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TaxBwana! Never Dull!
Mar. 3rd, 2019 10:29 amSpent the past 60 hours TaxBwana-ing and ghostwriting a massive 20-page white paper on (ulp) financial advisors in Grand Rapids, Michigan, a topic about which (I’m proud to say) I still know nothing, possessing as I do the magical ability to let reams and reams of useless information pass over me and filter through my gills without ever penetrating the inner reaches of my thoughts.
I need the money.
###
On Saturday, I did taxes for a pleasant woman who’d found herself in a curious predicament.
Her husband died in 2015.
It had been a December romance. But when she’d finally found him, he was everything she’d ever dreamed True Love could be. They were one soul dealing with the inconveniences posed by two nervous systems and various sets of ancillary support organs. One of which—alas! his heart!—had given out on him.
This year, though, she’d begun getting curious statements in the mail from various banks.
They were unsecured debt forgiveness statements.
Unbeknownst to her, Mr. Wonderful had been carrying many, many credit cards. Maxed-out credit cards. Death had robbed him of the opportunity to pay them back. (C’mon, c’mon: Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt here.)
Honestly, it’s sort of as though TaxBwana has some narrative memory! ‘Cause just a few short days ago, I was shooting the shit with Hewitt and Chuck about credit card debt forgiveness.
The IRS counts all written off credit card debt as actual income.
You may be congratulating yourself that you’re off the hook when United Bank of Mumbo Jumbo releases you from your obligations, but the IRS is still gonna get its share.
Anyway, there was thousands and thousands of dollars worth of discharged debt, and she’d had no idea any of this had been going on.
But what exactly had been going on?
“He traveled a lot,” the woman confided to me.
Did that mean he had another family stashed away somewhere? More that one family?
She was a simple woman, a housecleaner at a local board and care facility. She hadn’t even hired a lawyer when her husband dropped dead. She hadn’t published that little disclaimer in a local newspaper: I am not responsible for any debts incurred by…
They had been filing joint tax returns.
There was that.
On the other hand, it occurred to me there was very good reason to suspect they’d never been legally married at all, that he’d been a bigamist. And the discharges were all under his social security number.
The thousands and thousands of dollars worth of discharged debt would have left this woman with a massive tax liability.
I went and conferred with Hewitt. “Can of worms. I’m surprised that private detectives from across the nation aren’t beating down a path to her door, to tell you the truth. But I don’t think she’s legally responsible for discharged debt under a different social security number.”
Hewitt concurred.
I didn’t enter the numbers on the pieces of paper from the banks on her returns.
And I didn’t tell her to hire a private detective.
Dreams sustain you at our point in life. And often there’s no difference between dreams and delusions.
###
My last client for the day was a blocky young man who was somewhere on The Spectrum. Smart enough. But obviously hated talking to me. I didn’t take it personally. It was clear he hated talking to everyone.
He started off the session unremarkably enough, but as the hour progressed, the stress of being around people began to get to him, and he started rocking back and forth in his chair, faster and faster and faster. I really thought he might start banging his head against the desk.
I got him out of there just as fast as I possibly could.
###
Honestly! It always amazes me that people think doing taxes is dull!
I need the money.
###
On Saturday, I did taxes for a pleasant woman who’d found herself in a curious predicament.
Her husband died in 2015.
It had been a December romance. But when she’d finally found him, he was everything she’d ever dreamed True Love could be. They were one soul dealing with the inconveniences posed by two nervous systems and various sets of ancillary support organs. One of which—alas! his heart!—had given out on him.
This year, though, she’d begun getting curious statements in the mail from various banks.
They were unsecured debt forgiveness statements.
Unbeknownst to her, Mr. Wonderful had been carrying many, many credit cards. Maxed-out credit cards. Death had robbed him of the opportunity to pay them back. (C’mon, c’mon: Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt here.)
Honestly, it’s sort of as though TaxBwana has some narrative memory! ‘Cause just a few short days ago, I was shooting the shit with Hewitt and Chuck about credit card debt forgiveness.
The IRS counts all written off credit card debt as actual income.
You may be congratulating yourself that you’re off the hook when United Bank of Mumbo Jumbo releases you from your obligations, but the IRS is still gonna get its share.
Anyway, there was thousands and thousands of dollars worth of discharged debt, and she’d had no idea any of this had been going on.
But what exactly had been going on?
“He traveled a lot,” the woman confided to me.
Did that mean he had another family stashed away somewhere? More that one family?
She was a simple woman, a housecleaner at a local board and care facility. She hadn’t even hired a lawyer when her husband dropped dead. She hadn’t published that little disclaimer in a local newspaper: I am not responsible for any debts incurred by…
They had been filing joint tax returns.
There was that.
On the other hand, it occurred to me there was very good reason to suspect they’d never been legally married at all, that he’d been a bigamist. And the discharges were all under his social security number.
The thousands and thousands of dollars worth of discharged debt would have left this woman with a massive tax liability.
I went and conferred with Hewitt. “Can of worms. I’m surprised that private detectives from across the nation aren’t beating down a path to her door, to tell you the truth. But I don’t think she’s legally responsible for discharged debt under a different social security number.”
Hewitt concurred.
I didn’t enter the numbers on the pieces of paper from the banks on her returns.
And I didn’t tell her to hire a private detective.
Dreams sustain you at our point in life. And often there’s no difference between dreams and delusions.
###
My last client for the day was a blocky young man who was somewhere on The Spectrum. Smart enough. But obviously hated talking to me. I didn’t take it personally. It was clear he hated talking to everyone.
He started off the session unremarkably enough, but as the hour progressed, the stress of being around people began to get to him, and he started rocking back and forth in his chair, faster and faster and faster. I really thought he might start banging his head against the desk.
I got him out of there just as fast as I possibly could.
###
Honestly! It always amazes me that people think doing taxes is dull!
