Columnists
Tax time
Yes, I know it’s June, and tax time is definitely over. But I am a procrastinator by nature, due to some genetic imbalance so, to me, jobs I hate to do are way down the list.
Doing taxes is about number 10 on my list, pushed aside by the urgent need to clean and polish my desk, scrub the toilet until it I can see my face in it, dust in places that haven’t seen a Swiffer since I moved in, clean out my print file folders by removing clients who are deceased, and aren’t likely to show up for reprints.
I have another quirk. When I’m deep in a project, as my friends will tell you: “There are times when you don’t want to talk to Steve.” You see, the elephant-sized portion of my brain is on the project, and the ant-sized portion of my brain is devoted to you. (This explains my absence from column-writing.)
To get to the point, I do my taxes all at once, at my corporate year-end. This is a classic “don’t talk to me” event, while I crunch numbers culled from a 12-month period. I am not myself during this period. I spend time cursing my math brain, cursing bank balances that variously make me a multi-millionaire and, second time through, stone broke.
Our conversations would go like this: “Is the Spring issue out yet?”
“Yes, but first tell me … what is the square root of 5? What is the difference between an asset, an expense and a liability?”
This, of course, is why I have an accountant. Also because I’m a corporation and required by law to have an accountant duplicate my work, and then send me a bill. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad to pay it because, unlike me, they do not get surly and laugh at my ineptitude. And they know all the bookkeeping terminology, and thankfully don’t explain them to me.
[I had a proper bookkeeper years ago, but he just said: “Give me your receipts, cheque stubs and bank statements, and I’ll bring it up to date.”
To me, after I searched out all that info, I was pretty much doing everything I needed. All I needed was a pencil and I could replace him. Which I did.]
DEALING WITH CANADA REVENUE AGENCY
I haven’t had much trouble with Canada Revenue. They are called ‘CRA’, and they call me ‘Bubba’. Of course they don’t.
My policy is: Don’t ever mess with CRA. I do everything straight, for fear I would be visited by a CRA agent built like Hulk Hogan, but with a proper black suit, white shirt and blue tie, and a baseball bat. Other than the bat, I wouldn’t see him/her coming.
Everything I do is legit. I do not claim frivolous entertainment expenses like LCBO tabs and on-line purchases I make late at night after consuming said liquids. [When I get a package, I say, “What is this?” with great excitement. Then I open it and say, “What is this?” because I forgot what I ordered, and don’t know why I needed a fully-electronic apple peeler, with four speeds. Haven’t used it yet but, if you have apples, come on over.]
No, they’re paid through my personal credit cards, so the Mastercard people can laugh their butts off: “If this guy dies, LCBO is out of business! And apparently he owns an orchard.”
When dealing with CRA, I learned that they operate way slower than I do. They must have several procrastinators on staff.
For example: I got a tax Notice of Assessment, and paid it right away, same day. Three weeks later I got a notice demanding payment, or hell would break loose. It was an e-transfer! Are there no humans in the place? Look it up. Eventually the demands stopped when someone got around to checking it.
I did have trouble once with the HST people. They actually phoned me! I resisted the temptation to say: “I didn’t know humans actually worked there!” Very diplomatic move.
They informed me that I had overpaid my last filing by $90. “So, you’ll issue a refund?”
“No.”
“What then? How do I get my 90 bucks back?”
“You see, the second you file your return, you start owing us for the next quarter. So we can’t release your money, because you owe us money as of now.”
“So… you’re going to hold on to my $90 until I file for the next quarter?”
“No. Because at that time you will owe us money for the next quarter.”
“So, you’re keeping my $90 forever?
“Pretty much.”
So I did what any County boy would do. Next quarter, I totalled my HST owing, subtracted $90, and filed it. Sure my original money is still trapped in CRA—never to surface during my lifetime, but at least I got my 90 bucks back.
I once got a bill from CRA HST for $2,500. The notice did not say why. I asked my accountants, and they said, “Pay the bill.”
“Shouldn’t I ask them what it is for?”
“No, pay the bill.” This was wise advice, because activating CRA is like confessing to serial murders you did not commit. Asking a question would ‘flag’ me, and I would immediately be assigned an ‘agent’ to come to the County, stay two weeks at the Drake, eat at the finest restaurants in the County, and add it to my bill. Money well spent.
MESSING WITH CRA
A friend of mine would send in a cheque for his income tax, but he would write on the ‘Memo’ line: “For use to repair Highway 49!” We laughed like crazy over this, but wouldn’t it be great if we could designate how our tax payment was used? Hospital, Hospice, Regent … name your charity. What’s left over can go in that Big Pot O’ Money where it serves to have pointless meetings by top execs at expensive hotels, catered by top chefs, gathered together via first class plane tickets.
Me? I’m a simple man. I don’t need a lot of money. Which is a good thing judging by the way things turned out. The money I pay to CRA equals my food budget for the year.
I don’t need a Tesla, or a sailboat, or a cottage. My dream is to walk into Mr. Sub and demand extra cheese, even though it costs extra. I want to go into Picton Pizzeria and order a ‘deluxe’, and then pile on extra ingredients.
“Do you have caviar? No? Then add extra anchovies, and I’ll squeeze the caviar out of them.”
See? Simple. I’ve treated clients to a meal and a beer, and they take 10 minutes to order: “No lettuce, no mayo, tomato on the side, ketchup on the side, bun lightly toasted, and it goes on and on, while I make apologetic eyes to the server.
Sure, some people like what they like. I just order the burger, or any meal. All I say is: “Make it the way your chef likes it.” Good enough for him—good enough for me.
Worthy of note: Skip the anchovies. Nothing in there but more anchovy.
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