Um....wait, WHAT???
Monday, September 14th, 2009 12:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
serai.
Okay, I'm flabbergasted.
For the last three years, I have not made enough money to pay my income taxes. I kept putting off filing, one of those dumbass procrastination things where you hope it'll go away, especially when your income is so low that it's a tossup whether you'll end up with a bill you can't pay or you'll owe nothing at all. I haven't gotten any money BACK from the IRS for at least fifteen years now, so it was one or the other, and on top of the rest of my woes, I really wanted to hide my head in the sand and pretend the inevitable bills wouldn't exist.
Then about six weeks ago, I got a polite letter from the Feds saying basically, "Where the hell's the paper?" I made a few phone calls, got the info on forms, found out where the local IRS office is so I could keep being an asshat and file on THE VERY LAST DAY.
Yeah, I know. But I did it! And crossed my fingers that at least last year, when I hardly worked at all, might count to give me back a couple of hundred bucks to help buy groceries. (For those of you who don't know, which I know is practically everybody on my list, I've been on disability, unable to work for the last year because of a workplace injury. But that's a story for another time.) So I've been dreading the inevitable letter saying You owe us $X, please send your firstborn, kthxbi.
Just now, my dad knocked on my door, handed me my Netflix discs and three envelopes. From the U.S. Treasurey. Three window envelopes. With checks in them.
Two thousand. Six hundred. Eighty-one dollars. And seventy-four cents.
THE HELL???
I'm sitting here with my jaw still hanging open. Staring. I've rubbed my eyes at least three times. My dad watched as I opened the envelopes and we talked a little about how to deal with this, so I know I'm not hallucinating. Unless some weird mind-numbing gas cooked up in an underground government laboratory came out of those envelopes along with the checks. The beautiful, rainbow-colored checks with Lady Liberty on them. (Seriously, that's what they look like.)
Where the fuck did this come from? I KNOW I owe them money. I worked out the figures on the tax returns, and checked them three times. I was expecting to pay at least $1500, but this...WHAT??
My first reaction - which lasted all of 2.5 seconds - was to think, "You have to call them and find out what's going on." Don't worry, my dad instantly intuited what I was thinking and told me to stick the checks in the bank and shut the fuck up. (Paraphrasing there, but you get my drift.) I'd been thinking of switching banks anyway, so he said I could now do that. I said I'd rather just cash them and sock the bucks away under my mattress, because I don't want this money sitting in a bank account where the Feds might notice it and say, "Gee, how'd you get that?" and decide it was all a mistake anyway. We compromised, dad said open the accounts with the smallest check (SEVEN HUNDRED DOLLARS A SMALL CHECK AHAHAHA) and cash the others. So I guess I'll do that.
And that's about the extent of my ability to reason logically just now. My brain runs out of steam past that, because the idea of having this much money...gah. (And now you see the financial level I've lived at most of my life. The last time I was this rich was when I left my County job in Santa Cruz and they gave me a severance check of $3200. I felt like a QUEEN.) Of course, I'd rather have a job and a paycheck and a real life again, but...
I just...uh.
I'm gonna go try and think now. Wish me luck.
ETA: I just looked at the paper enclosed with the checks, and it says right there that the amount is different from what I listed on the return, and I'll be getting a letter in the next few days explaining why. So I'm not gonna run around hair-brained until I see that letter and I know for sure this Isn't. A. Fucking. Mistake.
Okay, I'm flabbergasted.
For the last three years, I have not made enough money to pay my income taxes. I kept putting off filing, one of those dumbass procrastination things where you hope it'll go away, especially when your income is so low that it's a tossup whether you'll end up with a bill you can't pay or you'll owe nothing at all. I haven't gotten any money BACK from the IRS for at least fifteen years now, so it was one or the other, and on top of the rest of my woes, I really wanted to hide my head in the sand and pretend the inevitable bills wouldn't exist.
Then about six weeks ago, I got a polite letter from the Feds saying basically, "Where the hell's the paper?" I made a few phone calls, got the info on forms, found out where the local IRS office is so I could keep being an asshat and file on THE VERY LAST DAY.
Yeah, I know. But I did it! And crossed my fingers that at least last year, when I hardly worked at all, might count to give me back a couple of hundred bucks to help buy groceries. (For those of you who don't know, which I know is practically everybody on my list, I've been on disability, unable to work for the last year because of a workplace injury. But that's a story for another time.) So I've been dreading the inevitable letter saying You owe us $X, please send your firstborn, kthxbi.
Just now, my dad knocked on my door, handed me my Netflix discs and three envelopes. From the U.S. Treasurey. Three window envelopes. With checks in them.
Two thousand. Six hundred. Eighty-one dollars. And seventy-four cents.
THE HELL???
I'm sitting here with my jaw still hanging open. Staring. I've rubbed my eyes at least three times. My dad watched as I opened the envelopes and we talked a little about how to deal with this, so I know I'm not hallucinating. Unless some weird mind-numbing gas cooked up in an underground government laboratory came out of those envelopes along with the checks. The beautiful, rainbow-colored checks with Lady Liberty on them. (Seriously, that's what they look like.)
Where the fuck did this come from? I KNOW I owe them money. I worked out the figures on the tax returns, and checked them three times. I was expecting to pay at least $1500, but this...WHAT??
My first reaction - which lasted all of 2.5 seconds - was to think, "You have to call them and find out what's going on." Don't worry, my dad instantly intuited what I was thinking and told me to stick the checks in the bank and shut the fuck up. (Paraphrasing there, but you get my drift.) I'd been thinking of switching banks anyway, so he said I could now do that. I said I'd rather just cash them and sock the bucks away under my mattress, because I don't want this money sitting in a bank account where the Feds might notice it and say, "Gee, how'd you get that?" and decide it was all a mistake anyway. We compromised, dad said open the accounts with the smallest check (SEVEN HUNDRED DOLLARS A SMALL CHECK AHAHAHA) and cash the others. So I guess I'll do that.
And that's about the extent of my ability to reason logically just now. My brain runs out of steam past that, because the idea of having this much money...gah. (And now you see the financial level I've lived at most of my life. The last time I was this rich was when I left my County job in Santa Cruz and they gave me a severance check of $3200. I felt like a QUEEN.) Of course, I'd rather have a job and a paycheck and a real life again, but...
I just...uh.
I'm gonna go try and think now. Wish me luck.
ETA: I just looked at the paper enclosed with the checks, and it says right there that the amount is different from what I listed on the return, and I'll be getting a letter in the next few days explaining why. So I'm not gonna run around hair-brained until I see that letter and I know for sure this Isn't. A. Fucking. Mistake.
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no subject
Date: Monday, September 14th, 2009 08:37 pm (UTC)