Tax season: my least favorite time of the year
(Originally published January 2016)
I am the reluctant bookkeeper for my husband’s business, so this time of year always stresses me out. It’s tax season. I absolutely hate thinking about numbers, much less keeping track of them, and I don’t understand accounting.
It’s not that I’m bad at math; give me a geometry proof and I’ll have it diagrammed in seconds. Back in my school days, I never met a cosine I didn’t like. Unfortunately, my accountant doesn’t appreciate my skills. He says, for instance, that I shouldn’t use the quadratic equation in business accounting. (Typical accountant: so close-minded.)
“What if Quickbooks is wrong and we owe, say, $200,000 in taxes?”
To get ready for my annual tax meeting with him this morning, I spent the last week pacing the house, stressing about all the work involved. I submitted W-2s and the 1099s. I made sure all of our monthly, quarterly, and annual payments and filings were taken care of.
All of it would have been pretty routine, except that I don’t do any of it often enough to make the procedures stick in my memory. I spent most of last weekend swearing at the computer and inadvertently logging out of government tax sites. I hate those sites—they’re long on forms WH-434, C-101, B-52, R2D2, and such, and short on cosines. I am completely out of my element.
My ignorance of tax codes and anything more technical than management of a basic check register makes me feel especially vulnerable when going before an expert in tax matters. Last night I dug out any papers that looked like they could be pertinent—not just receipts, registers, and statements but also shopping lists and electrical wiring diagrams—because I’m terrified of showing up unprepared.
My mind raced all night. Are vet bills deductible for a construction business? Are there any large capital expenditures (such as the purchase of a private jet) I forgot to make note of? What if Quickbooks is wrong and we owe, say, $200,000 in taxes?
But, of course, when I got to the accountant’s office, everything was fine—after a dicey start. When I walked in, he stood up to shake my hand. Startled by the sudden motion, I threw my manila folder in the air and dove behind a large ficus. While we collected papers off the floor together, I apologized for my overreaction. He waved it aside—causing me to flinch—and assured me that clients had nervous breakdowns in his office all the time. Then he offered me some decaf.
We chit-chatted for a few minutes. I began to calm down, but then he started asking difficult questions and I panicked again.
“During 2016,” he said, glancing at a page in my folder, “did you amortize the cost basis for any non-compensated asset with due process? Or did you defer substantive recourse to a subsequent period, not to exceed 90 days?”
I stared at him for several long seconds. I could think of only three possible answers: “That’s classified,” “How dare you speak to me that way!” and “I believe you’ll find your answer on line 17 of form 82(a)6.” I went with the last, thinking it sounded the most intelligent.
He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead for several seconds. The poor guy works too hard at this time of year.
But we muddled through. I had all the documents he needed, and more—the owner’s manual to my sewing machine especially impressed him, I think. In an hour, we were done: Another year of forms and documents and files and numbers, all taken care of.
What a relief. I got home and dropped into a chair.
Then I noticed, in the day’s mail, a letter from the state of Vermont. It read, “Your business has been randomly chosen for a tax audit for the year 2015. In addition to check register, journal entries and payroll records, please provide the following 2015 forms: W-2s, 1099s, WH-434s, C-101s, B-52s, R2D2s. … Attach supporting documents to form WD-40. Please respond to this letter within five business days or we will break your kneecaps.” (I’m paraphrasing.)
And suddenly it was back: that familiar numbers-averse, tax-ignorant anxiety clutching my chest, approximately 51 weeks earlier than expected. At a loss, I scribbled the quadratic equation on the back of the letter and mailed it back to Montpelier.
Hopefully the auditor is a little more open-minded than my accountant.
