"Bruce Holland Rogers - Why I Filed Late This Year" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rogers Bruce Holland)

Why I Filed Late This Year
by Bruce Holland Rogers
This story copyright 1993 by Bruce Holland Rogers. This copy was created for Jean Hardy's personal
use. All other rights are reserved. Thank you for honoring the copyright.

Published by Seattle Book Company, www.seattlebook.com.

* * *


I have always had trouble filing my taxes on time. Something always comes up to distract me at the last
minute, to force me to file for an extension. But I wasn't going to let that happen this year. For once, I
thought I'd have the tax deadline beat by more than a day. On Saturday I had filled out the last of the
forms, checked my figures several times, written the check, and sealed the envelope. All I had to do was
get some stamps and drop my return into the mail.
So on Sunday morning, full of that righteousness that comes with beating a deadline, I was in the post
office. The lobby was closed, of course, but there were vending machines where I could get my stamps.
At that time of day on a Sunday, there is a profound calm to the post office, like the stillness of a
church. The sound of my footsteps echoed between the marble floor and the high ceiling. The light
coming from the high rows of mailboxes with their little glass windows even reminded me of the light that
comes from stained glass.
I weighed my return, resolved to put one more stamp on it than the scale said it needed, then started to
dig change out of my pocket to feed the machine. The coins, as they fell through the secret maze inside,
made a kind of music:
Click clickety tick tick chuck.
Click clickety tick tick chuck.
One after another, quarter after quarter, I fed coins into the machine until one of them, instead of
making the usual Click clickety tick tick chuck, went only Click.
I remember that I thought to myself, quite calmly, It's all right. The machine has jammed. You may not
get your stamps, but the deadline for filing is still days away. Everything is still perfectly under control.
So, calm and full of hope, I pushed the button for my stamps, even though I knew very well that
nothing would happen. And nothing did.
It's all right, I thought. This is just a minor glitch.
I pressed the coin return lever. Nothing.
Stay calm, I reminded myself. Relax.
In a very calm and relaxed fashion, I started to bang on the side of the vending machine, trying to coax
the errant coin into its proper path so that I'd get my stamps or at least my money back.
But the coin didn't budge.
It doesn't matter, I reminded myself, still banging. What matters is that you're going to get your return
in on time.
But the more I banged on the machine, the more I grew convinced that the coin was hovering on the
edge of going down, that all it required was the right blow from just the right angle to send it on the rest of
its path, to make it play the rest of its musical clickety tick tick chunk.
I pulled the coin return lever again, then resumed pounding at the machine's side.
My hand started to sting. "God bless this machine," I said under my breath, pounding even harder.
"God bless it! God bless it!"
My face got hot as I fell into a rhythm of pounding, and with every blow, I said, "God bless! God
bless!" I felt sweat forming on my brow. "God blessed machine!" I said through my teeth. "God bless!
God bless!"
 Suddenly, the post office was filled with sweet angelic voices, something like the Vienna Boys' Choir