I R Screwed?

For much of the past two weeks at work, I have been going through the division's old files and journals, sorting out papers while packing off boxes of journals (633 lb. in all) to be shipped off to Asia. Another great use of my hundred-K-plus education. (Seriously, if I hear one more crack about where that money is going, heads will roll and tails will spin. I am, natch, allowed to make the stupid jokes myself. As are my folks, as people who partly financed the education. But that's it.)

In the clean up process, one of my fellow research assistants came across a letter from 1984 from the IRS, claiming that our division chief neglected to submit a tax form for his consulting firm. She showed it to another research assistant, then another, and so the paper passed through another several others in the division. It was finally about to be laid to rest when a brilliant but devious doctor (yes, I'm just saying that on the slim off chance that he reads this. Shoring up the brownie points) laid his eyes on the document and hatched a brilliant but devious plan. Why just laugh about the IRS when we can pretend to be the IRS?

Thus the research assistants were dispatched to doctor a fresh note from the IRS demanding back payment. And because even among research assistants, I am lowly and easily-bossed-around, I was delegated the actual task of writing the letter though I took no part in the initial discovery. Not that I'm complaining. Compared to packing, organizing files, playing phone tag, making spreadsheets, as well as the humiliation of having to sign official letters with my "credentials" of "B.A.," forging a note from the IRS was easily the highlight of my week.

For now, the letter is off of my hands and in the secure palms of the evil genius doctor, who is making the final touches and of course, preparing to bear the brunt of what comes. (I've explained that I cannot bear to be fired; I need to put food on the table... for myself. But he said something about having a kid and not being in a good place for firing either. The way I see it, kids don't eat half as much as I do and are thus much more low-maintenance. Plus, he's a lot more employable than I am.) It's looking fifty-fifty right now whether the letter's recipient will find it hilarious or a betrayal of confidence and cause for fire. Just in case though, it may be a good idea for all of you to start clearing off the couches, leaving change all around the house, and inviting me for dinner. Just in case.