This is Like an Effed-Up Remake of Brewster's Millions

I didn't even know this was possible, did you? Steve has a friend who shops in his golf shop. We'll call him "Doug". Doug is a 40-year-old mentally handicapped man who lives in a group home, loves golf, and calls Steve "Uncle Steve". I know, it's enough to defrost your frozen heart. I met him at the Colonial Pro-Am last year, where Doug was caddying and Steve was playing. He's darlin'. Well, the IRS put the screws to our friend Doug over the past 16-some-odd years and didn't give him the correct tax refund. I'm fuzzy on the details. I don't work for the IRS (lucky for me), and I'm nobody's accountant (lucky for you). All I know is that earlier this week, a van from Doug's home came to the golf shop, and a big group of residents piled out. While all the other residents (who incidentally aren't golfers) browsed the store and basically scattered Steve's meticulously merchandised inventory, Doug and one of the people from the home were working with Steve to help Doug go on a shopping spree. Why? Because the IRS acknowledged their mistake and that they owe Doug $60,000 in back tax refunds, or from Doug overpaying his taxes, or whatever, but he only has a short time to spend it or he loses it forever. Are you effing kidding me? Now mind you, I was in bed trying to fall asleep when Steve told me this, and he wasn't rock solid on the details. While I was hung up on the whole "sixteen days to spend $60,000" angle, I actually think the purpose of Steve's story was to tell me how his day took a turn for the weird when a van full of mentally handicapped adults mysteriously filed into his store and quietly trashed the place. I should probably call him to clarify if I'm gonna post this, but if I called him right now he'd be all, "Are you seriously interrupting me at work to interview me for your blog? Are you telling me that's what you're doing? Please don't let that be why you're calling me." Steve is a big fan of the rhetorical question.