Indiana Jones and the Quest for My Boss’s Wife’s W-2
I go through this every year. I don’t get it — how hard is it to give me your W-2? The taxes don’t get done overnight. Everything has to be uploaded through our accountant’s portal, which means I scan
and I scan
and I scan
and I scan some more.
Just like I ask, and I ask, and I ask again. “Please give me your wife’s W-2 so I can get your taxes done.”
I send emails.
I put a star on the email.
I mark the email URGENT.
Is WTF an IRS code? Because it should be.
Why is that the richer you are — or let me rephrase that, the more important you think you are — the more dysfunctional you are?
Apparently you are more important than the federal government.
I know the IRS is backed up right now and collectively having a nervous breakdown, but I’m pretty sure they’ll get their shit together long enough to notice that y’all didn’t report something north of $70,000.
Besides the fact that the accountant keeps asking me to UPLOAD YOUR INFORMATION TO THE PORTAL ALREADY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.
How do I explain my predicament? How do I explain that although I have asked, repeatedly, for one small piece of paper to be delivered, either in paper or electronic form, into my care, it just ain’t happening.
How do you explain that which is inexplicable?
I guess I just add this to the mysteries of the universe, right under starfish and why the sound of somebody chewing is so annoying.
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