Don't Mess with Taxes

Usually, I start out in January, gathering all my receipts from the big yellow envelope and putting them in respective piles. Then, comes the stapler. Then, the calculator. All this is done methodically, a little at a time, so it's not painless.

One evening is spent going through the telephone calls of the past year, determining which long distance charges came from my interviews. Another evening might be spent putting my stapled piles into individual envelopes and writing the totals on the outside. Finally, I sit down at the computer, find "Taxes 2----" and save that document under "Taxes 2---."

Once the totals from each envelope are typed into the respective slot, I'm done. Over the past few years I've usually had my part of the annual tax preparation completed before March 1.

Next, comes the wait. I wait patiently until Bill finally feels the urgency of making an appointment with Trish down at H & R Block. He'll usually announce that it's coming up, and I'll proudly announce that I've had my part done for weeks.

I hate the next phase. He sits at his desk, starts looking over my records and then has the gall to ask questions about where certain items are.

"It's there," I bark, "Just look for it." Men don't always find stuff the first time. Eventually, he examines the pile closely enough and finds what he thought was not there.

Sometimes he has the nerve to ask questions like "Why did you . . . ?" That makes mad. I've followed the same tax records procedure for ten years, so my question is, "Why should it be any different from any other year?"

He really gets on to me about how I ought to keep a logbook in the car and write down, on that very day while looking at the mileage, how many miles I traveled to do an interview. I keep my logbook on my calendar and write down how many miles it is to Clark Fork. I don't see the difference. Numbers are numbers, and I hate 'em. Besides, why should Clark Fork be any further away on one day than it is on another?

After completing his annual interrogation, Bill puts the tax packet together and warns me to be around the telephone during his appointment time. I try to stay away from the phone and concentrate on anything else besides how much we're gonna owe this year. Eventually, he arrives home after the appointment, saying nothing.

I always wait at least five minutes, take a gulp, and then ask, "What's the bad news?" Three years ago, after I retired and got some bonus money, the bad news amounted to about $3,400 owed to the Feds and the State. So, I told the folks at the State Retirement System to quit giving me so much money and to keep some of it for the State Tax Commission. They complied. In the meantime, nobody was giving me any extra bonus money, so my earnings kind of evened out. I think we owed $600 the next year. Last year, it was a little less.

This year, the bad news is already appearing before the trip to H & R Block, which is this Friday. I haven't even written totals on envelopes yet. Nothing has been entered into the computer. My gut is wrenching, and even as I write this, I know I should be over there at the kitchen counter, tallying up. To know that I still have all that calculating to do and that Bill's interrogation session is yet to come does not make my day.

As the deadline approaches though, I know I'd better get on with it. So, the moral of this story is don't mess around when you should be doing your taxes. Cuz, regardless of denial, the numbers, the interrogation and the bad news are gonna come, sure as the rain in North Idaho.

I'd better get on with it.