IRS
Oh, my God. It's likely that I am too enraged to manage a coherent post today. I just returned from a day of errands which included a trip to the IRS outpost to gather some information for business purposes.
I don't even know where to begin.
I admit that government offices give me the creeps. Entering any government office makes me instantly more bitter than usual, and crueler. First off, I'm angry because I'm more than likely dealing with some kind of bullshit beauraucracy wherein I owe money. Second, I can't stand goverment employees. I theorize that upon applying for their government jobs, they must turn in a full-body Polaroid, just so that the hiring panel can ensure that they are homely and uncool enough to represent. The de rigeur homeliness and unfashionable footwear doesn't anger me as much as the utter smugness that they all seem to possess. I suppose this comes from better-than-average (to say the least) job security. And that's just for starters.
I made my way to the IRS office this morning, already kinda late for another appointment. I knew that getting in and out of there quickly was an impossible dream, but I didn't realize it was downright delusional. I thought I might get lucky. Why I entertained this notion remains a mystery. On my way in, I slipped and fell on a patch of ice right at the door. My IRS bitterness kicked in with great suddenness, and I immediately had visions of suing the IRS. I'm sure I broke my ass. I'm sure I got whiplashed or something. I could get some of my money back. AHHHHHH... But then I remembered that I'm against that litigious sort of thing. Crap. Principles are SO inconvenient.
So, I got to the IRS office door, and it clearly said, "FRIDAYS : BY APPOINTMENT ONLY." The bile rose higher. I went in anyway and saw people waiting with little number tickets. I spoke to the first lady in line
Me: Do you have an appointment?
Her: No. I called to make one and they said they don't take appointments.
Me: But it says on the door in big red letters....
Her: Yeah. I know. IRS for ya. You better take a number.
Me: Yeah, OK. Thanks.
I looked around then and saw that today, on March 4, the height of tax season, the office had one person working and a sea of empty cubicles. And yes, that one person moved with all the speed of someone who knows she can never be fired. Raping the citizenry is a booming industry, after all. Completely dejected, and still painful of buttock, I went over to the little ticket dispenser and got my number. I looked at it. There was a slogan on it. It said, "IRS Field Offices : Balancing Customer Service With Compliance." Do I even need to tell you how this made me feel? First of all, CUSTOMER?
BULL
SHIT!
Second of all, COMPLIANCE?
Screw YOU! That sounds very Borg-like, don'tcha think? Resistance is futile.
<---click here
As I stood there, quickly reaching maximum compression, I realized the absurdity of what I was doing. I was standing in line with a little number in my hand. I was willingly waiting there, so that Smugly McBadhair, a.k.a. Locutus of Borg, could complicate the process of robbing me of every penny she could. I was queueing up to be slapped across the face, in an institution I consider to be unconstitutional and immoral.
In the end, I waited 45 minutes. When I got to Locutus's desk, I managed to calm myself and told her what I needed. Her response was:
"We don't do that here. Call this 800 number. You can fill out the paperwork while you sit on hold. NEXT!"
I give you : Dante's lesser-known level of hell. Level 1040-EZ.
Welcome.
I don't even know where to begin.
I admit that government offices give me the creeps. Entering any government office makes me instantly more bitter than usual, and crueler. First off, I'm angry because I'm more than likely dealing with some kind of bullshit beauraucracy wherein I owe money. Second, I can't stand goverment employees. I theorize that upon applying for their government jobs, they must turn in a full-body Polaroid, just so that the hiring panel can ensure that they are homely and uncool enough to represent. The de rigeur homeliness and unfashionable footwear doesn't anger me as much as the utter smugness that they all seem to possess. I suppose this comes from better-than-average (to say the least) job security. And that's just for starters.
I made my way to the IRS office this morning, already kinda late for another appointment. I knew that getting in and out of there quickly was an impossible dream, but I didn't realize it was downright delusional. I thought I might get lucky. Why I entertained this notion remains a mystery. On my way in, I slipped and fell on a patch of ice right at the door. My IRS bitterness kicked in with great suddenness, and I immediately had visions of suing the IRS. I'm sure I broke my ass. I'm sure I got whiplashed or something. I could get some of my money back. AHHHHHH... But then I remembered that I'm against that litigious sort of thing. Crap. Principles are SO inconvenient.
So, I got to the IRS office door, and it clearly said, "FRIDAYS : BY APPOINTMENT ONLY." The bile rose higher. I went in anyway and saw people waiting with little number tickets. I spoke to the first lady in line
Me: Do you have an appointment?
Her: No. I called to make one and they said they don't take appointments.
Me: But it says on the door in big red letters....
Her: Yeah. I know. IRS for ya. You better take a number.
Me: Yeah, OK. Thanks.
I looked around then and saw that today, on March 4, the height of tax season, the office had one person working and a sea of empty cubicles. And yes, that one person moved with all the speed of someone who knows she can never be fired. Raping the citizenry is a booming industry, after all. Completely dejected, and still painful of buttock, I went over to the little ticket dispenser and got my number. I looked at it. There was a slogan on it. It said, "IRS Field Offices : Balancing Customer Service With Compliance." Do I even need to tell you how this made me feel? First of all, CUSTOMER?
BULL
SHIT!
Second of all, COMPLIANCE?
Screw YOU! That sounds very Borg-like, don'tcha think? Resistance is futile.
<---click hereAs I stood there, quickly reaching maximum compression, I realized the absurdity of what I was doing. I was standing in line with a little number in my hand. I was willingly waiting there, so that Smugly McBadhair, a.k.a. Locutus of Borg, could complicate the process of robbing me of every penny she could. I was queueing up to be slapped across the face, in an institution I consider to be unconstitutional and immoral.
In the end, I waited 45 minutes. When I got to Locutus's desk, I managed to calm myself and told her what I needed. Her response was:
"We don't do that here. Call this 800 number. You can fill out the paperwork while you sit on hold. NEXT!"
I give you : Dante's lesser-known level of hell. Level 1040-EZ.
Welcome.
posted by Kristine at 4:39 PM
6 Comments:
If I am going to wait in line for that long with a number from a ticket dispenser, I wouldn't leave without at least a half pound of tuna salad.
Om my goodness, that is so funny and so sad. I'm hoping against hope that someday we'll have some kind of national sales tax or a flat tax. The government could then make much money selling tickets to see the destruction of the IRS buildings.
NH, If I had only thought of that, I might have asked for something. Maybe a pound of colby-jack, just as a consolation prize. Government cheese.
Kelly, the dream of a fair tax system is one that I am too afraid to entertain. But if it ever does happen, I'll be bidding to be the one who gets to push the plunger.
I am so schizoid after readingyour post: as a (Canadian) taxpayer, I can totally empathize---the tax systems and the anxiety, unnecessary work and disproportionate rates are horrible; as a practically lifelong (Canadian) public servant, I feel the need to take a 3-Minute Miracle hair treatment, deep-six all my shoes and have an attitude transplant.
Lorna, please realize that my comments apply to government employees in Pennsylvania, which is a dowdy state anyway. I cannot speak about those from other areas, as I have no experience with them. HM. Except for West Virginia, which is a world apart. I imagine Canadian govvies have, on average, a better sense of humor than American ones. Canadians are just generally funnier, at least in my experience. Plus, I'm sure you have lovely shoes.
Actually, yes, I do have lovely shoes, and I'm now determined to keep them. Or trade them in for what I owe in taxes...
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