[img]1325|left|Alex Campbell ||no_popup[/img]Dateline Boston — It’s that time of year again—tax time. What? Too early for you? That’s right, I get my taxes done way before April 15, as soon as all the important paperwork comes in. Why wait?
Every year I go to the IRS office to have my taxes prepared for free—you have to earn below a certain amount, and I always qualify. My taxes are so simple. I don’t own any property, I’m not married, I don’t have kids, I don’t itemize anything, and I make under $50, 000 a year. A friend heard that I was getting my taxes done. She said, “But don’t you just use the EZ form? Why don’t you do them yourself? I gave her a look. “Wouldn’t you feel empowered by doing your own taxes?” No, I would not feel empowered. I would feel frustrated and alone. Numbers are not my forte, and I like people.
I prefer to talk to a real person, and I like the routine. I’ve been going to the IRS office for at least 10 years now. I gather my papers, and I take the T downtown. The office is . Ain a federal building; there’s a public entrance, and you have to remove your belt, coat, and whatever’s in your pockets, then go through a metal detector. Sometimes I pretend I’m at the airport, traveling to some exotic locale.
This year, I stood behind an older, unkempt man. He set off the metal detector, and he had to hike up his pant legs. Did they think he was packing heat on his ankle, like in the movies? He was cleared. As he went to gather his things from the plastic bin, the guard mumbled, “That’s a lot of cash.” I looked over, and saw wads of crumpled cash that the man was stuffing back into his pockets. I really wanted to know his story. He even got in the elevator with me, but I didn’t say anything to him, afraid he might kill me.
When I got to the office, there was a huge line. I saw a few familiar faces of the people who worked there; it felt like coming home. When it was my turn, a woman I had never seen before told me that they weren’t taking any more tax preparations—I could come back at 2, but there would be no guarantee. I told her I’d take a chance and come back at 2.
I went home, ate lunch, watched a little TV, then went back again. This time, nothing interesting in the metal detector line. The line at the IRS was shorter; there was one man in front of me. There was a man who had been looking around for a form. He got in back of me, and it occurred to me to tell him he could go in front of me, since he had been in the office first. I didn’t say anything though. I was too selfish, afraid I might miss my spot for tax preparation. Turned out to be the right decision—when it was my turn, the attendant told me I would be the last tax prep for the day. I cheered, and told him I felt like I won the lottery. He smiled politely. He gave me my numbered ticket, and I sat down to wait for my number to be called.
Over the years, my wait time has varied from 10 minutes to an hour. I don’t mind waiting. It’s fun to people- watch. I like the sound of the female automated voice: “Now serving…three five two…at window number four.” On this occasion, I waited an hour and a half. That would have been fine, if I hadn’t had a class to go to that evening. I tried my best to be patient. There was a little bit of drama to make the time pass more quickly. An older woman with a stooped back and a cane approached the desk and told the attendant that she was going to be taken care of today, and she was not coming back. She said it three times. I guess she really got her point across. She got a ticket immediately.
A little while later, a man went up to the desk and asked how long it would be because he had been there a very long time. He got some people to ask around and make a phone call. It seemed like he was going to be seen quickly, regardless of the number on his ticket. That didn’t seem fair to me, so I went up to him and asked him what his number was. I didn’t have a chance to see what time the ticket was printed out, but he said he had been there for over an hour, and his transaction would take 5 to 7 minutes. I decided not to make a scene and sat down next to a man who wanted to know who I was voting for in the next Presidential election. He was rooting for Hillary Clinton.
Finally, my number was called. I was assigned to a guy in Cubicle 2. He looked familiar and was much more professional than most of the preparers I’d had before. I love the questions I get asked at the IRS—do I own a farm, have I won the lottery, was I affected by a disaster, did I purchase any books for a class I may have taught that I wasn’t reimbursed for? When I answer the questions, I feel like I’m on a government game show. The prize at the end is my tax refund! My taxes were completed in 20 minutes, and I breezed out of the office, one of the last people there. I got my taxes done before Feb. 1. To me, that was empowering.
Ms. Campbell may be contacted at snobbyblog@gmail.com
