W2 Forms: Buy

The shelf was a graveyard of empty cardboard slots. He saw a stray "Estimated Tax Payment" voucher fluttering on the floor, but the W2 section was stripped bare. Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in his chest. "Looking for the six-parts or the three-parts?"

"W2s," Arthur wheezed. "I need to buy W2 forms. Laser printer compatible. My employees... they need their copies. I need my copies. The government needs everyone's copies."

Arthur slumped against a display of staplers. "Is there nowhere else? A hidden stash? A back room? I’ll pay double." buy w2 forms

Arthur jumped. Standing at the end of the aisle was a teenager named Kyle, whose nametag was pinned precariously to a vest covered in snack crumbs.

Kyle looked at Arthur—really looked at him—and saw the face of a man who hadn't slept since the fiscal year ended. He leaned in close. "Look, we’re out of the retail packs. But the manager keeps a 'damaged' box in the loading bay. Usually, it's just the outer plastic that’s ripped. Follow me." The shelf was a graveyard of empty cardboard slots

Arthur was a man of systems, but this year, the system had failed him. His printer, a temperamental beast from 2014, had chewed through his last batch of W2 forms like a hungry goat. Now, with the IRS deadline looming like a guillotine, he was on a desperate pilgrimage. He reached Aisle 4: .

Arthur fumbled for his wallet, handed over a twenty, and clutched the forms to his chest as if they were original Da Vinci sketches. He ran to his car, the cool night air hitting his face. "Looking for the six-parts or the three-parts

He fell asleep at his desk, his forehead resting on a pile of 1099s, dreaming of a world where everything was digital and the ink never ran dry.