Ah, gotta love tax season.

I don't know if it's me, or if it's everyone that I had financial dealings with last year, but lately it seems like somewhere around the first of this year, I lifted my arm or took the wrong route around a telephone pole and was transported into a different universe where everyone is constantly high. Nothing makes sense. All of my employers are withholding taxes at different rates; none of them have my name or address right; and nobody wants to take responsibility for anything.

I can't tell you how many circular conversations I've had with people about taxes in the last week. Let me give you an example.

I had to have a conversation with some people at my school about some tax problems I was having. I was already disgruntled about having to park my car under a tree three blocks away, on account of the school refuses to provide parking for more than 25 of its 1200-odd students and faculty.

As I walked through the door, a sweaty-toothed madman in a red sweater, glasses, and an absent-minded demeanor greeted me. I explained to him my dilemma.

"I'm here to ask you about my w-2 from 2007. It would seem that the school didn't withhold any taxes."

"W-2! W-2! You must be applying for direct deposit of your paycheck."

"Not at all, actually."

"Is that the form there?"

"No. Listen, I received a w-2 for income that I was told was tax exempt."

"Well don't ask me about it, I don't know anything. Gimme that pretty form in your hand!"

It took me several attempts to convince him that I was carrying something in my hand that didn't fall into his purview, and I kept having to fend him off from grabbing the homework that I was carrying from out of my hand.

"No, this isn't for you. So why did I get a W-2 for non-taxable income?"

"Because you earned income from the school, silly boy. I sent you a W-2 so that you could pay your taxes. Why are you asking me, I don't know anything about it."

"But you were the one that originally told me that it was tax exempt when I started working."

"Well, you're a student."

At this point, a March Hare wearing a blue denim blouse appeared behind him, and started repeating the last three words of every sentence the sweaty-toothed Mad Hatter said.

"What does that mean?"

"Why are you asking me, I don't know anything about tax law!"

"...about tax law..."

"You knew my income from the school was taxable, at least."

"Yes, of course."

"...yes, income is taxable..."

"But on my W-2 you didn't withhold any taxes!"

"Well why would I? You're not an employee!"

"...not employed, no no...."

"But you're paying me!"

"Yes, but you're a student, so you don't pay taxes."

"...students no taxes..."

"So I now owe taxes on my non-taxable income that I earned as a taxable employee, even though I'm still a student and don't pay taxes."

"Yes, that's correct."

The two of them then linked arms and proceeded toward the rear of the office, singing, "A Very Happy Unbirthday To You," while I followed the small white rabbit of my remaining sanity out the door, scratching my head.

Hours later, I made the hike back to my car. As I approached, I noticed that the car was completely covered in bird- and tree-droppings. I put my key into the lock, and as I turned the lock, I heard the small rustle of laughter overhead, and as I looked up, a dozen sweaty-toothed birds in red sweaters and glasses took wing and flew off.

End transmission.