I May Not Be Jim Carrey, But A Number Plagues Me Nonetheless

Our fiend of the day is not in fact so much a physical force or an animate being. It is more of an idea, an abstract thought put into concrete form.
It is the number 27.
The aforementioned number and I have been on ill terms since it first came into my life in... eegads!... could it really be... third grade?! And ever since it's first entrance in my life, it has symbolized irritation.
When I was learning my multiplication tables as a young and innocent child, the nines stubbornly refused to be placed in my memory... particularly one equation: 3 x 9. For days my dad plagued me (helped me, he called it) by incessantly POUNDING these numbers into my head. "Three times nine?" "TWENTY-SEVEN!" I would scream, wanting to make it go away.
It was a warm fall day, (yes, this is SC, do not tell me that a warm fall day is an oxymoron) and it was the worst day of my life. Nothing went right on that accursed, ill-omened day. I nearly failed my science test, my mother chewed me out for something that I feel sure is surely insignificant, and my then-best friend called me crying from somewhere... yeah. When I looked at the calendar, the date was the 27th.
Further proof that 27 and all things related are doomed?
A girl I once was friends with (who turned out to be a maniac) had a date of birth that, when the digits were multiplied, became 27.
When I was 14, my first ever job ended up bearing a Federal tax deduction of 27 dollars.
I could go on but I think anything related to taxes is evidence enough that the subject discussed is evil. Which leads us to my next enemy...