Story 628: `Tis the Season for Taxes!

             (On the phone)

Sibling 1: Hey, whatcha up to on this fine summer’s day?

Sibling 2: It’s still March.

Sibling 1: I said what I said: it’s 80 degrees outside, and I’m wearing shorts and a tank top with the A/C cranked up inside.

Sibling 2: Can’t argue with that.  Whelp, I’m not dressed for the beach, and instead I’m celebrating one of the Rites of Spring in getting all my tax stuff together.

Sibling 1: Oh.  What for?

Sibling 2: For… taxes.

Sibling 1: Why, you owe any?

Sibling 2: Hopefully not this year, but I gotta do them soon since I left it a little late, or else I’ll really owe something.

Sibling 1: What’s the point? 

Sibling 2: “What’s the point?”???

Sibling 1: Yeah, why do double-work?  They’re already taken out of your paychecks for you anyway, right?

Sibling 2: …Are you telling me that you’ve never had your taxes done?!

Sibling 1: Sure I have.

Sibling 2: Oh thank –

Sibling 1: Every paycheck, like I just said.

Sibling 2: ….

Sibling 1: So I don’t get why you’re making more work for yourself when it’s already been taken care of by Payroll.

Sibling 2: I don’t believe what I’m hearing right now.  Are you saying, that in your decades of working life on this planet, you haven’t once filed a tax return?!

Sibling 1: Ooh, they return all the taxes to us?  Wish I’d known about that from the beginning; thanks a lot.

Sibling 2: No, you doofus, you have to report your income to the state and federal government every year and make sure they didn’t over- or under-withhold!

Sibling 1: And why would I do that?  Shouldn’t that be something Payroll should have gotten right the first time?

Sibling 2: Well, ideally, but tax and interest rates constantly change, and there’s also the income from the interest on your bank account, and taxes you paid on loans and other expenses, and the extra income from your never-ending side hustles that never get anywhere, and that one time you actually won the lottery –

Sibling 1: Oh yeah, that was sweet; we had a great family vacation that year, didn’t we?

Sibling 2: Of course, and I’ll treasure the memory always, but ALL OF THAT IS REPORTABLE!

Sibling 1: Jeez, Principal, you make it sound like I’m gonna get detention.

Sibling 2: You’re gonna get the extreme version of that instead!  What about all those times Mom and Dad brought you to their account when you had those part-time jobs in high school?!

Sibling 1: Oh, those?  I thought that was because I was a minor.

Sibling 2: No, numbskull!  Well, partially, but once you graduated adolescence you were supposed to do those on your own!  Every year!  Have you never heard of April 15?!

Sibling 1: Of course I have: the Ides of April, right?

Sibling 2: I wish I could reach through the phone and smack you upside the head right now.

Sibling 1: Rude.

Sibling 2: So in all those years, did you never wonder why you were getting W2 forms from work?!

Sibling 1: Actually yeah, I always did kind of wonder since they don’t apply to me: I’m not a World War 2 veteran, and that was ages ago anyway.

Sibling 2: That’s WW2!

Sibling 1: Oh, right.  Mystery solved, then.

Sibling 2: What about 1040 forms, 1099, 1095, anything?!

Sibling 1: I figured they were all just informational, provided as a courtesy.  Kind of like when you donate to an organization and they send you a summary at the end of the year?  I always wondered how I could claim it on my taxes like they all say I can, since I don’t think work would handle something like that.

Sibling 2: This!  This is how you claim it!  You file your tax return and you itemize your deductions so the donations can count toward your refund!

Sibling 1: …Yeah, that’s a lot of words that mean nothing to me, sorry.

Sibling 2: I think I’m losing my mind right now; so since you clearly haven’t filed anything since you left the nest, in all these years have you never gotten any letters saying you need to pay penalties for all the many, many returns you missed?!

Sibling 1: Well if I did, I probably threw them out like the scams they are: everyone knows that a legitimate organization will never send a letter in the mail and will call you instead.

Sibling 2: The phone call’s the scam – the letter’s the real thing!  Usually.

Sibling 1: Oh.  Then, oops.

Sibling 2: Yeah, “oops”: you probably owe a million dollars in penalties by now, and at least five years in jail!

Sibling 1: No, I mean “oops” in that I thought the call about my vehicle’s warranty was the real thing – guess I gotta cancel all my credit cards now.

Sibling 2: They’ve probably been cleaned out for you already.  Listen, I don’t care what you’re doing today, I’m coming over and going through your stuff and your garbage and try to salvage what we can for this year, then make an appointment with Mom and Dad’s accountant to help straighten out this awful mess, and then throw yourself on the mercy of the powers-that-be and hope that they realize you’re too much of a dolt to waste their time prosecuting you once they’ve gotten their money.

Sibling 1: So rude.  And I fail to understand how it’s their money – I’m the one who earned it!

Sibling 2: You like schools?

Sibling 1: Not particularly, but I dealt with them as a necessary evil.

Sibling 2: You like fire departments?

Sibling 1: Um, sure…?

Sibling 2: Libraries?  Parks?  Law enforcement?  Recycling?  Emergency medical – ?

Sibling 1: OK, OK, why are you changing the subject?

Sibling 2: They’re paid for by taxes!

Sibling 1: Really?  I always thought they were financed by extremely rich people wanting the tax write-off.  Ohhh, I get that now, too.

Sibling 2: Argh!

Sibling 1: Huh.  So that means I’m the boss of all of them, right?  Oh, so that’s why those weirdos say “My taxes pay your salary!” 

Sibling 2: Unfortunately, yes.

Sibling 1: I think I’ll start using that line now, too.

Sibling 2: Please don’t.

Sibling 1: Just once?

Sibling 2: Absolutely not.

Sibling 1: Fine.  So, this was fun: I’m going to doze off in my makeshift cabana now.

Sibling 2: Uh-uh, I’m coming over now.

Sibling 1: Ugh, If you insist.

Sibling 2: Since I’m obligated to at least try to keep you out of prison – yes, I do insist.

Sibling 1: All right, I’ll be lounging in the living room when you get here.  You know, this really is a whole lot of fuss for something that should be completely automated at this point in our digital existence. 

Sibling 2: I’d almost agree with you, but we’ve gone so long with this method that the process of converting to any alternative system is just too exhausting to even think about now.

Story 486: Easter Blizzard

Relative 1: (On the phone) You know it’s supposed to snow on Easter Sunday, right?  Really badly.

Host: (On the phone) I did hear that vile rumor, and I refuse to lend it any credence: unlike the rest of the world, including the Equator, our area’s had zippo snow this winter, and I absolutely reject buying into the circulating gossip that our one and only blizzard this go-round will arrive post-post-season in the middle of April!

Relative 1: Well, believe it or not; either way, nobody’s showing up at your house for dinner that day.

Host: I’ve got 15 pounds of ham here!  And all that charcuterie!

Relative 1: Maybe save it for Mother’s Day?

Host: You’re no help.

 EASTER SUNDAY

(Host wakes up suddenly, jumps out of bed, runs to the window, throws back the curtains, and takes in the winter wonderland continuously buried by sideways snowfall)

Host: Holy heavens – how is he supposed to rise in this?!

(Some time later, Host is awkwardly shoveling the driveway in a losing battle when the cell phone rings.  Flinging the shovel away and using teeth to tear off a glove, Host unzips several layers of coats to take the phone out of an inner pocket)

Host: (Screaming against the ice-ridden wind) HELLO?!

Relative 1: (Relaxing on an armchair with feet propped up on a cushioned stool in front of a roaring fire, and sipping hot tea) Don’t tell me you’re actually shoveling out your driveway for nonexistent guests.

Host: NOT EVERYONE CANCELLED!

Relative 1: Yeah, bet they’re the same ones who didn’t bother to tell you they were coming in the first place, either.

Host: …IT WAS ASSUMED THEY WERE!

Relative 1: Wait until the snow’s over to shovel it all out; just go back inside and enjoy your ham, `cause I know you cooked it anyway.

Host: IT WAS ALREADY DEFROSTING!

Relative 1: I hear ya.  Whelp, Happy Easter to you – don’t throw out your back.

Host: HAPPY EASTER TO YOU – (The wind almost blows the phone away; Host scrambles to get it back) TOOOOOO!!!!!

Relative 1: (As both end the call) Poor sap.  (Takes a nap)

(After finally realizing that the snow being shoveled is replaced immediately, Host re-enters the house, throws the coats, boots, gloves, and hats into the laundry room, slams the door, and enters the kitchen to check on the ham)

Host: (Opens the oven door) Roast, my lovely, roast.  (Hears the cell phone ringing inside the laundry room) Shoot.  (Slams shut the oven door and flings open the laundry room door to paw through the coats until the phone is found and answered) Hello?

Relative 2: Hey, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but the fam and I aren’t going to make it there today.

Host: I figured.

Relative 2: Yeah, just can’t get going today for some reason.  Sorry also for calling so last-minute – everybody else is already there by now, I bet.

Host: (As the house shudders with a giant blast of wind) No, not really.

Relative 2: Ah, well, you always get a few cancellations at these get-togethers, that’s how it goes.  Happy Easter anyway, and Happy Spring!  (Ends the call)

Host: (Stares at the silent phone) Was that one calling from the Sun?!

(Later that afternoon, after ham dinner-for-one, Host lies on the couch while watching the wintry outdoors; the snowdrifts are now climbing up the windows)

Host: (Unwraps a chocolate bunny and bites off the head) My poor pansies.  (CHOMP) Poor birds.  (CHOMP)  Poor trees, poor grass, poor flowers, poor spring babies.  (CHOMP)  Poor ham, poor appetizers, poor desserts.  (Finishes the bunny and smacks lips in satisfaction) Ahhhh… at least one thing went right today.  (Looks again out the window, which is nearly a wall of white) Well, guess we’ll just have to look forward to a summer of 100°F for months on end to make up for this.

Story 365: How Time Doth Fly; Or, Now There Is a Story for Every Day of the Year

          (Friend 1 and Friend 2 are sitting on beach chairs in the local park, watching the lake and occasional passers-by as the autumn leaves fall gently around them)

            Friend 1: (Wearing summer clothes and sunglasses) You think the trees missed the memo that there’s no fall season on this planet anymore?

            Friend 2: Probably – I’m just waiting for winter to get completely phased out, but I think that’s got a few more polar vortexes in it before then.

            Friend 1: Huh…. Vortexes or vortices?

            Friend 2: No idea.

            (They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes)

            Friend 1: You know, I think the last real, authentic autumn chill we had – that school’s-starting-summer’s-over-no-more-fun chill – was back when we went to that concert five years ago.

            Friend 2: You mean the Manly Men one?

            Friend 1: Yeppers.

            Friend 2: That was seven years ago.

Friend 1: No it wasn’t, it was… hmmmmm…. (Stares unseeingly into the distance while mentally stretching back across the years)

Friend 2: 2013.

Friend 1: (Shaking head) Nooooo….

Friend 2: (Nodding head) Yesssss….

Friend 1: It wasn’t seven years, that’s the length of a TV series!  I remember it as if it were last year, but I’m being generous and saying five.

Friend 2: (Works on a phone) Then chunks of years must’ve fallen out your ears – look.  (Hands over the phone showing photos from the concert and points at the date) See that?  Time-stamped August 15, 2013.

Friend 1: (Hands back the phone) Lies.

Friend 2: Whatever makes you happy.  (Puts the phone away and settles back in the beach chair to relax)

Friend 1: OK then –

Friend 2: [Sigh] Yes?

Friend 1: How about when you had your appendix taken out?

Friend 2: That’ll be a year in December.

Friend 1: Ha!  Wrong!  I clearly remember it being 90° that day, so it must have been July 2019, which makes it a year and a half in December!

Friend 2: I think I’d know the date when I’ve had one of my internal organs removed.  And it’s been 90° in December for quite some time now.

Friend 1: Oh.  Are you sure North America just hasn’t slid down into the Southern Hemisphere, and no one wants to tell us?

Friend 2: We’d probably have a lot more problems going on if that’d happened.

Friend 1: Gotcha.  (Ponders for a few moments) What about when I was having my job crisis meltdown a while back?  Was that five years ago?

Friend 2: (Thinks for a bit) Yes – it was a little before the latest round of Astral Skirmishes movies had come out.

Friend 1: (Laughs) Oh yeah.  Oh wow, it feels like that whole hullabaloo just started, and now it’s already over and the first movie was released half a decade ago.

Friend 2: Mm-hm.  Before you know it, the 20^th anniversary edition’ll be out and the special effects’ll be upgraded to whatever 3D-V.R.-A.I.-A.R.-whatever is out at that point.

Friend 1: Yeah… oh.

Friend 2: What?

Friend 1: By the time the 20^th anniversary edition comes out, we’ll be in our 50s.

Friend 2: (Calculates the years) Oh yeah – that’s funny.

Friend 1: That’s darned depressing, is what that is.

Friend 2: Oh come on, we’ve been doing the same stuff for nearly a decade now, you think our lives are really going to be that much different just because we’re middle-aged?  By then, 50’ll probably be the new 10!

            Friend 1: I guess, but at that point I’ll have to start wasting more time in doctors’ offices getting more and more tests, and fighting against my own failing stamina, and yelling at insurance companies for prescriptions I’d rather not have to take but need to or I’ll die, and going to more funerals than weddings, and –

Friend 2: I feel like I’ve lost 10 years just having this conversation.

Friend 1: Fine; we’ll go back to enjoying the unseasonable day, then.  (They watch several ducks paddle by on the lake)  Think we’ll even remember this conversation in 10 years?

Friend 2: Knowing my luck, this will be the last memory I ever forget.