And it�s that time of year once again. You know which time I mean, gentle reader. It�s Tax Day.
Last year on Tax Day, I was pinned down and forcibly violated by the government (metaphorically speaking, of course) and I was rather looking forward to this year�s tax experience, figuring it could only go better and would cleanse my palate of the foul tax-y aftertaste from April 15, 2002. I was wrong, as it turned out.
Here�s the background -- remember when I told you about that job I had at Heartless Insurance, Ltd.? Well, the thing about my job with Heartless Insurance, Ltd. is this: somehow, I screwed up my tax forms. When I was filling them out, I somehow neglected the little box you�re supposed to write in to indicate just how much money you want the federal government to withhold from your paychecks each period. Thanks to that one tiny clerical error, I ended up owing a disgusting amount in income tax last year.
This was insulting, given that I was a freshly minted temp at the time, working for peanuts and fun size Snickers bars. Actually, at this time last year my take-home was the highest it�s ever been in my (relatively short) professional life, but it was still laughable, and that�s not the point. What was truly insulting was the fact that a large portion my job at Heartless Insurance, Ltd. involved going over tax forms with new employees and explaining how to complete them properly. Whoops.
So anyway, I�m sitting there in my tiny studio apartment in Chicago, and the Oscars� were about to come on (you�ll recall they were postponed last year), and I�m staring at my computer screen and laughing because, obviously, I�d screwed something up. I mean, Come on! I�ve never owed money to the government before!
Minutes later, as reality set in like a bad case of bronchitis, the laughter abruptly stopped. In fact, just about everything abruptly stopped because I could no longer afford my own electricity. I spent the next twenty minutes panicking and trying to figure out just how much money I could get if I sold my clothes or my, y�know, body on the street, until my parents (bless them) promised to help me out.
So I swore I would never again be so stupid when it came to my taxes and such, and henceforth examined every form with a wary eye, carefully filling in each box as indicated. I did very well, too, considering that in the last year I had six separate sources of income and on only one of those forms did I forget to mark the right box. I should be more ashamed, but I only worked one day through that agency, so I was taxed about $2 on my earnings.
So last night I sat down to do my taxes for the year of 2002 with a pretty good feeling. I knew I�d been careful, and I was quite happy about it. That�s when I grabbed my stack of W-2s and remembered that I had still been on the Heartless Insurance, Ltd. payroll for the first quarter of 2002. I was only actually working there for nine days of 2002, but my severance pay continued well throughout the quarter. So I finished my taxes, and once again, I owe the government money. Granted, it�s significantly less than last year, but I�m on my own this time, and it�s a lot more than I can afford, given how little I make now.
I�m also a little ticked off about giving the government money right now, considering that they�re trying to pass a law that will prohibit me from having sex ever. I�d take comfort in knowing that a portion of my taxes will go to supporting the arts, but, well�HA HA HA! That�ll be the day.
Also, I totally forgot to attach all my W-2s to my tax forms, so I have to drive all the way back home at lunch to get them. It�s going to take my whole lunch hour just to get that done, which is a real kick in the ass. But it�s my own fault, I guess. And now you�re wondering why I waited so damn long to take care of my taxes, and I actually have a really great excuse: one of the places I worked last year sent my W-2 form to my parents, and they decided to just bring it when they came to visit, rather than mail it.
So as you can see, I have perfectly valid reasons for my failings in the area of tax completion. Do you think the government will accept this as an excuse letter? Maybe if I get my mommy to sign it. Sigh.
