Thursday, April 11, 2024

My Sweet Auditor

The first time I went to the local IRS waiting room to meet the person who would be auditing me I was scared. This was in the 1980s and I imagined my auditor would be a monster, something like George Harrison's "Taxman."

But my actual auditor turned out to be a winsome young woman fresh out of college with a lovely smile. Furthermore, once she found out I was a journalist, she seemed determined to satisfy my insatiable desire to learn the ins and outs of her auditing process.

Over the course of that first audit, which dragged out over several weeks, she gradually taught me how to comply with the arcane rules I had allegedly violated while trying to juggle a full-time job, two part-time gigs and some random income as a freelance writer.

One of my main problems was that I couldn't convince her that my workspace was a legitimate "home office," because it was also used as the kitchen, dining room, and playroom by my three young children.

Also, I had not kept a written record of my many lunches and business meetings or of my frequent travel as I multitasked work assignments. The agency clearly had not yet figured out how to handle a multitasker, as the word had originated too recently (1966) and was not yet commonly applied to human beings. 

By the end of that first audit, my auditor ruled that I owed Uncle Sam enough in additional taxes and penalties that it automatically triggered audits for the two subsequent tax years, focusing on the same set of issues.

But I wasn't about to suffer the same fate two times, let alone three. Besides, I had come to like my auditor and as we parted after that first go-around, she told me,"You know, you can request me to be your auditor for the next one if you want to, you have a right to that."

So when I showed up for my second audit, I officially requested to be assigned the same auditor and the IRS granted my request. This time, I showed up with a complete printed register of all of my lunches and meetings, tons of receipts (all numbered consistent with the register), and a more convincing argument that my home office was legit as it now consisted of a desk in the corner of my bedroom.

There were no toys or dinner plates on my desk when the auditor paid her visit for the mandatory inspection, but there were cookies and tea waiting for her.

That second audit ended much better -- in a virtual tie -- I didn't owe the IRS anything beyond what I had paid when I filed my tax return.

In due time the third audit commenced. By now, I was determined to reclaim some of the money confiscated by the agency back in that first audit. I again requested the same auditor. By now I looked forward to renewing our acquaintance and continuing to perform my role as her obedient student and auditee. 

This time around we had long frank conversations during which she told me about her dream to get out of the huge government bureaucracy and get a job at one of the Big Six accounting firms. 

I told her I thought she’d be a big success.

We’d become fast friends by now, and our conversations were long and intimate. That meant she only had time to give a cursory check of the impressive documentation I had prepared of my business meals and meetings, global travel, and an extensively outfitted home office that transformed what had previously been my bedroom into a distinctly professional workspace.

In the end, my sweet auditor gave me some welcome news: My arguments and documentation were persuasive. The IRS would be issuing me a refund -- almost identical to the excess taxes, penalties and fees assessed me back in the first year of our auditing relationship.

So in the end it was one win for  the IRS, one win for me, and one draw. Net-net, nothing was lost, nothing was gained, except one new friend.

So yes, I admit it. I developed a crush on my IRS auditor. Enough so that I almost wished that I could be audited again.

Almost.

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