The Reckoning, part II

I glare at them as they come in, toting their wheelie bags of torture documents, and as soon as I open the door, I realize – oh yeah, I have Dobes. Big dogs. Oh well.

AMIL: Oh…oh boy….can’t you put them aw….
Me: NO! They’re little lambs, look at them. Konie baby, no jumpies!
OMIL: Aren’t those dogs mean…
Me, firmly: Lambs. Precious little lambs. Just keep walking to the back room, try not to let them trip you up.

They finally make it back, and to the boys’ delight, I give them big marrow bones to gnaw on to keep them occupied. The interrogation begins.

Me: First, should I put on some coffee? Would you like a brownie? I made them just for you guys, to soften you up.
OMIL and AMIL: Oh no, thank you, we’re fine.
Me: Do you guys really operate under a “No Snackie” rule? My friends and I were wondering this.
(speaking at the same time)
OMIL: Not really…
AMIL: Yes.

(pause)

OMIL: Okay then, so, before we start, do you have any questions?
Me: Well, yes, I suppose. Why are you people bothering me? How did I get picked for this?
OMIL: It’s a random process…
Me, ranting: It’s not like I make any money! Especially in 2008!
OMIL: Oh, that reminds me, we’re going to audit 2006 too.
Me: WHAT??? You can’t do that! What happened to the 3 years statute of limitations? I can barely find my papers from LAST year, now you want 2006??
AMIL, who’s been silent until now: Blah blah random explanation that’s probably made up blah blah can look at returns up to 7 years back blah blah.
Me, muttering: Well, good luck with that.
Me, more loudly: I don’t get it – what’s the deal? Do you think I have a printing press in my basement? Gold brick manufacturing in the garage? What??

Yes, I actually said these things.

OMIL: Well no, but when your income is less than your expenses….
Me: I know, it’s a problem! I’m po’! Everyone knows this!
OMIL: Well, that’s why we…oh….oh! No thank you, I don’t need that.

Kona has come along and, in showing off his generosity of spirit, has decided that Mean IRS Lady #1 needs to partake of his bone. His slimy marrow bone. Which he’s just placed into her lap, on her black pants. Oh my.

Me, smiling weakly: Heh heh, that’s my boy, he’s generous that way. Umm, where were we?

OMIL starts with the questions, and we’re trucking along, until we get to a question that almost has me burst out in laughter.

OMIL: So, would you say your income in 2008 was typical? Less than other years? More than?
Me, giggling: Oh, I’d say I made significantly less – I did only work half a year you know. That was the year of The Cancer. (Sad Cancer Face)

I go through my spiel – The Cancer, bike crash, broken collarbone which left me unable to type, brain injury that left me stupid, daily radiation treatments, etc. I think this either brings AMIL over to my side – or they’re suddenly segueing into a good cop/bad cop routine.

AMIL: OH! Oh no! That’s my foot!

Timmy has come along and plunked his little head on her foot, as he’s continuing to chew on his bone.

Me: Tim Tim! Move please.
AMIL: He’s cute. Are you planning on keeping him?
Me, sighing: No, it’s too hard as a single person. Plus it’s so expensive… (Sad Cancer Face)

She reaches out to pet him and he sits there like a good little boy, and I tell her about where he came from, and she tells me about a friend of hers who works in rescue. OMIL can’t get a word in edgewise.

OMIL: So back to these questions!

Me: Oops, sorry. Kona, no!

He’s just dropped his bone on her lap for about the seventh time. This is getting to be a bit Monty Python-esque.

Me: I can see the headline now – “Woman jailed for IRS agent harassment.” Just send me the dry cleaning bill. They love you guys, by the way! I keep giving them bones to keep them occupied.
AMIL, giggling: That one likes you Yvette – you’ll have to take him home with you!

Kona is now trying to climb into OMIL’s lap. Sigh.

AMIL: Oh, and are those poinsettias? How do you keep them alive so long?

Thus follows a long conversation about how I keep my poinsettias alive, and how hers always crap out by mid-January, but how she’s tried to overwinter them, etc. OMIL manages to break in every once in a while with a question, which I think AMIL finds slightly annoying. We’re bonding here, okay? Hmph. Kona keeps burying his head in my lap, which I figure has to be a good thing, yes? I mean, it’s not like Bernie Madoff had dogs that adored him, right? So according to the transitive function, Kona loves me ergo I am a wonderful, non-tax-evading gem of a person.

AMIL: So if you wind up needing to pay for any of these documents you need, like from the bank, you just call Yvette and let her know – we don’t want you to have to pay for anything. We’re trying to be the kinder, gentler IRS you know….

My eyes widen in disbelief, but somehow, by the grace of god or someone, I manage to remain silent at that.

Timmy then starts barking, loudly, apparently to indicate that this interview should be over. Luckily, they’re wrapping up, telling me what the next steps are, blah blah blah. I’ve been informed that this will “go on for quite some time” – yippee.

Let the drinking commence….