Yesterday, I spent almost two hours waiting in line to turn in my federal income tax returns. Although I thought I could just walk in and drop off my return, I was told by 3 separate bureaucrats that I would have to take a number and wait for a clerk at one of the windows just for the privilege of handing in my completed return and payment.
I was prepared. I brought last week's New Yorker and Sports Illustrated. I wasn't exactly pleased to wait, but I've learned not to get upset by circumstances beyond my control. (Yes, before you write, I know I could have filed three months ago.)
Every couple of minutes I looked up at the LED sign to check on my progress. As I glanced at the sign, I surveyed the room. All forty chairs were occupied, and there were at least another twenty souls standing, while yet another twenty were in a queue waiting to get their number.
I could feel the anger and disgust welling in the room. People were edgy. Someone brushed by another and harsh words were exchanged. A man picked up a pen that didn't belong to him, and the owner snapped, "Hey, man, you can't do that."
Why do so many people seem to be right on the edge of anger? I know the economy went down the crapper, but I've noticed this over the past few years. I think it's because we expect things to go our way, without considering the ramifications for others. I nearly got run down several times in the last few years because the drivers were talking on their cell phones.
A long time ago, I came to the conclusion that the world was against me. No, I don't think that the world is a sentient organism plotting against me. For one reason or another, most things don't go my way. It used to bother me, but now I expect it. My friends think this is a horrible way to look at life, but I think it's great. Whenever things do turn out well for me, it's a surprise, and it makes me smile. If they don't, it doesn't bother me because I've anticipated it.
After waiting more than an hour and a half, a haggard federal employee came out amongst us with a handful of Form 4868, which gives you an extension. He was also carrying an empty computer paper carton to collect completed 4868s. I asked him politely if I could give him my completed return. He said "yes," and my long wait was over.
Instead of getting angry that I had waited more than 90 minutes until someone decided to come out and collect forms, I just laughed at the absurdity of it all.
--30--
