Tax Preparers Frayed as Days Dwindle Down

Paul Simon (the singer, not the presidential candidate) once wrote a song called “April, Come She Will.” For tax preparers, though, the words “April, Come She Will” represent both boon and bane.

Lois Thomas and Gail Nichols, for example, prepare returns for Tax Preparers of America in El Cajon. Because Friday is the filing deadline, this is hell week.

“Crazy,” Nichols said with a shiver. “Absolutely crazy.”

She said scores of people stomp in utterly unprepared, most without any of the proper forms, including W-2s. Many roll in, hours before deadline, panting like sprinters breaking the tape. When told anything they don’t want to hear, most “just flat out go bonkers,” Thomas said.

Just this week, one woman was told her son would owe the government $150, even though his part-time job pays him only $5,000 a year.

“He’s never had to pay before!” the mother shrieked.

Well, he has to this year, Thomas said. The son is no longer able to declare himself as a dependent. He is his parents’ dependent. Thus, he loses his personal exemption, making him subject to a higher tax. (Dual exemptions are among the casualties of the new tax laws.)

Thomas, who owns the business, most fears Friday, “when 25 to 30 people will charge in at once, moments before closing, all demanding extensions.” She said that, of 4,000 annual clients, about 150 file for extensions. This year’s number is expected to be higher.

After it’s over, Nichols and Thomas plan to take a week off, relaxing and telling war stories with cronies at a special retreat in Monterey.

Having something to look forward to is, Nichols said, the only way to survive in the April-is-hellish tax world.

Stress, come she will.

Opening With a Winner

To a baseball fan, the words “April, Come She Will” are a sound sweeter than any other. In the movie “Manhattan,” Woody Allen listed the pleasures that make life worth living. His included Louis Armstrong, apples and pears by Cezanne, and Willie Mays.

For Padres fans, Tony Gwynn comes the closest to inducing true April bliss.

Gwynn is the focal point of much of tonight’s pregame festivities when the Padres open the home season against the Los Angeles Dodgers. In ceremonies starting at 6:45, the right fielder will be honored with a silver bat for winning last year’s National League hitting title with a .370 average. He will also receive, for the second straight year, the Rawlings Gold Glove award for outstanding defensive play.

And that’s but a sliver of what’s happening. The Padres plan pre- and post-game fireworks, and the post office will set up a cancellation booth for anyone wishing to commemorate mail with a nod to opening day. The ushers will wear tuxedos. E. J. (Buzzie) Bavasi, the Padres’ original president, will throw out the first ball, and the daughter of former slugger Nate Colbert will sing the national anthem. She was born in 1969, the year the team was founded and the season her father opened his home-run blitz.

Padres spokesman Bill Beck said a “crack rifle drill team” will march on the field, as will the Mt. Miguel High School marching band.

Starting pitchers will be Andy Hawkins for the Padres and Don Sutton for the Dodgers.

Tax preparers, take note: Beer and many other concessions have jumped in price by at least 25 cents an item.

But one thing remains the same, thank God: Tony Gwynn is still in right field.

Hot Buttered Sewage

Drive-in movies. Where else can you watch a motion picture while sitting beneath the night sky? Where else can you chatter without irking a soul you don’t know?

Where else can you pack a meal, or your very own popcorn? Where else can you experience the wonders of loudspeakers, and those all-important public announcements?

Saturday night at the Santee Drive-In, the hour was nearing midnight. The second feature, “Good Morning, Vietnam,” was almost over.

Robin Williams, who plays a crazed disc jockey, is served a disgusting breakfast. He follows with a line that goes something like: “This looks like a cesspool. I’m not used to eating from a cesspool first thing in the morning.”

As if on cue, a voice broke in over the gravelly speaker. With the grimness of cesspools still in the mind, the voice said simply: “The snack bar closes in 10 minutes.”