I went down to 411 Seniors' Centre last Wednesday morning, and as I was walking up the stairs to the reception desk on the second floor, our Manager of Client and Volunteer Services was on her way downstairs. It's no great surprise that both of us were using the stairs, because the building was constructed around the same time as the Tower of Babel, and I think they used the same elevator contractor.
What did surprise Amanda is that I was there on a Wednesday! I am her Tuesday morning receptionist, and for me to show up on another day without her knowing about it meant that there must have been a powerful disturbance in the Force. As, indeed, there was.
Now, some of you are aware I was beaned by a set of bedrails at work about four years ago, and to this day, a great many of my marbles remain scattered to distant cosmic confines with ever lessening possibilities of them returning to our planetary system or your reality.
Among the consequences of this little incident are these; I don't read as well as I used to, and have only recently commenced this bit of cerebral thumb twiddling which I like to call th' blog, and making decisions has become very difficult. Another thing that went by the boards is my facility with simple mathematics - ergo, my unexpected visit to 411 Dunsmuir Street.
Y'see, 411 Seniors' Centre Society has volunteer tax counsellors, and I have been a very bad boy.
I fully intended to file my 2007 tax return - I had actually completed it! The result wasn't satisfactory to me, and I was going to do it over, and see if I could come to a better conclusion, but I didn't. In 2008, my entire income was fifteen weeks of a medical EI claim, and should have been simple. I looked at that return too. 2009 was nothing but nothing - again, I did nothing.
The Tall Lady offered to do them for me, but I have rules, and she's not allowed to do my taxes or my ironing (silly rules, perhaps, but still rules). My little buddy, Mad Bad Vlad the Lad tried to do them for me too, but he couldn't decide which corner of the T1 to chew, so he wound up eating most of the form.
Last Wednesday was Jose the Tax Guy's first shift at 411. Amanda had probably promised him an easy day, and I suppose it's what he expected. Then I showed up with my new membership card, my travel mug and three years of bad news. I took up three quarters of his four hour shift (fortunately, there was another counsellor in the next office who does taxes as well). Jose was likely a good deal older at the end of his day than he was at its beginning. My only hope is that he's not gotten any wiser and that he came back to work today.
The final upshot of this (I hope) is that the Receiver General and I can be friends again. He's never said anything mean about me, and I certainly never intended to be rude to him (or her - my interest in government is not what it was either).
Let's just hope that these are the first of many happy returns.