Guess what I found in the mail today?
A collection letter! Or, more specifically, a Demand for Payment and Intent to Levy Wages, (um, what wages?) from my buddies over at the Department of Revenue.
Clearly, I thought to myself, this must have something to do with those yahoos losing my tax payment check, which I described back here. The strange part though was that this letter demanded the sum of $249.85... a wholly unfamiliar number to me. (My taxes due last April were over $4k.)
So I called my good friends up over at the collection department to see what had gone awry. They had all been extremely nice to me in the past, and I didn't expect any different this time.
The guy who took my call this time must have been working through his designated smoke break or something, because he was rahh-ther snippy. I was, he brusquely informed me, in default on the penalties and interest which had accrued as a result of my failure to pay my tax bill in a timely fashion.
He further explained that while my penalty and interest had technically been abated, I had neglected to send in the necessary proof, in the form of three months worth of bank statements, and that until or unless I did so, I was still in default.
When I began to cry out of sheer anger, his response was something to the effect of "how hard is it to just do what I'm telling you to?"
He obviously didn't understand that the REASON for which I was inching toward hysteria is that the last person I spoke with told me everything was A-OK, and that I was furious with myself for believing her and not sending a confirmation letter via certified mail.
(Needless to say, I am still kicking myself for not sending my first, timely CHECK via certified mail as well.)
So I took the fax number down and bid my dear tax collector adieu, cursing both him and myself all the while.
Five minutes later, my cell phone rang and it was him again.
"Hai! Just wanted to let you know that I checked with my supervisor and she told me that you're all cool, no need to send anything in after all. Sorry 'bout that, we heart you lots, kthnxbai!"
I don't know what's wrong with me, but this second conversation was even more upsetting, and made me cry again. Who ARE these fawkers??? Am I just supposed to ignore that letter now? Cuz some dude on the phone told me to? Righttttttttttt.
Now I REALLY have to send them a confirmation letter. UGH.
So depressed was I that I felt compelled to take drastic measures in defense of my mental health:
I dropped everything and went to Goodwill for trampy shoes and gaudy purple stemware.
And then I traded a frisbee for some 4-legged moral support.
We're both feeling much better now...