By Kent Carlson
Rational fears: IRS audits and colonoscopies
Human beings all have fears. Some people fear heights. Others fear crowds. My wife has a fear of flying. Some fears are irrational; others seem to make perfect sense. Most people fear death and illness. But some fear bathtub sharks and alligators under their beds. I have an irrational fear of clowns… and a rational fear of big government. Maybe if there weren’t so many clowns in government, I would have one less fear.
There are fears we all have in common. Like an IRS audit. Just the thought of one can cause men in $3,500 suits to break into a cold sweat. Perhaps because they tried to write off the suit. Eddie Murphy didn’t help matters in “Beverly Hills Cop” when he asked, “How would you like me to have the IRS come down here and crawl up you’re (orifice) with a (fornicating) microscope? They’ll do it! I’ve seen them do it! It’s not a pretty sight!” Yes, the thought of the IRS performing a colonoscopy is truly frightening. In fact, I have used versions of that classic Alex Foley line a couple of times with the desired results. People fear IRS audits, and some should more than others.
So when the letter from the IRS arrived in the mail a few months ago, I had mixed feelings. My wife and I have a great accountant, and my wife keeps excellent records for her business. Our finances aren’t particularly complicated. That’s all good. But anyone can screw up once in a while. Though we never throw away anything, especially financial records, that doesn’t mean I can actually find them. So with a bit of trepidation, we called the accountant and told him our number was up.
Greg, our accountant, mentioned that IRS audits were becoming more prevalent and states were sifting through returns looking for lost gold. What choice do they have when they spend money like drunken sailors, even during an economic recession?
On June 28, not quite the longest day of the year, Sondra and I packed up our records and headed to the Federal Building in downtown Des Moines. Construction equipment had imploded the sidewalk leading to the entry…stimulus dollars, no doubt. Once inside, we had to empty our pockets, take off our shoes and proceed through the metal detector. At this point I started looking around for Axel Foley and a microscope. After redressing, we headed up the elevator to the auditor’s office. The waiting room was small, awkward and decorated in garage sale art. Women’s magazines with the return addresses cut out adorned tables that had obviously been around since the Nixon era. A nice couple sitting in the room with a box full of papers directed us to a phone on the wall to call our auditor. As we waited, I was amazed that none of us seemed particularly nervous. Either we were reasonably confident things would go well, or we were all in a state of denial.
An auditor opened the door, and the nice couple disappeared. “Godspeed!” After paging through the Ladies Home Journals for a few minutes, it was our turn. Our first surprise: The auditor was not some middle-aged, balding guy with a ponch glaring at us over his reading glasses. In other words, the auditor didn’t look like me. Instead, we were greeted by a friendly, attractive, well-dressed female who led us to her office. There, we were introduced to a supervisor who was sitting in on the meeting. She, too, was very nice.
The auditor explained the procedure to us, asked if we understood, and then proceeded on with questions. My accountant said to be quiet and only speak when necessary. That is hell for me, but I knew it was good advice. However, it was clear the auditor had a sense of humor…thank God. She was disarming, so I relaxed. I could tell Sondra felt as ease, too, but she is so much smoother and more professional than me; she was never my worry.
“So in 2008, did you do any bartering or trading?” the auditor asked.
“Are you kidding? We’re married,” I said. “That’s the only way I get anything. Oh, you mean outside the marriage. Um, no.”
“Mr. Carlson, did you profit from any hobbies in 2008?”
“Oh, not you, too! You sound just like my wife! Of course not!”
For about two-and-a-half hours, we answered questions, were given helpful direction, and actually had a good time. I’m not kidding. The auditors were thorough and polite. After some follow-up questions, we were sent a letter indicating they had finished the audit and there were no changes to our returns.
You know, the IRS audit wasn’t nearly as big of a pain in the butt as I thought it would be. Maybe I’ll schedule that colonoscopy I’ve been avoiding for so long. CV
Kent Carlson is a native Iowa artist interested in the preserving Iowa’s architectural heritage and the common sense of its leaders. And he writes a few columns for Cityview, too.
