I’m a New York subalien.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m perfectly legal – it’s just my loving other half, official alien that he is, comes with a “supermodel” visa that apparently denotes him as one possessing extraordinary abilities (falling asleep within 5 minutes of sitting down in front of the TV, remembering only 2 of the 3 items on a mental shopping list and not knowing where the dishwasher tablets live after 2 years in our apartment are just some of his many talents).
But that leaves me extraordinarily unable to possess that most American of entities - a “social” i.e. a Social Security Number. Calling it a “social” makes it sound like the password to some party-filled, fun-packed lifestyle. That’s not far wrong as without these all-important 9 numbers, you pretty much can’t have a lifestyle at all - I am not entitled to open a bank account, have my own credit card or even a driver’s license. It also goes without saying that I am unemployable so I am truly a dependent – in fact totally dependent on Superalien, head of household. If I remember rightly, I think I actually did put “support my husband and ensure the general wellbeing of household” in the “Reason for applying for a visa to the United States” line before arriving here!
So what does a subalien do? Well, like other "sub" life forms waiting for evolution to give them a leg up on the ladder of existence, I have plenty of time to observe and these, dear reader, are my observations…..
