Barbarians At The Gate

Subtitled*:

My Day At The Auditor, Part I

Or

A Tale Of Tax Woe

I arrived at the IRS building a good 15 minutes before my 1 PM appointment time and was ushered, after stripping my way through security (and answering questions about what my light meter is, exactly, and what the thing on my keychain is, precicely), into a line of people running some 20-deep with every person having the same sad, annoyed look on their face. I wore a suit, and had dilligently prepared all known reciepts and had rehearsed honest, concise explanations for any questions regarding deductions that were only tenuously accounted for. I did not question my place in line. After all, I had answered the question correctly,

Me: Yes, I'm here to be audited.

Security Guard: IRS?

Me: Yes.

Security Guard (gesturing): That line there.

Twenty minutes go by and I stand in line, only slightly curious that it is not getting shorter, nor are the people in line looking to actually meet an auditor, or any other contact with a specific name. It, quite frankly, looks like the foodstamp line that wraps around the building on Thursdays. I step out of line to ask the security guard again,

Me: Yes, I may be in the wrong line, I...

Security Guard: ...IRS?

Me: ...I am here to be audited.

Security Guard: Oh.

He asks for my ID and who my contact is ("Mr. IRS," name changed to protect the innocent) and he says that Mr. IRS isn't answering and that I should go past the line of sad people into the holding pen, where the other sad people are waiting and he will come find me.

Splendid.

I go and sit and wait and it is now 10 minutes past 1 PM and I am officially late to my Very Important Meeting which means the IRS can effectively call a forefit should they so desire and take all my monies that they are auditing, regardless of whether or not they are actually entitled to them. And then, as anxiety grows to a fevered pitch, the Security Guard fetches me from the sad little room and goves me a sticker-tag with a series of numbers on it (not my name, mind, a series of numbers) and sends me upstairs to another holding pen -- this one has an American Flag in the corner and the seal of the IRS hanging on the wall and two doors: one leads to the exit, the other to the IRS chamber. There are rows of chairs and I am the only one there. Mr. IRS appears from behind the chamber door and greets me. He is polite and a little short and young-ish. He ushers me in and leads me though rows of beige cubicles that are as high as mid-chest and unadorned except for a name tag denoting the name of the stalls' occupant.

We sit and begin with a questionairre asking several questions including who I am (?), pertinent details regarding who I am, and specifics regarding income and whether I recieved any gifts or etc., during the course of the year. I answer truthfully 'No' where appropriate and have a long discussion of what the difference between my W-2 income and my 1099 income and how even though the W-2 income means that according to the U.S. Government (legally binding) I am working for a company I am still working for myself according to T.V. Hiring Practices (not legally binding) and am not considered a day-to-day employee. We come to an understanding of how it is I am hired ("Someone calls me. They ask me if I can work on Tuesday. I say 'yes' or 'no', depending on whether I can or not. Then I go in to work. I don't pee in a cup and they usually pay in 2-4 weeks.").

With context out of the way, we get in to the nitty-gritty and begin with the two things that will cause me the most trouble: The Eclair NPR and the tripod, whose purchase comes to $7000.00 USD. I explain how they were purchased,

Me: I trolled E-Bay until I found something that wasn't selling, and when it didn't sell, I contacted the seller and said, 'let's make a deal.'

Mr. IRS says he understands and asks to see documentation. I have documentation of the tripod in the form of a name, evidence of a wire transfer from bank-to-bank in the form of a statement and a printed reciept for the transfer. According to the IRS, this is not documentation.

He asks if I have a reciept or anything similar and I said 'no, is a reciept from the bank not a reciept' and he said 'no' and I am suddenly staring at $7000.00 USD of unproven expenses.

Bummer.

We then march down the list of things they are questioning including internets and cable and equipment rentals and phone bills and ticky-tack media purchases that are all documented and accounted for in my Big Blue Binder. He asks me questions about their usage and I give him proper, honest answers and throws me no curveballs which I thank him for because we are, after all, talking about shit I bought or paid for TWO YEARS AGO.

In all, the amounts check out and the explainations are legit and the only hanging chad is the matter of the $7000.00 USD spent on camera gear that is (apparently) not documented AT ALL. So with what appears to be a colorless version of Quicken(TM), Mr. IRS punches in numbers and arrives at a grand total of taxes owed to the United States Government:

$2,000.00 USD

Coming soon: Part II

* As per a recent discussion with D., the subtitle is often the most visible barometer of the quality of a documentary or fiction film. cf. "American Cannibal: The Road to Reality" or "Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon," to note two current movies running in New York. This is something that the legendary staff of MST3K knew all too well. To this end, I am sorry I didn't have a better subtitle for you.