Listics

Every year it becomes more complex to render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s. Last night I finally completed the calculations, the transcription, the printing and assembly of four separate packages of tax forms — one for the business and one for the household to be delivered to two separate Federal Internal Revenue Service Centers, and a similar but quite different pair of packages to be delivered to twoi separate Stae of Wisconsin Dept. of Revenue offices. The cross ventilation of data among these forms and the labyrinthine complexity of the schedules that must be assembled is actually quite beautiul when you let go of any illusion of control and let software that someone else developed drive you through the process.

After the usual rounds of frustration gathering chits and receipts and bits of paper documenting various business expenses and attempting to sort the personal expenses back out… listing the contributions and tallying the income, trying to decide whether that bit of software is an expense or a depreciable asset, I invariably reach a point where I am less than satisfied and know that I am leaving money on the table but enough is enough.

It remains but to take the envelopes to the post office and send them on their way. This year I was a full 12 hours ahead of the midnight 4/15 deadline. At the post office the man behind the counter asked if I’d like to send these out registered mail, or perhaps certified? Why, I wondered. I gathered from his answer that one can get a signed receipt from the officials at the tax office for only a few dollars more… and if that’s too pricey, well, it can be certified that the mail was delivered but this less expensive service doesn’t actually guarntee that the delivery was followed by receipt of the mail.

I’m generally not responsive to the upsell, except when it comes to dessert, or occasionally a ridiculously cheap (has to be FREE) upgrade on a rental car. So I turned the fellow down, and I’m sure he’s not on commission, and I’m sure we don’t tip these gents for their service, so I know there was nothing in it for him except that he was trying his best to milk… that is, to deliver good customer service.

As I left his window he practically pleaded with me to buy a book of stamps. No thank you. And the receipt he gave me for the postage I paid to mail the envelopes indicated date, time and zip code for each of the packages. Those taxing authority zip codes are each unique. So the receipt is free but a certified letter costs more and provides no more proof of the transaction.

I have a theory… the postal service and the IRS are both subsidiaries of Carlyle/Bechtel/Halliburton Enterprises, and they’re trying to improve their cash flow.

TaxmanLet me tell you how it will be
There’s one for you, nineteen for me
’cause I’m the taxman,
yeah, I’m the taxman

Should five percent appear too small
Be thankful I don’t take it all
’cause I’m the taxman,
yeah, I’m the taxman

If you drive a car, I’ll tax the street
If you try to sit, I’ll tax your seat
If you get too cold, I’ll tax the heat
If you take a walk, I’ll tax your feet
Taxman

‘Cause I’m the taxman,
Yeah, I’m the taxman

Don’t ask me what I want it for (ha ha Mr. Wilson)
If you don’t want to pay some more (ha ha Mr. Heath)
’cause I’m the taxman,
yeah, I’m the taxman

Now my advice for those who die
Declare the pennies on your eyes
’cause I’m the taxman,
yeah, I’m the taxman
And you’re working for no one but me
- George Harrison