It ain’t easy being Uncle Sam.

On Tax Day, few people have time to chat with the nation’s cheerleader. At the post office on Ash Street in Lewiston, men and women are either rushing to pay their taxes, or they already got a refund and are eager to spend it.

Some were more harried than others.

“I don’t want to talk about my taxes,” said one man who was jogging up the post office stairs. “What time do they close here, anyway?”

Uncle Sam, always helpful, advised that the post office was closing at 5 p.m. The jogging man made a face like he had swallowed something foul.

“Five o’clock?” he said dumfounded. “That’s not going to help me any.”

Tragic. But most were merely indifferent to the man in red, white and blue and the long white goatee. As last call at the post office drew near Wednesday afternoon, most people did not recall that it was April 15 until Uncle Sam told them so.

“No stress here,” said Daniel Ferguson of Lewiston. “I’ve already filed my taxes and I already got my refund. I do it online, that’s the way to go.”

In the recent past, the post office in Lewiston would stay open all night so people could get their tax forms in the mail literally at the 11th hour. Back then there was desperation and last-minute stress. Uncle Sam probably would have gotten mowed over.

According to Peggy Riley, spokeswoman for the Internal Revenue Service, late filers – even those just a day late – could face penalties and interest, so the sooner they file, the better. A day’s worth of penalties and fees may not amount to much, Riley said, but people can be assessed for late filing if they thought the post office would be open late and found that it was not.

On Wednesday, it was go time. Uncle Sam waved and pointed to people walking or driving by. He asked in a friendly tone whether they had paid their taxes and then thanked them if they had. He was jovial and supportive, if slightly spastic and unpredictable.

The costume came from Drapeau’s in Lisbon. The attitude was all mine.

“Love your costume,” said one older woman as she shyly crossed Ash Street.

Others, not so much. Many refused to look at the national mascot at all, as though ignoring him could make their own discomfort about tax matters go away. Some scowled or rolled their eyes. Some gave the thumbs up, flashed a peace sign or honked their horns. One man launched into an elaborate display of hand signs that indicated he might want Uncle Sam to bunt.

The stress did not seem high, even as the minutes ticked down to zero hour.

“Why should I be stressed?” said Sherrie Jean Chamberland, who stopped to speak with Uncle Sam next to the mailboxes on Park Street. “I pay my bills. My taxes are all paid, too.”

Just a few minutes after 5 p.m., the post office steps were clear. There was nobody banging on the doors, pleading to get inside with fists full of tax forms. Earlier in the afternoon, some folks, in a display of grand self-confidence, filled out their forms right inside the post office lobby before dropping them into the mail.

Then it was over for another year. The post office lobby went dark, the last bucket of mail went out and Uncle Sam moved along to await his next assignment.