her grandson). But when she mentioned her Social Security check and wanting to spoil little David, but barely making ends meet with the cost of all her "medicines," I had a minor epiphany.

Without someone like P. Diddy and his "Vote or Die"-type campaign on Social Security reform, thinking about it is as appealing as pondering death. What's more, most people my age don't consider their number as anything more than a form of ID.

Even with all the fuss over Social Security of late, I admit that my initial inclination was to feel secure. Doubly secure even, not simply because I'm 28 years old but also (irrationally) because I have succeeded in safeguarding my original Social Security card.

I figured I could tune out recent debates over President Bush's proposed private savings accounts and changes to Social Security. Unless you're contemplating retirement, it's pretty easy to entirely overlook the importance of Social Security. The only reason most people even know their number by heart is because they have to rattle it off on so many different occasions. Although the Social Security Administration advises people to "treat your Social Security number as confidential information and avoid giving it out unnecessarily," if you want hassle-free access to things like utilities, bank accounts, credit cards, cable TV and your dentist, you better divulge your digits. In the end, the same key code that gets you "Desperate Housewives" gets you a house loan.

I know this number is ultimately what distinguishes me from every other person on this planet -- even if I change my name and get a complete makeover. But judging by the woman at the pharmacy, the number is a lot more than that. Many Americans come to a point in their life when the number on that flimsy card is all they've got.