I did my taxes today, and I was thinking I’d be getting some money back, and depending on how much that was, I was planning on heading to Arby’s or a restaurant of equal quality afterwards to treat myself, and possibly even a friend. But instead of getting money back, I owe more than $900. Nine-hundred dollars is not an insignificant financial shock. And it’s kind of more than $900, because I was hoping I’d be getting back something like $1,000, so in the end it feels closer to losing $2,000, which is just total BS. Needless to say, I skipped Arby’s.
My accountant, Kathy, is a 75-year old woman with long fake fingernails that go clickety-clack on her keyboard as she types away with the two-finger stabbing method. She has a lingering 1980s MTV vibe to her, and I would not be surprised at all if she told me she had appeared in a Van Halen music video. But she speaks her mind and doesn’t suffer fools, and we’ve had some great chats over the years. I found her when I lived in south Minneapolis, and now I drive 20 miles from Robbinsdale to see her. It’s worth every mile.
Tonight, she scolded me after I owed money, and made me repeat “I will always claim 0 on my w-4,” which I never do. I switch it up between 0 and 5 throughout the year, depending on how big I want my paycheck to be, and what expense I failed to plan for so that I suddenly need money. Still, I generally keep a ballpark idea going throughout the year of what I’ll likely need to pay, and for the past 7 years I’ve always gotten some back, but this year I messed up because I took on some freelance work and didn’t pay taxes on it.
Kathy says I’m an idiot and that I better get it right next year, because she’s finally retiring at age 76. She has a sign in her office that says, “Lord, give me the coffee to change the things I can and the wine to accept the things I can’t,” which is my kind of sign.
Kathy’s office used to be owned by a guy who had 3 fat pugs, and every year they’d be waiting at the office, breathing hard, visiting with all the customers and working them for pets. The pugs were part of the deal when you went there, and if you didn’t like dogs or dog hair, find a new tax guy. Sometimes there would be two chairs in Kathy’s cubicle, and if you weren’t using one a dog might sit next to you while Kathy did your taxes and provide you with emotional support in case you forgot to claim 0 and made Kathy mad.
But then one year there were 2 dogs, then 1, and then I got a letter in the mail saying the service had been sold, and rates were going up. The pug guy retired, and the dogs were gone. But Kathy held on. After it was sold, Kathy refused to charge the new rates her streamlining employer told her to charge. They wanted more than double what she’d been asking, and so she simply said no, it was robbery. She still charges an absurdly low fee, and I think it’s because she sees what a lot of people with low-to middle incomes make, and what is left after taxes and everything else, and she has no interest in taking more from them.
I assume they didn’t fire Kathy because she is 1) too tough to fire; 2) brought more than 600 clients with her, who, she says, request her by name every year (me included); and 3) she’d just keep showing up anyway. Until next year. Then, no more Kathy. I honestly look forward to taxes every year because of her, and this year I’ll claim 0 so I can send her off happy, pleased that she finally got through to me. And if I get enough back next year, I have a feeling Kathy and I are going to Arby’s–my treat.
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