Beginning February I watch the mail for 1099s and other tax information before I begin to prepare all of that necessary information for the accountant. In the past, taxes were Ken’s job and he enjoyed it far too much. He was a bean counter and right after January 1st he would begin the process of calculating every item we purchased for our rentals. “I just want to see exactly what we bought and how much we spent for each unit,” he reasoned and the piles of papers grew and grew. From a very large envelope he pulled receipts out one by one, listing every item. Periodically he would ask, “What did you buy here?” Looking at the fading print and abrievated word I would answer, “I don’t know. It could be paint — it could be anything. It was for the rentals, that’s why we saved the receipt.” But that wasn’t good enough. He studied the narrow sales slip until he figured it out then listed the item and amount under it’s proper column.
By early March, and fortified with weeks of labor hand printed in his precise engineer’s lettering, we set off for the accountant’s office. Inside Ken’s briefcase held three copies of his document: his, mine and Mr. Wilson’s. Year after year Ken led the discussion as the three of us poured over the nuts and bolts of our investment property, the office clock ticking off minutes. In conclusion Mr. Wilson would say, “You know, Ken, if you would summarize this stuff it would save my assistant a lot of time.” “I like to do it this way, if it’s all right with you,” replied Ken. Mr. Wilson shrugged his shoulder’s, writing down our time in and our time out of his office. Mr. Wilson didn’t mind, it was money in his bank.
When Ken’s mind slipped past the point of organization I suggested, “Why don’t I just do the prep work on the computer this year.” If he had thoughts about not letting it go he didn’t say a word and was pleased when I handed Mr. Wilson four pages of our tax information instead of the usual 14. Mr. Wilson was pleased as well.
It’s taken much longer this year than before because Ken spends so much of his time interrupting me at whatever I’m doing, mostly with the same question, “What are you doing.” My usual answer is, “work.” I follow my explanation with, “You can’t talk to me when I’m working on the computer. You can sit in here, but you must be quiet.” He often sits for a while then leaves only to come back and we’ll go through the routine once again.
When I told him I was doing our taxes, he thanked me profusely and made ever effort to be as still as possible. Expressing even more gratitude he might say, “I’m so glad you’re doing our taxes. I don’t know when I would have had time to get them done.” Leaving the room he would conclude, “I’ll leave you alone so you can finish.”
If I’m lucky, I can work a few hours at a time then I have to stop to get dinner or do some other demanding chore. As I leave the room I lock the door to the “office.” Later when Ken does his evening check and finds the door locked he tends to become a little annoyed. “I have to lock the door,” I explain to him. “We don’t want any of the children getting into the income tax papers.” He readily agrees and the peace is kept.
One evening after we had finished dinner, I decided to get back to the taxes. Reaching into my pocket for the key I found it wasn’t there. Good grief, I thought, I hope I haven’t locked myself out. After a few minutes of looking in the usual places I decided that, indeed, I was locked out of the office. I tried every key I could find, including all of those taken from the “Mystery Key Box,” home of abandoned and useless keys. Some day, I have promised myself, I will throw them all out, but not yet. Nothing fit. Nor could I get a credit card to slip easily between the stop and the door. I thought of getting a hack saw and sawing the knob off, but I had heard of drilling the lock out, whatever that meant, but it was worth a try. From the garage I brought in the drill and a new bit. I didn’t even know where to start, but I aimed the bit directly into the lock. Small pieces of metal flew onto the carpet. Something was happening. Much to my own surprise, within a minute and a half I turned the knob which was still in tact and entered the room. Inside on the desk was the missing key.
I worked faster after that knowing I could no longer lock up my work. “Shhhh,” I told him when he came in, “I’m working on taxes.” “Whose taxes? Not mine, I’ll do my own thank you.” Oh, oh, he’s Buddy. “I’m doing my taxes,” I quickly countered. “Then go home and do your taxes at your house. You’re not doing me any favor working here. I’m shutting this place down in 10 minutes so you had better finish and leave.” Tomorrow’s another day. Eventually they’ll get done, except now I” have to put everything out of sight in an unlocked room.
Today must be eventually. The taxes are finished. A little later than usual, but finished. They now rest in the hands of our accountant. There’s just one last step — getting him to sign on the dotted line. Oh yes, the next time I’m at the hardware store I will pick up a replacement lock. I may not be doing taxes for another year, but the office is still my refuge and sometimes I just need to be alone.
Aromick's Blog 
Leave a Reply