Okay, so my friend Missy just gave me a blogging award. I would link to her blog but I don't know how which tells you just how undeserved this actually is but I love her to death and I haven't written in forever so I thought I should at least make a gesture...
Last night Guapo informed me that I was going to have to make a trip to the local IRS office on some business. To say I was less than thrilled would be a gross understatement.
Not because I resent paying taxes. I happen to believe that taxes are the price we pay for living in such a lovely country. Not because the IRS strikes fear in my heart. I have, in fact, met some very pleasant people there. (True, most of them were waiting with me, but... ) And not because I hate to wait in line (which I do). But I live conveniently close to the office and can manage to get there early enough that I don't usually have to wait at all.
No, I don't like going there because it forces me to come face to face with the fact that sometimes I am not very Christian in my attitudes. More specifically, about my attitude toward one particular man who works there.
He drives me batty.
He's not mean. Although he's been cranky quite a few times. In fact, he was even exceedingly pleasant. (Once.) And even moderately...moderate. (Three times.)
But really most of the time he just seems irritable. And frankly, like a little bit of a nitwit.(Thank you, Maren.)
Our history goes back years. Since Guapo owns a small business we have to pay quarterly taxes so I see more of him than you might think and he's been this way for as long as I can remember.
Let me give you an example. The last time I had to go there I was the first one in the office. The only other person there was the UPS man, whom I knew, and he was just finishing his delivery. We said hello to one another and I approached the window.
"You'll need to take a number and a seat, Ma'am."
Remember, there's no one there.
But, I did.
And then I watched him as he painstakingly unwrapped his package, divided it into sections, delivered each section to a different area of the office, returned to his desk, ORGANIZED it, and then pushed the button and called out, "Number one, please," in a chipper voice, and smiled as if he'd never seen me in his life.
And we were still alone.
(Have you seen Meet The Parents? The lady at the airline desk? Yeah, like her.)
Today when I went I took Buo. We were the first ones there and reached for a number. The security guard informed us that the two people in the office were training and they wouldn't be ready to help anyone for about forty minutes or so. Then he suggested we could step across the street for a donut while we waited.
We took the number, ran home, and made it back in fifteen minutes where we waited for another half hour with the nine other people who had since assembled. I'm glad.
Now I have witnesses.
We got to listen to my buddy who trained his co-worker while she explained to him just how faulty this new system was. How prone to errors it would be. How many SERIOUS errors were sure to happen.
All he could do was confirm that those kinds of errors HAD ALREADY HAPPENED. (No one in the waiting area can WAIT to get to the window NOW so we can be seriously fouled up by their new system. I can tell by the way the guy next to me is alternately shaking and sweating...)
Yes. It's true. That's what he said. At which point Buo turned to me and said softly, "Is he really that dumb?" (It occurs to me now that I may have passed on some of my LessThan Charitable world views to my offspring...)
FYI, friends at the IRS, your reputations are a little...well...cloudy, shall we say, anyway. You might not wanna put it all out there like this. Just sayin'.
Then, forty five minutes after they opened, he loudly and happily proclaimed, "Now we're ready to start the day. And all before 9:15."
Only forty five minutes after they opened.
(P.S. I'm pretty sure they post that security guard there to protect that man from himself.)
(Missy's blogs can be found at glasseyedgradys.blogspot.com and bankburglarsdaughter.blogspot.com.)