Friday, October 15, 2010

A New Kind Of Hell

Tax deadline day and this past week was a doozy.  Normally, 5 days before the deadline and I'm up to my ears in paperwork, phone calls, client visits and a variety of other hell.  This year was rather tame in that regard.  The larger, more complicated returns were done a few days earlier than normal and, thanks to my oddly proactive work ethic towards the end of the summer, a bulk of the work was completed earlier than normal.

So, by this past weekend, I was sitting around, calling clients, prodding them to get their shit in sooner, rather than later.  For the most part, it worked.  Clients sent stuff in earlier or ignored me.  By Wednesday, I was leaving at humane hours (9PM) and the work was moving quickly off my desk and out the door.

Then something happened, ruining the flow, destroying my mood and creating hell in the workplace.

For starters, I couldn't get several larger clients to get their shit to me.  Unanswered calls, no response to emails.  Nothing.  No contact.  This is always a bad sign.  Not because I'm losing a client.  No, they don't go anywhere.  I'm like their therapist.  I know more than their spouses and I'm probably above their kids and just below god on their order of importance.  What it means when you get no contact at all is that you will be handed a pile of shit in the last 48 hours and the expectations for filing on time will not diminish.

In other words, they want miracles.

So, in the last 48 hours I became Annie Sullivan.  I was running multiple returns, taking calls, answering emails and, for the most part, doing it with clarity that, at this stage in the game, is usually cataract clear.

Still, I soldier on.  Why?  Because I punish these morons for doing this by raising their bill.  It's the same group every year and they know they're getting tagged for their inconsiderate behavior and outlandish expectations.  It's the only thing keeping me from throwing them, or myself, out the window.

To give you an idea of the lunacy, here's the conversation I had with a client who dropped off his paperwork Wednesday night, at 7, and promised me he'd get the rest of the stuff to me on Thursday (it arrived around noon today, still not complete).

Me:  If you put $2208 into your wife's pension plan, you can save about a thousand dollars
Him: sounds good, I'll wire it on Monday.
Me: no, it must be done today since today is the last day to file.
Him: I might not be able to do it, I need to transfer money.
Me: write the check and mail it.  they won't deposit it until monday, you'll have mailed it in time and you can transfer money to cover the check on Monday.
Him: I guess I can do that but it's cutting it close.  You really didn't give me much time for this.

Me:  (laughing)  you're kidding right?
Him: no, it's not a joke.  I've got very little time to do this.

silence from me

Him: well, I mean, I know, I didn't give you a lot of time but, still, it's going to be tough for me to do this, given the time frame allowed.

Me: get me your paperwork in, oh April next year and I'll give you six months notice.

Him: laughing - yeah, I get it and it's gonna cost me.

Nice guy, not that bright.

Anyway, this is all, more or less, normal for this time of year.  I did, however, get tasked with two new clients on Monday.  These two couples make a strong case for genetic manipulation.  I'm surprised they were able to use the phone.  Their two returns should have taken about a day, total, for them both.  I over-nighted their packages last night, just catching the 7PM drop by about 2 minutes.

Now, again, all this is rather normal for this time of year.

So, what's the new kind of hell you ask.

Sunday I started to feel this dull, throbbing pain in my mouth.  Upper left part of my mouth.  About 4 teeth back.  It got increasingly worse.  So bad that, by Tuesday I was eating allieve like gummy bears, to no avail.  Wednesday night was the first sleepless night.  Thursday night was, somehow, worse.  I was actually moaning in bed at 4 in the morning and my wife woke up and asked me if I was jerking off.  I told her I was dying of pain and she asked why.  I told her about the tooth ache, told her I hadn't slept in two days and was considering going out, buying a gun of a gangster on the streets and blowing my fucking brains out. 

My wife, in a moment of total awesomeness, offered a blow job to make me feel better and help me sleep.

The pain was so bad, I almost didn't cum.

Today, I call the dentist.  He, of course, doesn't work on Fridays but he's a champ, bought the practice from my old dentist who was also my dad's best friend and like a second father for me.  He offered to come in and take care of it.  I said I couldn't leave the office, thanks to the deadline but I'd come by Monday, as soon as my morning appointment ended.  Then I asked for drugs.  I told him I'd never do this but I cannot make it thru the day without something stronger than a bottle of advil and, without them, there's a good chance I'd be shooting heroin by monday morning to make the pain go away.

He complied.  The only bright spot in a long, painful week.

Now, at 6:15, one of the morons I tried calling and emailing for the last ten days decides to send over the missing items.

So, here I am.  Hopped up on pain killers, pissed off at the guy, barely functioning and I can't focus on anything other than his bill.  It's gone up $600 so far and I haven't started working on the damned thing.

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