And the Winner Is…

The halftime show is over.

The Greeks have finished complaining.

Well…

That may be overstating it.

But the players are back on the field, and the second half is underway.

Except there is one small problem.

We already know who won.

At halftime, ELTA was leading 1–0.

Kalamata.

Athens.

Across the Atlantic.

New York.

Same envelope.

Same tracking number.

ELTA had carried the ball from Kalamata all the way to JFK and handed it cleanly to its American delivery partner.

USPS had one job left.

Pennsylvania.

But while our envelope began its American adventure, I went back to something we had discovered before kickoff.

Remember Dr. Ed Weir?

The former Social Security manager whose YouTube video suggested that our envelope might never have needed to leave Kalamata at all?

That sounded almost too ridiculous to be true.

So naturally, I investigated.

And unfortunately for everyone involved…

Dr. Weir appeared to know what he was talking about.

Social Security has something called:

Signature proxy attestation.

That is a wonderfully bureaucratic phrase for something remarkably simple.

A telephone call.

Under Social Security’s procedures, Form SSA-7162—the very form now traveling internationally on our behalf—can be completed this way.

An authorized employee verifies your identity.

Asks the questions.

Obtains your verbal declaration.

And attests your signature.

No envelope crossing an ocean.

No international tracking.

No wondering whether the evidence that you remain among the living has disappeared behind a sorting machine.

And for beneficiaries outside the United States, Federal Benefits Units at U.S. Foreign Service posts can handle the procedure.

Greece has one.

At the U.S. Embassy in Athens.

Excellent.

Problem solved.

I emailed them.

Good afternoon, I am requesting a phone appointment to complete my Foreign Enforcement Questionnaire via physical signature proxy attestation.

I was feeling rather pleased with myself.

We had discovered the secret passage through the bureaucracy.

A telephone call.

A few questions.

Karen and Nick confirmed alive.

Done.

Then the Embassy replied.

The important sentence was this:

“Our office cannot intervene unless your benefits are suspended.”

I read that twice.

Perhaps three times.

Apparently the appropriate time to prevent your Social Security benefits from being suspended is…

after your Social Security benefits have been suspended.

Ah.

Now we were back on familiar bureaucratic ground.

There was also the barcode.

The original 7162, they explained, contains a barcode that cannot be reproduced.

Apparently the barcode was very important.

So important that I briefly wondered whether Social Security was actually trying to determine whether the barcode was still alive.

There was another interesting detail in the Embassy’s response.

The 7162 is mailed every other year.

Every two years?

Apparently Karen and I are only required to prove that we are alive in 2026, 2028, 2030…

Odd-numbered years are apparently unavailable for dying.

Please plan accordingly.

But something still didn’t add up.

The telephone procedure existed.

Social Security’s own instructions described it.

The 7162 was one of the forms that could use it.

And the Federal Benefits Unit was exactly the kind of office authorized to handle it.

Yet Athens was telling me they could not intervene unless our benefits were already in trouble.

Then a friend pointed out something I had completely overlooked.

“Wait. Who witnesses your signature on the form?”

Good question.

I checked.

Nobody.

If I complete the 7162 normally, I sign it myself and mail it back.

No witness.

No Embassy employee.

No Social Security employee watching me sign.

No one standing beside me saying:

“Yes. That is definitely Nick, and he does appear to be alive.”

A witness is required if someone signs with a mark.

But an ordinary signature?

Apparently not.

Which raises a rather interesting question.

If this piece of paper is supposed to confirm that I am alive…

who confirms that I am the person who actually signed the piece of paper?

A friend jokingly took it one step further.

“So I can get your form, sign your name, send it back, and Social Security thinks you’re alive?”

Well, no.

Forging the form would obviously be fraud, and signing my questionnaire would not suddenly give someone access to my Social Security payments.

But his point was difficult to ignore.

By mail, the system receives my signed piece of paper.

On the telephone, an authorized Federal Benefits employee could actually verify who I am, speak to me, ask the questions and hear me personally respond.

And that was the method I was being told we couldn’t use.

Maybe there was another rule.

Maybe there was an exception.

Maybe the procedure designed to bypass the bureaucracy required another bureaucracy before you were allowed to use it.

Entirely possible.

So I wrote back.

SSA had mailed the form on July 2.

We received it in Kalamata on July 20.

We mailed it back on July 21.

ELTA moved it through Athens and across the Atlantic.

By July 25, it had reached Jamaica, New York.

My question was simple.

Would it reach Pennsylvania within the specified 60-day window?

The response arrived.

“The forms are mailed in May each year.”

May.

I looked at our envelope.

Then I looked again.

JUL. 02, 2026.

Well.

That was awkward.

Now, I am not suggesting that July 2 is nowhere near May.

In a broad philosophical sense, they occupy the same general neighborhood of the calendar.

But on the calendar most of us use…

July 2 is not May.

The Embassy continued.

If Social Security did not receive the completed questionnaire, follow-up notices would be sent.

And if those failed too, benefits could eventually be suspended with the February payment.

February.

Excellent.

Plenty of time.

We certainly would not want to rush anyone.

August.

September.

October.

November.

Christmas.

New Year’s.

Perhaps Valentine’s Day.

Give the envelope some room.

It has been through a lot.

And if the original questionnaire never arrived, and the follow-up never arrived, and Social Security eventually concluded that perhaps Karen and Nick had ceased to exist…

then the Embassy could intervene.

Perfect.

First threaten to stop the Social Security.

Then check whether we’re alive.

There is something magnificently bureaucratic about all of this.

A procedure exists that can avoid relying entirely on international mail.

The U.S. government has employees in Athens who handle Social Security matters for people overseas.

I am alive enough to email them.

Alive enough to speak with them.

Alive enough to answer the questions.

But apparently the preferred approach was still to send a piece of paper halfway around the world and see what happened.

So we did.

And what happened?

ELTA did its job.

Spectacularly.

Our envelope left Kalamata on July 21.

Four days later it had traveled through Greece, through Eleftherios Venizelos Airport, across the Atlantic and into New York.

Almost 8,000 kilometers.

America had the ball.

Pennsylvania was roughly another 220 kilometers away.

Surely this was nearly over.

Then the tracking developed…

opinions.

USPS reported:

Processed Through USPS Facility — Jamaica, New York.

And immediately below that:

Inbound Into Customs.

ELTA had a slightly different update.

On July 26 at 18:25:

The item has been retained at Customs.

Ah.

Plot twist.

Perhaps I had been unfair to USPS.

Perhaps USPS was not sitting on our envelope after all.

Perhaps U.S. Customs was sitting on it.

Or perhaps Customs had already handed it back to USPS.

Or perhaps USPS had it but ELTA never received the next update.

At this point, I no longer needed to know exactly where the envelope was.

I simply wanted the United States government to decide.

Who currently has the evidence that Karen and I are alive?

USPS?

Customs?

Some mysterious federal no-man’s-land between the two?

Because as of August 13, the tracking had not moved again.

Eighteen days.

Now, I realize Customs has important work to do.

This was, after all, a suspicious white envelope arriving from Greece.

There could have been anything inside.

Olive oil.

Feta.

Kalamata olives.

A dangerously undeclared koulouraki.

Perhaps some oregano with questionable intentions.

So by all means, inspect it.

Except inside this particular envelope were…

two pieces of paper.

Two Social Security questionnaires.

Destined for the Social Security Administration.

No merchandise.

No commercial value.

Nothing to sell.

Nothing on which to collect import duty.

Just Karen and me informing one branch of the United States government:

YES. WE ARE STILL ALIVE.

And another branch of the United States government apparently saying:

Hold on. We need to look into this.

I can imagine the conversation.

“What’s in the envelope?”

“Documents.”

“What kind?”

“Social Security.”

“What do they say?”

“Two people living in Greece say they’re alive.”

Pause.

“Better hold it.”

So I now have a small request for the United States of America.

You are running out of time.

Please get your act together and decide who has our envelope.

I don’t particularly care whether it is USPS, Customs or somebody sitting at a desk between the two.

Just pick somebody.

Because Social Security is waiting for a piece of paper confirming that Karen and Nick are alive…

while another part of the United States government appears to have possession of the piece of paper confirming that Karen and Nick are alive.

Could you people perhaps have a meeting?

This new development does require a correction to the score.

I had been prepared to declare:

ELTA 4 — USPS 0

But that may no longer be fair.

USPS can now point toward Customs and say:

“Not us.”

Customs can presumably point back toward USPS.

And somewhere between them sits our envelope, quietly regretting the day it ever left Kalamata.

So after reviewing the replay, consulting VAR and examining all available tracking information, the official result is:

ELTA 4 — USA 0

No appeal.

No extra time.

ELTA took an envelope from Kalamata and moved it across Greece and across the Atlantic in four days.

The United States then managed to move it…

into Customs.

And there it remains.

Perhaps being inspected.

Perhaps waiting to be inspected.

Perhaps sitting in a plastic bin underneath a sign saying:

PENNSYLVANIA — EVENTUALLY.

Maybe it has made friends.

Maybe it has applied for residency.

Maybe by the time it reaches Social Security, Karen and I will need to complete another questionnaire confirming that we remained alive while the first questionnaire was traveling.

So, fellow Greeks, perhaps we owe ELTA an apology.

Not a large apology.

Let’s not get carried away.

Maybe a little one.

Because after four parts, thousands of kilometers, two postal systems, an Embassy, Social Security and now U.S. Customs, there is no question who won the match.

ELTA has the trophy.

America has the envelope.

Social Security is waiting for proof that we’re alive.

Somewhere else in the United States government sits the proof that we’re alive.

And Karen and I?

Still here.

Still waiting.

Still alive.

Which brings us back to the most ridiculous part of the entire story.

After the envelopes.

After ELTA.

After USPS.

After Customs.

After Athens.

After New York.

After an entire four-part series devoted to proving that two people in Kalamata had not died…

Social Security had a telephone all along.