I was feeling a bit frantic earlier. Not sure why. It had not been a crazy or off kilter day. My intake of caffeine was actually fairly moderate today. There was no good or even bad reason to be so uptight. But a couple of hours ago I was tense.I slammed out a blog post in a manic no edit mode. Typed angry. No, more like typed desperately. Typed some nonsense and then sat back.
Image Time.
Image Time is the smoking the butt after the carnal act routine I fall into when I have finished a post. The words fresh in my mind, I look for just that right image to accessorize the wit/shit I have just spewed forth, hacked up, wrenched free. In lieu of just the right image, I will often settle for the first thing that makes me chuckle. Whatever. Image Time is Miller Time.
So with purged nerves, I casually began to rummage for some special Kodak moment. There was no hurry. So I got creative. Decided to play with my google. I am sure I am not alone here. We all play with our googles from time to time. If ya'll don't play with your google once in awhile, then I guess all I can say is you are definitely missing out. Nothing beats a good google. Hit just the right combination of words like maybe "Exploding Head, Images" and some cool mostly only guys will like pictures come up in .000087 seconds.
Of course, as soon as I saw those images of noggins blowing up I forgot the reason I googled them in the first place. I knew the pictures had some link to what I had written, but my excitement over the gore drove the point away. I saved a couple just in case. Never know when an exploding head will put just the right exclamation point to a post.
My post was some words on my recent attempt to help my wife as she winds up and unloads on Tax Season. The unlucky significant others out there sharing their lives with an accountant will most likely know what I mean. Where I am going.
Accountants are predictable animals. From what I can tell they seem wound about average. Wound average for eight and a half months of the year anyway. There are three and a half months in succession when they do a bizarre Jekyll & Hyde transformation. It sneaks up on the unsuspecting. It can swoop in like a poleax and take out the inexperienced. But for those of us who have lived this nightmare next to them day after day, year after year, know that from January to Mid April our names become "asshole" or some polite derivative thereof. "Leave me alone you useless person whose only reason for existing is so I have someone to whip on." As the deadline gets closer, the tempers get shorter.
I have been living this seasonal change for over 12 years anyway. I had hopes it would ease up once she was out from under the thumb of fat cat useless accountants who hired her to be their shit eating lackey. Sadly, I was mistaken. Now she is the fat cat but with no shit eating lackey. Let me tell you I get damn nervous when she looks in my direction.
Common sense would be to stay out of sight, fly under her radar. But remember my month long trip to find the better me? It has already gotten me into trouble. See, I knew being worthless had something going for it.
BA came home the other day with six Pizza boxes. Six Pizza Boxes substituting for the proverbial "All you need to do my taxes is in that shoe box" typical scenario. Inside these boxes were literally stuffed every slip of paper her customer could think of to stuff in them. Invoices, Packing slips, Deposit slips, Withdrawal slips, Fuel slips, you name it, it was in there. I even found one of those number slips you take when standing in line somewhere. Just to make it interesting, they had carefully prepared each slip by passing them through their front jean pockets first, crumpled up into 1/4 inch balls. Thousands of pieces of paper. I was impressed.
I kinda know these young men who recently bought this pizza joint. They are loose dogs. Hard working, but generally clueless about anything but keeping folks filled with pizza and beer. The pizza boxes fit their style.
To accommodate my new two rule life, I figured picking up BA's day would be a great idea. I volunteered to sort the contents of the pizza boxes. Organize them so she doesn't have to.
Please, please. Someone shoot me.
(760 / 7664)
Keep It 'Tween The Ditches..............
6 comments:
Six Pizza Boxes .... could become a euphemism for the U. S. Tax Code
That is quite a picture.
If you are going to play with LED lights and want a nice white light you want Radio Shacks part number 276-0017, they are the best I've found so far for the price.
Two to a pack for $1.99. If you order in bulk like I did the other day, 10 packs, you get a ten percent discount and free delivery to your mailbox.
Seven bucks isn't that bad for a lesson, I once spent thousands getting one from a woman that taught me more than books ever did.
Or for something cheap to play with you can get a pack of 20 colored ones for $2.99 and it includes one clear one.
Oh goody you wouldn't mind then coming over to clean out the cat litter. I'm sure it's a far easier job than putting up with a stressed out tax accountant and sorting through six pizza boxes.
Crum, you may want to think about the opportunity staring you in the face right here. You could use your bike shop space (in the tax season, i.e., winter months, when the bike business is not busy) to offer a tax document sorting service. The pizza guys and everyone else who operate as loose dogs could drop off their gigantic boxes crammed full of papers and receipts, and you could charge them $50 per hour to sort them into some semblance of order, and then give them back. Then the papers would be in a less chaotic state when they present them to their tax accountants.
Crum makes a few dollars and has a reason to get out of the house for a few hours a day. Mrs. Crum and all the other tax accountants get boxes that are actually sorted by document type and (if the clients pay the premium rate) by date, making their lives less miserable at a difficult time of year.
Think about it.
My pop is a CPA and I've seen his office during tax time. Very Dresden-y, minus the corpses.
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