So I did my income tax

 This was a big one for me.  I'm not saying math is hard.  I managed to pass both algebra and geometry with acceptable grades.  But in what elementary school teachers call operations I am weak.  I went to a progressive school where it was not considered necessary to learn multiplication tables.  It would have destroyed our creative spirit, or something.  And I never wanted to learn dull, repetitive stuff unless I was compelled to.

 So my multiplication skills are elastic.  Sometimes I remember to carry the 1, other times not. Carrying the 2 is harder and demands some headscratching. Division is harder, and don't get me started on percentages.

Then there's the password.  Of course, I couldn't remember it, but I faithfully answered all the questions, including the name of my first pet, which was Cleo, if you must know.  And my Social Security number.  But they were unable to find my records and suggested I try again at some later date.

By the way, the Government seems to believe I once lived in San Francisco and I can't shake that belief.  No matter how hard I try.  So it's their fault too.

 

Income tax blues

At the Cute Little Library we had a volunteer who helped people with their income tax.  Theoretically the service was for low income people or seniors, but it was difficult to say no once people sat in front of you with their private papers spread in front of them, or so Mr Evans, the luckless volunteer, told me.  He did say that he really did not like to do taxes for people who made more money than he did, but he helped everybody he could.

Since no good deed goes unpunished, we had lots of complaints for and about poor Mr Evans.  One old lady told him exactly how much refund she wanted and was quite put out when he refused to guarantee results.  Several seniors complained that their neighbors got larger refunds than they did.   And of course, other patrons weighed in with complaints that Mr Evans and his clients made too much noise and were preventing them from using the library in peace.

One of our more unhinged patrons considered Mr Evans the devil's spawn and held up a giant crucifix when she was in his vicinity to ward off his evil influence.

But Mr Evans was at least a volunteer and knew what he was in for.  The rest of us were just trying to do our jobs and did not want to give tax advice nor were we qualified to do so. Look at it this way:  if you were an expert on personal finance, would you take a low-paying job at the public library?