In the eleventh hour
April 16, 2008
It comes but once a year: Procrastinators’ Night. It’s the tax deadline, celebrated by last-hour filers who throng post office lobbies with returns in hand — or, in the best fashion, are filling out the forms as the clock ticks inexorably toward midnight.
Usually, the scene is best played out in the main Baltimore post office, where traffic runs heavy outside on Fayette Street and workers gaily donning reflective safety garb accept the envelopes in curbside service. Inside, many people are taking the lower road, separating W-2 forms and scribbling numbers on 1040s.
But there’s celebrations in the burbs, too — take, for example, the Pasadena post office at 11 p.m. on Tuesday.
Eight cars are parked near the door, their occupants arriving and departing on this nocturnal tribute to Uncle Sam. Further back on the lot, a woman sits in her car — its interior lights showing her glorious pursuit of the deadline, looking over paperwork, scribbling on a form, turning pages. It’s 11:05 p.m., 55 minutes and counting.
Inside the lobby, a man and woman fill out their forms together. So romantic!
Except for the other filers coming and going, they’re nearly alone in this reverie.
There’s not even a postal worker in sight. Except for the lobby, the joint is closed.
I inquire, gently: “If there’s no one here to take the return, how will anyone know you mailed it in time?”
The woman looks up momentarily, long enough to reply: “Beats me.”
Tick… tick… tick….
DAVID ETTLIN, Daily Record Freelancer
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