So Mojo hasn't bragged lately about the idyllic life she leads out here in the sticks, far away from the likes of you. Recently she has had to leave her mold-infested hovel and interact with people, since taxes are due and in the three states she is financially involved in (yes, THREE, count 'em!) she owes money to two. And while Mojo demands her refunds as soon as humanly possible, when SHE has to pay rest assured she waits until almost the Very Last Minute.
For some reason that was not adequately explained to me but Heck, It's Too Late Now, the new accountant e-filed everything, but set it up so I have to MAIL PAPER CHECKS in to those I owe. I don't know why this is, so please remind me next tax season to ask why it can't be e-filed, which is how the OLD guy did it. In fact while we were going over my finances I made the charming observation that, back when I had to mail paper checks, my taxes to one state was all of TWO BUCKS, yet to send my check registered return receipt mail cost me WAY MORE than the taxes did. We both chuckled warmly over this, and then I was given my packet of tax papers which I did not bother looking at until nearly a month later. Which was when I discovered I had to MAIL IN MY PAPER CHECKS LIKE AN ANIMAL. But I digress.
Anyway, so Mojo being the charming lass she is, guess who shows up at the post office window about TWO MINUTES before they wish to close? Yeppers, it's our old pal Mojo.
But you see, here is where Small Town Life combined with Mojo's Sparkling Personality works to my advantage, since (like the rest of the town) I am on a first-name basis with the postal person behind the counter, who I shall call A. So I'm all like, gosh, I'm so sorry, I forgot you closed this early, and she's all like, hey, no problem, Mojo, here's what we're gonna do. And what we did was this: She shut the window and closed for the day, I filled out all the horrible paperwork and envelope stickers at my leisure, and when the time came I just paperclipped a twenty to my mail and shoved it under the office door.
And the next day, in my mailbox, I got my receipts and change in an envelope waiting for me to retrieve it.
Which, being the polite, well-bred lass that Mojo CAN sometimes be when forced, necessitated another trip to the window to THANK my friend A. for this extra service. Which I don't really mind, 'cuz she is a Nice Person. Now, you might have equally nice people working in your city-type post offices, but face it: are they gonna let you do THAT? Or, perhaps even more realistically, are YOU gonna do that with your tax papers and munnies?
I didn't think so. But out here in the middle of nowhere, of COURSE I would do that. Why the hell WOULDN'T I?