Elitist Snobbery, The Social Security Administration, the U.S. Postal Service, and Whole Foods

This afternoon I wasted about 45 minutes with two different customer service representatives from the U.S. Social Security Administration. 

All I inquired was to schedule an appointment for my parents with the local office.  I did NOT inquire any information about their personal account.  After waiting 15 minutes, the first representative kept insisting I was already collecting SS and couldn't make an appointment.  After he finally mentions the direct contact to the local office; called,  wait another 15 minutes, and it was talking to another elitest snob.   After going through another song and dance about "Are you sure they're not collecting?"  (I thought they weren't supposed to give out confidential information); his exact words were "Appointments are only allowed for first time claimers......I'm sorry (smirking) but only the account holder can make an appointment."

This is a nutshell is what's wrong with America.  When even the next of kin or direct family member cannot MAKE AN APPOINTMENT to see a representative for a retiree, it shows our government agencies are dysfunctional and should be scrapped.

For those who have jobs with the SSA, while you live in your ivory towers with your two or three hour lunches and medical benefits that none of us private sector laborers can ever purchase or much less afford; we get half hour lunches if we're lucky; and if it weren't for our labor, you spoiled government bureaucrats wouldn't have a job.

Oh, and don't get me started about the local Post Office branch.  U.S. Postal workers earn on average about $21 an hour in wages, plus the same medical benefits as an SSA employee.  And their snobbish attitude is unreal, "We need to see the nine-digit zip code on your parcel"  (Excuse me, nine digits?, you're lucky most people put the correct five-digit zip code).
 
One establishment I will no longer patronize is the Whole Foods Market on Charleston.  The seafood department in the mid to late afternoon on weekdays is run by a arrogant snobbish loser named Memo.  (What kind of parents name their son Memo?)   Apparently, my money wasn't good enough for him since his demeanor quickly changed from accomodating to the hot caucasian female he was cutting fish for; to, what makes you think you belong in my store, much less my seafood section.