Let’s Work! (Part 3)
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| Mary Wakefield Buxton |
Urbanna, Va.— Having decided starting the Dog and Poet Pub would unleash a nightmare of government licenses, taxes and regulations, I decided to look for a job. If I worked for someone else I would earn a salary without the numerous headaches of owning a business.
If I had a job, too, I could pay higher taxes and continue making contributions to Social Security and Medicare in order to help younger generations who have been stuck footing the bill. I was really on a roll . . . let’s work, seniors! Let’s save the nation!
Yet, dear readers, there was another big reason for my returning to work. We hear about high taxes. This year I found out for myself about high taxes. We are not supposed to complain about taxes—just pay them and count blessings. But my taxes were so high this year I decided to air my experience so others might not repeat my mistake.
Taxation is a real problem for older Americans who have worked hard all their lives, especially as they retire and use retirement funds, sell off stock or other assets to pay off mortgages, inherit a business, farm or other property, or/and enter higher income brackets through their line of work. Beware, dear readers. Taxes can take the family farm.
The problem I faced was in part due to my selling assets last year to pay off a mortgage. Thinking this was a prudent step for someone my age, I quickly learned that it wasn’t. At tax time, I discovered I owed an additional $71,000.
Gentle readers, I almost dropped dead from shock (which would not have spared me having to pay the taxes). I thought of calling the IRS. “Sorry folks,” I imagined I would say, “the bank beat you to it. I used all my money to pay off my mortgage.”
“You still owe taxes,” I imagined some cold-hearted IRS agent’s response.
“But is it fair to penalize folks for being responsible and paying off their mortgage?”
“Pay up, lady!”
“But I feel like an ox in yoke that must toil forever just to pay taxes!”
“We’re hanging up now, lady,” my pretend script concluded.
Of course, I didn’t have the money to pay my taxes. Who has $71,000? There was nothing to do but rob Peter to pay Paul—take money from my retirement fund that I had worked all my life to save for my old age. My hand trembled as I wrote the check. As I stared at my ravaged retirement account I thought of a cornfield after the crows. Then, it hit me. I realized I would have to go back to work to save once again for “my retirement.” But I ask the government, “How many times does a gal have to save for retirement?”
I stared in the mirror to view stark reality. I was certainly no spring chicken . . . a bit on the sassy side, inclined toward writing comedy, perhaps a bit rusty in skills? Who would hire me?
Past careers passed through my mind like sheep jumping a fence. The quintessential “Jack of all trades,” I had been owner of a telephone answering service, real estate agent, teacher of both children and adults in both public and private schools, director of a business college, placement director, camp counselor, sales clerk in a book store, and had served in dozens of voluntary positions. But mainly, I was an opinionated writer, humorist, dreamer, romantic, and worse, a prolific giggler.
Could I even type? Oh, sure, I type . . . like a chicken scratches in dirt for seed. I had written 11 books and thousands of stories and articles with a set of two very determined fingers. Did that count?
Just as discouragement settled in, a dear man appeared in my life who offered me a job. He felt sorry for me (that I had not asked him for his tax advice and had been duly punished for it) and wanted to help me earn my way out of the fix I had landed in. He might even have held some glimmer of hope that next time I would take advice of the wise people (one that even lived right under my very own roof). Hope springs eternal from the breast of man!
But I was excited about my new career! How thrilling that I would work in a law office! I would help countless clients work out complicated problems. I would pay off my enormous tax bill, replenish my extinguished retirement fund, go on paying even more taxes, contribute to Social Security and Medicare, and all the while write comic commentary on the dire state of the world!
Huzzah! Huzzah! What? What? Yes! Yes! Carry on, Mays! By all means! Let’s work!
(Can Mary survive a staggering tax bill, rigors of a new career and the dire state of the world? Tune in next week.)
