A lot has been written about identity theft, data leaks and how to fix them. A lot has been written about identity technology, and how all of it is bad.

But the bottom line is simpler. Our identification system is broken.

It's no longer a question of this system or some other system. There is no system.

What that means, in real terms, if your own identity hangs by a thread, a very thin thread that can break anywhere, and leave you an un-person.

Like me.

I was apparently rendered an un-person by new regulations that my mother (or a clerk) violated 35 years ago.

This was the verdict of a local Social Security Administration employee, rendered after I spent the entire afternoon in a local SSA office.

That's blogger Michael Tyas in his local Social Security office, from an item done in January. There's no eating, drinking, or use of cell phones allowed in these offices, by the way. Bring a book. I brought a PC and the power ran out. Bring a book.

An SSA office is not a nice place. In the case of the Decatur, Georgia office it's a small room, with several cops, a machine that distributes numbers (like at a bakery), uncomfortable chairs, and some glassed-in windows with little slits behind which clerks at computers hold your life in their hands.

I was there because I was unable to get a new driver's license recently. The state DOT said there was a discrepency between what their computer had on me and what the Social Security Administration had. The only recourse was this office, and I stalled my visit for months.

I took my number, took a seat (there was a fan but no air conditioning) and watched a parade of America's saddest cases pass by, papers in hand, trying to get the bureaucracy to let them live. Some brought the whole family. One man, in a wheelchair, brought his entire support network.

When your number was called you had to answer, immediately. If you stepped out for even a moment, you would be passed by and have to go again. And the movement of the numbers was both agonizing and awkward. Sometimes 15-20 minutes would pass, and the number would remain the same. Then a number would be called, then another, then another, and 10 numbers might pass in the space of a minute.

There was no escape.

When my turn came at the window, I handed over my passport and explained there must be some mistake. I was told, the passport is no good, I need your birth certificate. Oh, you're from out of state, it may take 8 weeks to get one.

Wait a minute, I said. This is a computer snafu. Here's my number, look it up.

He did, but then responded that even though the problem was the government's, not mine, the only thing I could do was to fill out a new application for a new Social Security number. Then I could wait until he wasn't busy, and he would look me up.

Do you know that form wanted my mother's Social Security number, and that of my father? Dad's dead. The cop explained that, since I was over 18, I only needed their names. I knelt at the cop's desk and, using his pen, filled out the form.

Then I sat by the window again. Now it was nearly 3:30. The office was closing. The office, technically, was closed. And some lady, I don't know who, was sitting at that window, with all sorts of papers to go through.

Twenty minutes later, she seemed about to leave, so I stood up to get into the seat when she vacated it. A cop stopped me. "Sit down, sir," he said. "You have to wait until she's gone." She was just about to leave. "Sit down."

So I sat, another 10 minutes. Finally, an opening. I had my form, he looked me up, everything was in order.

Apparently, the clerk said finally, someone didn't check the box saying you were an American citizen when you applied for your Social Security card. This was in 1970. The form clearly showed me to be born in the U.S. Whether my mom or the clerk failed to check the box, the whole affair was silly.

But on that thin thread I was rendered invisible, for four months. Plus a very long day. "It's the new Homeland Security law," the clerk explained. "You're the fourth person I've seen with this problem today."

Frankly I don't feel very secure. And neither should you. Databases are being consolidated into one great big one, and if a bit drops on that one, you're screwed, maybe forever.

Like I said, those who criticize fixes to identity need to understand that the present system is irretrievably broken.

Tomorrow I'm making another stab at getting that driver's license.