The Shithead by Tim Grahl

Author:Tim Grahl [Grahl, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Story Grid Publishing

27

INVISIBLE SUN

The IRS Taxpayer Assistance Center—how’s that for a name?—is nestled inside the Estes Kefauver Federal Building in the heart of downtown Nashville. It’s surrounded by three aged stone churches with towering spires. If you walk five minutes further north, you will hit the honky-tonk bars where tourists gather every weekend to buy cheap boots and pretend to drink like cowboys.

While I would have loved to step into one of those taverns, I’m here to enter the flat concrete rectangular building that could easily pass as a prison.

I’ve always wondered about the people government buildings are named for, so I Wikipedia them. Carey Estes Kefauver was a Tennessee Democrat who served in Congress and the Senate. Famous for leading congressional hearings investigating organized crime, he ran for president a bunch of times and was the democratic running mate for Adlai Stevenson’s campaign. He died pretty young, at the age of sixty, of an aneurysm. I’m half hoping I have one myself.

Do you think he dreamed of having his name on a building where bureaucrats self-loathed the days away and ordinary citizens dreaded being summoned to?

Fuck, I don’t want to be here, especially after losing my shit and practically blowing my life up this morning.

By the time I’d taken a shower and dressed, Marie had already left with the boys, making sure I didn’t get to say goodbye to them before leaving town for the night.

That’s fine. I told myself I would call them from DC and be back the next day. No big fucking deal.

My previous two and a half hours were spent running the necessary errands to replace my laptop. Most of that time was spent at my parents’ house. I couldn’t just take the money and run. I ended up having a cup of coffee while my mom made her breakfast vegetable smoothie, and my dad sat at the kitchen table stoically hand-tying fly-fishing lures he sold online to other crazy control freaks who spent hours catching fish, just to release them.

I fended off personal questions about work and Marie with vague half-truths and redirects. Patience was the key in these situations. Lots of nods and “is that so?”

Eventually, my mom slid the folded check into my hand, hugged me, and kissed me on the cheek. She expressed her undying belief in my perfection, and I hurried to the car.

I was waiting at the bank when it opened at 9:00 a.m. so I could cash my parents’ check, then walked into the downtown Apple Store a few minutes later. I deliberated over the various models but ended up with their high-end MacBook Pro. I wondered if I should get one of the cheaper personal models—they were plenty powerful enough to run a slideshow—but decided I should get the upgrade as I would need it for the new job. I didn’t want to come across as some hillbilly who didn’t have enough money to upgrade.

At 9:55 a.m., I found street parking across from the Estes Kefauver Federal Building.

A reminder popped up on my phone for the meeting with Lori.

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