I finally got our financial life together and pulled all of our income tax information. For two unemployed people, living simple lives, it seems like we have acquired an inordinate number of W-this and W-that forms - enough that I don't feel comfortable doing my taxes myself. This year I had the choice of going to a regular tax service or the new one in a temporary strip mall location patrolled outside by a guy in a Statue of Liberty costume. It was a hard choice, but I opted for the less flamboyant place with accountants and file cabinets.
When I walked in the receptionist asked my name and went to a cabinet to pull my file. Now there are a couple of people in town with the same name. She had one file for each of us. She asked, "What are the last four digits of your Social Security number?" Now I don't have a good memory for numbers and it's gotten worse over the years. I went blank. "Ah ... I don't know." She looked at me in disbelief, "Well, do you know what your address is?" Address? My address? Bingo, "1410 Oakwood!" She pulled my file, "Come this way, Paul can see you now."