gwalla (gwalla) wrote,

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This is the job that never ends, it just goes on and on my friend

Last Tuesday my mom asked if I'd be willing to help out the woman who runs the restaurant & bar under my mom's office. She was running (very) late on getting her W2s done and her employees were starting to get antsy. I said sure. It was a paid job, but also sort of a favor to a friend. I thought it'd be pretty simple: get the data for her employees, get the tax software, do some data entry and print it all out. I figured I could use an unoccupied computer upstairs at my mom's office. I thought it'd be one day of work.

Wrong. First off, the tax software turned out to be for Windows 95, and my mom's office is all Macs. So that was out. No big deal. I typed up the data in Excel so I could calculate the per-employee totals (the data was month-by-month), printed it out and emailed it to myself.

The email never arrived. It got lost in the ether. Also, talking to her on the phone I found that I'd misunderstood some of the data (I hadn't entered a couple of months' worth of data because I thought that a second packet she'd given me covered them, but in fact it was entirely separate). So I had to redo a whole lot of stuff at home (fotunately not all, since I had printouts). That night I dreamt about W2s. I woke up with numbers in my head.

This job is a gas: that is to say, it expands to fill all available space. The information she'd given me turned out to be incomplete with regards to employee names, addresses, and social security numbers. I'd call her and ask for information on somebody so I could fill out the forms in the tax software (which was pretty crappy and unhelpful, BTW), and she would have to go looking when she had time (she splits her time between both restaurants, and is the cook as well as the owner). She's the most disorganized person I know; she makes me look like I've got my shit together. She'd ask an employee for their social and address, write it down on a scrap of paper (e.g. on the back of an order), and never write it down in a central place. I swear she had to ask some people three times because she kept losing the paper slips that she'd stuffed in her pocket or left on the counter or something. And then just when I thought I had everything, I'd find another piece of missing info. Eventually she finally said that I could leave the socials blank on the ones I still didn't have and she'd type them in herself.

I brought her one pack of "finished" W2s, and found that I'd assigned the wrong employees to the wrong company. So I had to buy a new pack of pages and fix things. Finagle's Law was in full force. I handed her the "finished" pack of W2s Monday morning. That evening she called and said that a few were missing. No matter; I printed out the ones I'd overlooked and handed them in to her Tuesday morning. This evening I get a call saying that there was a mistake: she'd accidentally used the last name of a previous employee for a current employee with the same first name.

It never ends!

Tags: real life, whining

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