April 15 has passed, but tax preparation season certainly takes its toll: Ervolino

This year, for the first time in 25 years, I got my taxes done two weeks BEFORE the deadline.

And the earth shook. Literally. (It was a 4.8, according to the U.S. Geological Survey.)

In response, my accountant Danny, who also happens to be one of my oldest friends, screamed “Hallelujah!”

As I've noted, things weren’t always thus. This is because, despite my best intentions, I could never make it to his office until the evening of April 14th — right around the time that most accountants are ready to leave their chosen profession and go into something more serene, like international espionage or bullfighting.

Not only would I get to Danny’s office at the last minute, but I’d arrive with bags and bags of unsorted paperwork.

Until 2017, that is. That’s when I finally ditched the bags and put everything into that large box that my last vacuum cleaner came in.

Danny was not impressed. He opened the box and found the same horrifying, misbegotten mess: W-2 forms, mortgage statements, Bed Bath & Beyond coupons, stuffed cabbage recipes, gift certificates, appliance warranties, traffic tickets and assorted receipts for tolls, parking, cabs, restaurants, dry cleaning and the bakery where I get my jelly donuts, semolina bread and birthday cakes.

There were also a bunch of pizzeria menus and cemetery flyers.

“This place makes the pizza with mozzarella in the crust,” I said. “It sounds good, but I really didn’t care for it.”

Danny rummaged through the box for four or five minutes and then started screaming.

“Pizza menus? Bakery receipts? Why on earth are you giving me bakery receipts?”

I angrily grabbed one of them from the box and pointed to a certain T-word printed at the bottom.

“See that?” I yelled. “It says TAX.”

Danny shook his head. “No, it does not say tax. It says THANKS. You don’t pay tax on jelly donuts. When are you going to get glasses?”

I held the receipt three inches from my nose and squinted. Then, I started whining again: “I never needed glasses before — until they started writing everything so small. Who can read any of this stuff?”

He then shook his head a second time. “And what are these things? Losing lottery tickets?”

“Yes. Do you have any idea how much I spent on Powerball last year? They should add $150,000 to my refund just for that.”

He was also intrigued by a batch of receipts that I had clipped together, separately from the others.

“Those are from 2002,” I said, “but I just found them behind my bureau. If you have some scissors, we could just cut the dates off.”

“I don’t think so. And what are these things?" he asked, pulling out two wads of correction slips, held together with rubber bands.

“OK,” I said, separating the piles on his desk, "these yellow ones are the things the bank sends you when you make a deposit and you add the checks up wrong. And the orange ones are the adjustments that the gas company sends you, because they always mail out the new bill before they get the payment for the last one. So I send the old payment a second time, plus the new payment and they send me one of these things with the . . . you know . . . the credit, or the debit, or whatever you call it."

"And you get these EVERY MONTH?"

“Danny, you know I'm not a math person. Anyway, what are you complaining about? This is my new system. I thought you'd be pleased. I used to throw these things all over the place. Drawers, cabinets, under the bed. Then, in March, I’d have to scramble, searching around for all these stupid things. Now, from January on, I put everything in this box.”

And I did mean everything.

“I’d come in every year with so much junk and then you’d say, ‘Where’s this? Where’s that?’ So, now you have all of it.”

After another five minutes went by, Danny began sweating. And shaking. Then, he covered his eyes and sobbed.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

Freebie: Get free Wawa coffee for iconic convenience store's 60th anniversary

“Do you have any idea what this is like,” he wailed. “It’s been like this, non-stop, since January! Eight days a week! Thirty-five hours a day! Deductions! Exemptions! Withholdings!”

“Now, now,” I said, “it can’t be that bad. Besides, you’re a big guy! You’re tough!”

“I’m not,” he said, through his tears. “I used to be, but my clients have broken me down. You, mostly. But, others, too. They’re late, they’re unprepared. And I’m tired. Exhausted. And starving. I haven’t had a decent meal in weeks!”

I pulled a menu out of the box to order us a pizza.

“No. I can’t eat while I’m working,” he insisted.

“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “Have you seen my W-2? It’s already got tomato sauce all over it.”

“Bill,” he said, sniffling, “you’re a true friend. Thoughtful. Considerate. Can we get the mozzarella crust?”

“No.”

This article originally appeared on NorthJersey.com: Tax filing deadline has passed, but the anxiety remains: Ervolino