So there we were (I got lazy and didn’t draw Tiffany, but she was there suffering alongside me), unable to send our tax payment electronically (thanks a lot Bank of America), unable to mail a check (thanks a lot Bank of America), unable to get a money order (the amount was too high). It seemed our only remaining options were cash (we called to verify) and prostitution (we’re cute), both of which required a visit to ye olde IRS office.
We drove, found expensive parking in a garage, and waited, as they admitted one person at a time into the building every five or so minutes. And once inside, there was another line. And once through security, there was another line. Haha.
And here I thought the DMV was bad.