The Tax Man Cometh

Being a Type A, slightly-more-than-a-little-neurotic person, I file my taxes the minute I get the last piece of paperwork in the mail. Which is usually ... oh the first of February.

I will also confess that I am generally the person who watches the 10 o'clock news on Tax Day and makes guffawing noises at the poor people in line to have their taxes postmarked by 11:59 p.m. Seriously people, you can't plan ahead enough to get your taxes in on time? It's not as if Tax Day ever changes. It is, and forever will be, April 15.

Lesson learned: Do not mock those whom you do not wish to join.

I knew the 2008 tax filing season was going to be a huge disaster right after receiving my W2 from The Factory last tax season - two months late, complete with the wrong state identification number. Once The Factory metaphorically collapsed, it only promised to get worse. Therefore, it was without any great shock that I did not receive a W2 from The Factory - neither did The Boss respond to any inquiries. (She did respond to my accountant, and told him she must have had the "wrong address" (ha!) - funny, it's been 2.5 months since she called and ... nothing).

I began the 2008 tax odyssey in February. February 17, as a matter of fact, which is the earliest you can begin pursuing tax preparation if you are missing a W2 that includes half of your income for that year.

It began with taking a very old friend up on his offer to give me tax advice (I'm sure he now regrets it, although he was more helpful than any of the other four tax accountants I'd spoken with prior to him - all who assured me that The Boss WOULD INDEED send a W2 because "she has to." Of course, that is assuming that this woman even cares about not breaking the law, which she doesn't.) Two months, four calls to the IRS (which garnered 4 separate answers), a dozen e-mails, 20 hours of effort (on his and my parts), 4 hours of number crunching and several headaches and bury-my-head-in-the-sand-and-hum moments later, I was ready to file.

Good thing too, since it was late evening on April 14 by this point. See, it wasn't just the missing W2, it was the fact that I had received only 6 pay stubs for 12 paychecks over six months. Combined with the fact that my pay rate changed 4 times. Combined with the fact that there was no discernible pattern to the withholding from any of the paychecks. Combined with my general lack of tax-aptitudeness. See the problems? Plus, the IRS recommends not filing until April 15 if you are missing any critical documents.

Of course, the missing W2 means the IRS won't let you e-file. For the record, I have not filed a paper return since 1997 - a year in which I made $3,500 and filed the short form. This of course means I should be forgiven for the insanity that ensued on tax day - and all mocking should be done lightly.

As it turns out, I'd have to pay to download the files I'd prepared (but couldn't file) online, so I had to print out the summary and then fill out the 1040 form and all the appropriate addendums as well as the state of Utah's ridiculous new "easy file" tax form (I seriously want to know which legislator thought it was a good idea to make us copy our W2 information over to the state's form rather than just sending the W2s in - mistakes galore will abound, I'm sure). That took several hours.

Then there was the matter of what to include with the tax forms. The IRS, in all it's brilliant booklet-producing wisdom, isn't exactly clear on that subject. So I called the only person I know who still files his taxes via the mail - my father. He
laughed at me, until I reminded him that it had been 11 years since I had had to mail in anything.

Then I was ready to send them in - right? Except, no - did you realize when you file a joint return that both of you have to sign it? Yeah, neither did I. Not an issue - except Himself worked until 8 p.m. tax day and didn't arrive home until nearly 9 p.m.

Himself arrived home, signed the forms, and then I realized I didn't have a single envelope (or stamp) in the house. I drove to the grocery store on the way to the post office with the automatic machine that gives postmarks until midnight every day of the year (only 3 in line there v. 5 times that at the post office tax party downtown). Of course, the grocery store had no envelopes. The drug store next door closes at 9. I finally found a store, relatively on the way to the post office (more or less) that had envelopes. Mission accomplished.

Then I went to weigh and purchase stamps for my two tax filings ... only to find out the automated postage machine won't do transactions less than $1. Wouldn't you know it that my postage added up to 1 cent shy of $1? I had to buy an extra postmarked stamp just to mail my envelopes. A tax on a tax for the taxes of sorts, I suppose.

I got home just in time to catch the 10 o'clock news, where they featured all the goofy people at the post office trying to get their taxes in on time.

This time, however, there was no guffaws, only sympathy, from my living room. As it turns out, not everyone who greets the tax man on tax day is actually procrastinating.