TRIP TO THE IRS

Once I wrote a poem in which I said: “the devil appears to me wearing a coat designed by Hershey’s.” That poem is out of date because he now appears to me wearing a coat with the IRS emblem. The one thing that can exasperate me to tears the quickest seems to be a lot of papers that are unreadable to me. With all the OCR apps that are out there, I haven’t found one yet that services my needs, even the newest later and greater ones. Of course there are twenty-five hundred dollar ones that probably work? Well that’s out of the question, especially since now, due to papers I cannot read, I owe the government even more than that. It’s awkward enough to realize I sat across from a young man who totally messed up a tax return for me, but here we go, my trip to the IRS. I order my cab the day before the trip because that’s how our city transportation program works. The cab pulls up and Vivi and I get in. We ride for about ten minutes and as we get out the driver tells me to just walk straight for a while. Vivi finds the door. Inside it feels like an empty hallway. It probably feels that way because that’s exactly what it is. I hear a voice coming around the corner and it smiles at me as it asks me if I need help. Vivi follows the nice gentleman to the door of the IRS Service. It’s as quiet as midnight in here. I see nothing but a blaring overhead fluorescence. Another nice gentleman puts a slip of paper in my hand. “Is this a number?” I say. “Yes, he answers as he sends someone to get me a chair. “What number is it?” I say as I hear squeaky wheels rolling across the carpet. “501” he says. “Is there no chair empty?” I ask. He doesn’t answer but I feel the chair arrive as it bumps against the backs of my knees and I do a little shag step to keep from losing my balance. I sit down with an undignified flop. My feet don’t touch the floor. I feel conspicuous knowing I’m somehow sitting alone, outside a group of people. Vivi’s head turns this way and that as she takes her place on the floor beside the squeaky wheels. Immediately I begin fumbling for the controls on the bottom of the chair. It must look like my parachute didn’t open as my body drops at least four inches and my breath doesn’t. Nobody gasps or even laughs but hey, my feet now touch the floor. Still, I find that somebody could drive a small truck between the bottom and the back of the chair. I lean back and the back of the chair does too. I am searching for more controls; they are all stuck. A young man is standing somewhere in the front of the room I presume, telling us the wait is going to be twice as long today because some people are out. I’m looking for my ear phones so I can read a book if I can stand to sit in this awkward position. I wonder if someone would go to my house and get my head set, but realize that’s not an option. I’m contemplating leaving as Vivi suddenly stands up and starts pulling me forward as though she sees another dog or something. I take four tentative steps, reach down and touch Vivi’s pretty head which is now laying on a padded chair seat I should have been taken to. I sit down and try to be quiet. My phone vibrates but I have no ear buds. A bell rings sounding like a door bell. Silence. Soon another doorbell sounding ring. After several rings I go to the place I came in. Someone is standing there. “What do those bells mean?” I ask. “Every time one rings it shows a number up front,” someone explains. I’m wondering how I will know when mine shows 501. I continue my walk toward the door. “Oh let me help you,” the bell lady says. “NO thank you,” I say, smiling as I tell her Vivi knows the way out. She follows us out anyway. Next time I go to the IRS I hope I remember to pack a head set, a sun visor, a pillow, an inflatable chair, and patience.