Pirate Tax Guy

We have this really irritating guy who is loud, crass, douchey and pretends that he's a tax accountant.

I say pretends because no real tax accountant sets up in libraryland at a public computer and leaves confidential documents containing SSN, addresses, birthdates, income, occupational information, and other stuff that just shouldn't be sitting around for anyone to grab when said "tax accountant" gets up to piss all over the men's floor in the restroom.

Well, despite today being April 16, Mr. Tax Guy is still going in full force. Apparently, he's so important that he doesn't even have to adhere to the IRS schedule that the rest of us poor schumcks scramble do.

Today, Mr. Tax Guy walked into the branch with sunglasses and an eye patch on. Mind you, I would normally not make fun of a non-asshat person with this get-up, but this guy is beggggggggggggggging for it.

Mr. Tax Guy: [loudly proclaiming to all in the branch] I NEED TO USE THE MEETING ROOM (I was on my way back to the staff room to get coffee, so I totally made the stupid clerk deal with it because I just don't fucking care about his needs.)
Clerk: Oh, the Census has it booked for testing.
Mr. Tax Guy: [Removing sunglasses and eyepatch, which, the last time I checked, if the doctor tells you to wear an eyepatch, isn't it for a reason? So, as I see him removing it, I start sharpening an arsenal of pencils to aim at said beady little eye.] No one is in there, I can use it.
Clerk: Ummmmmmm, let me check.
Mr. Tax Guy: Ummmmm, hmmmmmm. [At this point, I wander on out.]
Me: Oh, the Census is using the room and there is a person testing in there.
Mr. Tax Guy: Well, I need it.
Me: Sorry [Ha ha, go ahead and try to plead your case with me Long John Fuckface], but as I've told you before, library programming takes precedence over other activities.
Mr. TG: But, it's just one person in there and I have THIS TO DO! [holds out stack of papers, not realizing that man-whining is possibly the most irritating thing in the world next to child-whining]
Me: [Plasters on sickening sweet smile and then...] You're welcome to sit at one of the tables.
Mr. TG: Yeah, like I don't know that.
Me: [You buttpirate, I hope you get the papercut from hell under your thumbnail and get a staph infection that travels to your voicebox and renders you speechless] And please remember to use your cell phone in the hallway otherwise, the guard will ask you to keep it down or leave.

HA HA HA. I win, you suck. By the way, the bad blood started with him when he complained to the director's office that we were always telling him to be quiet. Of course, we had to listen to you stupid wheeling and dealing with your bullshit clients and other patrons were sick of it.

Ooooooo, his phone just rang. It's only a matter of time before I get to give him the hairy eyeball!