Taxes Suck (A Day (or so) In the Life of Joe Taxpayer)

Joe was elated coming out of his conference with the boss. He had just gotten a raise and a promotion! However, Joe’s elation was cut short when he got back to his desk and discovered an e-mail from accounting which informed him that he was now in the 38% federal tax bracket and his raise was actually going to cost him money. Joe’s day began its awful descent.

Joe could not believe his eyes and obtained a copy of his most recent pay stub. He had never really examined the pay stub before, and what he saw now only deepened his depression. Joe realized he was paying 3.8% of his income in state income tax, 6.4% to social security (his employer adds another 7%) 1.0% to medicare/medicaid/unemployment and another .5% to the local city government. Of course, he quickly calculated what 38% of his pay would be, subtracted the other deductions, and found that he needed a cigarette.

Joe realized he was out of smokes, so he walked to the local convenience store and unloaded his problems on his buddy Phil behind the counter. Joe ordered a pack of cigarettes and Phil politely informed him that there was a $.24 per pack federal and a $.75 per pack state tax on the cigarettes. Joe was out of lights, so Phil sold him a $2 lighter and added the 6% state sales tax to the cost. Now Joe needed a drink.

Of course, Phil, being the ever-vigilant friend, quickly informed Joe that his $5 bottle of whiskey carried federal and state taxes in addition to the sales tax he paid on the bottle. Drinking slightly too much, Joe sauntered to his car and swerved towards home. Not unexpectedly, Joe was stopped by the police. Impervious to his cries that the government made him do it, the officer slapped Joe with a drunk driving ticket, cuffed him, and impounded his car. The next day, a sober and contrite Joe emerged from the County lockup. Joe quickly found that he had to pay a $75 impound fee to get his car back. Although Joe ultimately received no jail time for his first alcohol offense, he had to pay $750 in fines and costs to the local court system.

Shaken by his brush with the law, Joe decided to pick up a dog as a companion. After gassing up his vehicle (thankfully, Joe did not find out that there are $.80 in federal and state taxes in each gallon), Joe took a trip to the local pound, which resulted in Skippy being added to Joe’s nuclear family. Joe’s neighbor, ever eager to add his opinions, pointed out to Joe that Skippy was “illegal” and needed a license. Joe, completely demoralized, went to the County building to hand over yet another $10 bill to the County. When he parked his car, he automatically reached into his pocket and pumped another $.50 into the parking meter. Unfortunately, Skippy’s license was not high on the list of County priorities, and it took Joe a full hour to get a license. Upon leaving the County building, Joe looked at his car and found that he had received a $5 parking ticket.

Joe was past demoralization now. He was simply angry. He jumped into his car and headed home. In his anger, he missed his exit and ended up on the wrong freeway. However, before Joe could exit, he had to belly up another $.50 in toll fees in expiation for his sin of missing his exit. Cursing the day of his birth, Joe headed away from the toll booth not noticing the police officer behind him. Sure enough, it was the same cop who had arrested him before! This time, the officer was simply trying to help, “It looks like your car registration expires today, you better take care of that. Have a great day!” For once, Joe could breath a sigh of relief. He headed back downtown and dutifully paid the county another $70 for his license plates.

Finally, Joe got home to his now-faithful friend Skippy. Unbeknownst to Joe, Skippy was taught by his prior owner to retrieve the mail. As Joe slumped on the recliner, Skippy quietly and efficiently scooped up the mail and brought it to his new owner. “What a great dog,” thought Joe as he took the mail from Skippy’s mouth. The first letter was from the city tax assessor’s office. Joe’s property taxes were going up from $2400 per year to $2700 per year thanks to the new millage. “I’ve got to rethink what I’m doing with my life,” Joe mused. Joe finally fell asleep with Skippy under his arm.

The next morning, Joe awoke with a newly-found vigor. During the night he had had a dream that he became a millionaire by starting a trucking company. Joe called in sick and began to plan his road to riches (no pun intended). Joe first called an attorney to set up a company. The attorney quoted him a price, but then quickly added that the state charged an additional $50 for a “filing fee” for corporations. The attorney, hoping to soften the blow of the filing fee, offered that at least he wasn’t attempting to start a non-profit organization, because the filing fee for that was $495. Strangely, Joe was not comforted.

Joe then went to purchase a large over-the-road vehicle. He was shocked at the sticker price, but he was determined to press on. He had the salesman draw up the papers. When he looked at the final numbers he was dazed. “How did the final price get to be so much more than the sticker price?” Joe demanded. The salesman shrugged his shoulders and said, “Look, pal, I don’t make the law, I just have to charge for this stuff.” Joe stared at the figures in dumbfounded agony. Over-the-road taxes, sales taxes and license plate fees had caused the already large number to balloon to a number even his dreams could not reach. Joe deflated.

On the way home, Joe decided to do something radical. He would sell his one-year old home, buy a Harley, and let the road take him where it may (of course, he would purchase a sidecar for Skippy). Joe called his realtor using his car phone. The realtor asked him what he wanted to clear from the home and asked if he wanted to look for another home. Joe informed the realtor that he wanted simply to cash out. The realtor informed him that, aside from the realtor’s fee, Joe would have to pay a sizable portion of his equity in the home as a capital gains tax, not to mention the applicable real estate transfer tax. Sadly, Joe found out that he couldn’t even afford a Harley and a tank of gas.

Somehow, despite his abject despair, Joe made his way back home. His funk was complete. The next morning, he awoke to Skippy’s bark and the buzz of the alarm clock. Resigned to his fate, Joe returned to work as the model citizen and employee he had always been.