This one is the real winner. The time was Spring of 2005, my first year out of school; the place was San Francisco, California. Seeing as it was Spring of my first year out of school it meant that I had to do my taxes for the first time ever. Being a privileged young Jew this meant, of course, running to my father's accountant with hand fulls of paper covered with illegible-to-me numbers with dashes in them. He promptly returned them to me in a neatly organized pile with clear instructions on what had to be signed and filed: couldn't have been easier. So that's precisely what I did: I signed, and then filed them. Like, in a filing cabinet. Flash forward to freaking October of that same year, and I'm complaining about not having received my tax refund yet. After much back and forth with my Dad, the mortifying truth about what happened revealed itself. My father stopped laughing around July of 2009.
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