some reason this struck me as hilarious. I mean there was no one within ten miles of this room. But this is the IRS and it can’t help its nerdy self. Instead of just saying, “C’mon back,” I gotta take a number.
OK, I’ll play.
With number in hand, I sat. And sat. Finally, a few minutes into the process, with only the sound of the air conditioning to keep me company, I got the silly church giggles and laughed so hard that my palms sweated all over my number, which was 100, by the way.
Finally, after a few more minutes, I heard the disembodied voice of the IRS agent call out stiffly: “NUMBER 100.”
I said to the empty room: “I think that’s me!”
I walked way down to greet “the voice,” which turned out to belong to a very nice and helpful woman. She told me, among other things, I would need Form 1040-ES, which would contain coupons.
“That’s great!” I said, instantly warming to the U.S. government. “For like Arby’s or Domino’s or something. Hey. I don’t want to be ungrateful but if you’ve got one for Pizza Hut that would be even better because they’re doing that thing again where they fill the crust full of cheese and you just pop off these little heavenly bites of warm cheese dough.”
She stared at me, uncomprehending.
“That’s very funny,” she said, without a trace of a smile. “These are coupons to accompany your estimated tax payments.”
“Oh,” I said, irrationally disappointed that there would be no cents-off on Buffalo wings.
She then handed me a customer satisfaction survey but all the admonitions to fill in the bubbles exactly and precisely and LEAVE NO STRAY MARKS were too intimidating.
Face it, IRS. Until you learn to loosen up a little, you’re never going to sit at the cool table.
Fast-forward a few weeks and you find me sitting on the floor, surrounded by tiny scraps of paper, booklets of rules and advice, unable to complete my own taxes and, frankly, at this point, bathe myself.
Hubby took pity on me and started reading through some of the helpful IRS literature.
“We need to do more for charity,” he said. “Oh, and have eleven more children.”
Great. The charity thing wasn’t a bad idea except the IRS was persnickety about what kind of charity. For the first eight months of the year, you could claim 40.5 cents per business mile and fourteen cents a mile for any driving related to charity but you would get twenty-nine cents a mile for charity related to Hurricane Katrina.
During the last three months of the year you could get thirty-four cents a mile for Katrina-related charity and 48.5 cents a mile for business.
I am not making this up.
We wondered if simply discussing the awful hurricane in the car while driving would count. Hubby and I began to interject statements about Katrina everywhere we went, but it didn’t feel right.
Charity, as it turned out, could really help us out. In my case, I decided that it would be charitable of me to volunteer more at my kid’s elementary school. After all, I could deduct the hours I spent there and even the drive there and back.
But I wasn’t really the kind of mom who was good at the crafty stuff. Last year, when I was asked to make marshmallow “monsters” for the Halloween carnival, they’d burned and exploded and looked just like the fat guy on Lost with chow mein noodles sticking out of his sides.
Nope, I would have to play to my strengths. Fortunately, right about then, an opening came up for an advisor for the school newspaper. Perfect.
Two decades in the newspaper business had surely equipped me for something besides listening to people carp about how the print is getting smaller. Oh, sorry. That was me.
I began my “charity volunteer tax-saving newspaper work” immediately, with a staff meeting where I met the twenty-two fresh-faced members of the school newspaper staff, all in grades three through five.
In some ways, it was just like old times in the newsroom. Except I don’t
OK, I’ll play.
With number in hand, I sat. And sat. Finally, a few minutes into the process, with only the sound of the air conditioning to keep me company, I got the silly church giggles and laughed so hard that my palms sweated all over my number, which was 100, by the way.
Finally, after a few more minutes, I heard the disembodied voice of the IRS agent call out stiffly: “NUMBER 100.”
I said to the empty room: “I think that’s me!”
I walked way down to greet “the voice,” which turned out to belong to a very nice and helpful woman. She told me, among other things, I would need Form 1040-ES, which would contain coupons.
“That’s great!” I said, instantly warming to the U.S. government. “For like Arby’s or Domino’s or something. Hey. I don’t want to be ungrateful but if you’ve got one for Pizza Hut that would be even better because they’re doing that thing again where they fill the crust full of cheese and you just pop off these little heavenly bites of warm cheese dough.”
She stared at me, uncomprehending.
“That’s very funny,” she said, without a trace of a smile. “These are coupons to accompany your estimated tax payments.”
“Oh,” I said, irrationally disappointed that there would be no cents-off on Buffalo wings.
She then handed me a customer satisfaction survey but all the admonitions to fill in the bubbles exactly and precisely and LEAVE NO STRAY MARKS were too intimidating.
Face it, IRS. Until you learn to loosen up a little, you’re never going to sit at the cool table.
Fast-forward a few weeks and you find me sitting on the floor, surrounded by tiny scraps of paper, booklets of rules and advice, unable to complete my own taxes and, frankly, at this point, bathe myself.
Hubby took pity on me and started reading through some of the helpful IRS literature.
“We need to do more for charity,” he said. “Oh, and have eleven more children.”
Great. The charity thing wasn’t a bad idea except the IRS was persnickety about what kind of charity. For the first eight months of the year, you could claim 40.5 cents per business mile and fourteen cents a mile for any driving related to charity but you would get twenty-nine cents a mile for charity related to Hurricane Katrina.
During the last three months of the year you could get thirty-four cents a mile for Katrina-related charity and 48.5 cents a mile for business.
I am not making this up.
We wondered if simply discussing the awful hurricane in the car while driving would count. Hubby and I began to interject statements about Katrina everywhere we went, but it didn’t feel right.
Charity, as it turned out, could really help us out. In my case, I decided that it would be charitable of me to volunteer more at my kid’s elementary school. After all, I could deduct the hours I spent there and even the drive there and back.
But I wasn’t really the kind of mom who was good at the crafty stuff. Last year, when I was asked to make marshmallow “monsters” for the Halloween carnival, they’d burned and exploded and looked just like the fat guy on Lost with chow mein noodles sticking out of his sides.
Nope, I would have to play to my strengths. Fortunately, right about then, an opening came up for an advisor for the school newspaper. Perfect.
Two decades in the newspaper business had surely equipped me for something besides listening to people carp about how the print is getting smaller. Oh, sorry. That was me.
I began my “charity volunteer tax-saving newspaper work” immediately, with a staff meeting where I met the twenty-two fresh-faced members of the school newspaper staff, all in grades three through five.
In some ways, it was just like old times in the newsroom. Except I don’t
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