TAXATION PROCRASTINATION
For the umpteenth year in a row I've ignored the previous
year's "boy am I ever gonna avoid this last minute bullshit
next year" vow, although I did move it up from 11:30 PM to
9:30 PM this year.
I got back from the office at around 5:45 or so, intending to
get right onto the tax thing.
Well, I watch the dogs romp around a bit in the back yard and
notice the two raised beds (out of three) still begging
for attention with the garden fork as well as the nearly 200 pepper
seedlings (20 varieties or so) begging for a snug, comfy spot
in mother earth.
Two hours, 1.5 raised beds, 24 seedlings, and a few gallons of
sweat later I head for rehydration central in the house and notice
we're nudging real close to 8 PM.
No prob, I cockily think. It's gonna be Telefile again this year
and, since I can pay via credit card, there'll be no late night trip
to the central post office.
I dial the phone.
The first near stumbling block is interest income. The limit for
using Telefile is $400 and I've got $398. Phew ... that was close.
I cruise through the rest and find I owe Unk Sam $276, so I call
the number given for paying via credit card. "Blah blah blah
blah ... you can pay with MasterCard, American Express and Discover. You CANNOT pay with Visa." Guess who's got
nothing but Visa?
I grab the checkbook, scribble the appropriate incantations on
#1576, and reach for an envelope. Guess who took the box of
envelopes into the office a week ago? I dash for the vehicle and
head for the university. Well, there must be tests coming up since
no spaces are available and there are about 20 cars lined up in
front of me waiting for a spot to open up.
Being the genius of improvisation I am, I decide to head on over
to Matt's and mooch off him. Of course he's not home, so I hit
the Target near his place for envelopes and ask for stamps at
the register (having, of course, forgotten to grab the stamps I
had at home). No luck at Target, but the clerk tells me I can
snag some down at the HEB. I grab the stamps, collate all the
tax-related materials, and head for the main post office just a couple
of miles away to dispatch my obligations and get to the songwriter's
showcase I want to see.
There's a sign in the lobby informing me that while this post office
isn't open, the main one in the next town over (Bryan and College
Station being twin cities joined at the waist) is open. Ten miles
later I stop for a bit of gas - the warning light having been flashing
since I left home - and then head the final 4 miles to the Bryan
main post office. It's a bit of a carnival there, actually, with a
barbecue trailer, a local radio station broadcasting, and a police
car flashing its lights in the middle of the road as the cops direct
the heavy traffic. I turn into the post office parking lot, wait in
line, and finally hand the envelope to Jim - yes, having done
this for too fucking long I'm on a first-name basis with the guy
who takes the envelopes on the final day.
I got to the songwriter's showcase (wherein three songwriters
take turns offering their wares) at a little after 10 PM, an hour and
a half after it started. And it was an especially good one featuring
Daryl Purpose, world-class gambler turned folkie.
Oh well, there was beer there, and here.
Not to mention
Nick Bakay talking to
Father Guido Sarducci (a.k.a. Don Novello author of
the much imitated
Lazlo Letters) about training dogs to fetch home run balls
at baseball games (on ESPN at 12:54 AM CST).
I hope tomorrow's a bit less taxing.
posted by Steven Baum
4/18/2000 12:33:02 AM |
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