On April 15th you will undoubtedly be thinking about taxes with either a sigh of relief or with a cold sweat on how your gonna finish before the midnight deadline.
In Alaska some postal worker dresses up like Uncle Sam, sequin suit with matching top hat and all, and stands in the middle of a road that leads to the only 24 hour post office in Anchorage. He’s there with a smile that only a postal worker can make (half delirious, half guilty pleasure) to take your tax return there on the road, because packing thousands of stressed people into a post office lobby is known to cause a riot.
You drive up nice and slow, cause the po-po (or policemen) are also there to observe this exchange, roll down the window and hand Sam your document. He would say thank you, grab the brim of his sequined hat, and bling-bling you now have 364 days left until you have to repeat this federal duty. This of course, was all before the Information Superhighway made it possible to give Sam instant gratification and your bank account information. Kids, remember to wear aluminum foil on the head, because the IRS can now read your thoughts from outer space.
On Monday, the Fifthteenth of April in the Year of Our Lord, Two-Thousand and two, I will be fretting about turning 31. Mind you I’m not the type to plod around dressed in black, smoking long-brown More cigarettes, and asking my cat what’s the world good for cause I usually wear dark blue with khaki and chug down an iced latte while I bewilder a Starbucks barista with questions about what the world is good for.
Did you know that Starbucks has a two drink minimum for “loitering” or they kick you out? Unless of course you would be willing to purchase one of their Hear Music CD’s, then you get the floor and an open mic. Because who in the world goes to a coffee shop to purchase music that you wouldn’t normally buy in a real music store? (see entry on convergence)
My wife, family, cat, and friends have all been very supportive telling me that turning 31 is ‘Ok’ and no different than 30. But that’s what they said about turning 21, only turning 21 came with a complete package of new privileges. Thirty-one comes complete with jack squat — holy cripes what’s 41 gonna be like?
So this year when you give the sequined postal worker your tax return, just remember to drop by your local Starbucks and look for the preppy hanging at the bar and freaking out the green, apron-wearing staff. Just give him a hug and remind him that it’s gonna be Ok. Oh and an iced latte would help a lot too.
A large non-profit corporation has been set up to accept donations for the Greg Storey Longevity Project. Please click here for more information.