Thank you, IRS!

Yes, I mean you, Internal Revenue Service. Without your yearly demands for scraps of paper from each of my employers, I might never get to have conversations such as the following one. I called up the HR department of a travel agency to which I gave five days of my life last year. Five days. One work week. Thanks again, IRS. Eventually I got through to Radheeka Nahasapeemapetilan (name changed only slightly to protect the stupid) and explained my situation. Here's my true-as-possible-to-life reconstitution of the conversation:

Me: Hi, I'm a former employee and I'd like you to send me a new W-2 as I've moved since working there.

Radheeka Nahasapeemapetilan: [note to readers -- it's only funny if you read her parts in an over-the-top Indian accent] Okay, let me pull out my records.... here we are. We sent you one already.

Me: Yes, I know, but it went to my old address. I didn't supply you with my new one. So I need a fresh W-2 sent out.

RN: We sent it to 2580 Northside Drive.

Me: Yes, I know, I don't live there anymore.

RN: Oh! You moved!

Me: [urge to kill rising]

RN: Okay, let me get your address. What is it?

Me: It's 6174...

RN: Do you have an email?

Me: What? Yes.

RN: Okay, why don't you email me your address, and if I don't get it I will have someone call you. My email is R-A-D-H-E-E-K-A dot N-A-H-A-S-A-P-E-E-M....

You can tell where this is going, people. It was like a bad Abbott and Costello bit, done over the phone as a Bob Newhart bit. But not as funny. I had actually been in the middle of giving her my address when she stopped me to give me her ridiculously long email address. I played along because I want my tax refund, but I'm just laying my money out now that Radheeka is going to be the weak link in this year's tax process.