Uncle Sam, Monroe and Me

It is tax time once again.The rest of you are likely doing one of two things; dumping boxes of receipts at the doorstep of your tax preparer or downloading the latest edition of Turbo Tax or some other tax preparation software.

I too am getting prepared. I've sorted through  2010s 12 months of  financial life and grouped them in not-so-neat piles. I've fine-sorted the piles according to the various schedules that the 1040 requires. I am ready. Out come my tools. Let's start with the absolute essentials. The paper forms that I picked up in the Keys (they are more readily available to the public there). Yes, I did say "paper". Somehow the whole process is more believable on that grainy, hopefully recycled, paper that the IRS produces in ever smaller quantities every year. Out come the #2 pencils - freshly sharpened and ready to roll

 This is the 45th year that I'll be preparing our taxes. Joe did them for the first 5 when we had no money, few assets and an ever growing number of little deductions. Then he got too busy working, going to school, studying and commuting.  His CPA- friendly,  meticulously accurate renderings gave way to my "guess, approximate and just get it done " approach to all things financial or in any way numerical.  We were audited a few times, but never went to jail or owed the IRS much. 

Filing became a lot more stressful when Joe went to work for the IRS.  We were expected to file early and were audited every year - so we sought out the services of a tax professional, Mike Barrett,  a banking buddy turned entrepreneur, to keep us clean.  Now - don't get me wrong - I still do the taxes from start to a finished paper product and then I turn them over to Mike to dig into, scrub, correct the math and create the  electrictronically well turned-out returns  we now file, but still in paper form.  He is scrupulously honest and questions all my entries.  He also has broken me of the running to the post office at midnight on April 15th habit.  I sleep well when they're done.  I still do them myself  because I love the challenge and the sense of accomplishment at conquering something so opposite of my nature and my instincts.

This brings us to "Monroe".  Just as Tom Hanks had "Wilson" on his desert island.  I have "Monroe" on my kitchen island.  I couldn't do the taxes without him.  Here is his story:

When I started working I found few opportunities for solitude at home and started going to the office on Saturdays to work on our taxes.  I did all the sorting at home and then worked a few hours at a time using my Monroe calculator.  I liked that it had a tape so I could double check my numbers. Sometime in the 80s the bank gave us computers and took away our typewriters and calculators. At that point I had a nice office on the first floor.  I knew they had stored the calculators and typewriters in the basement - ready for disposal - so one night I snuck down there and hid two of them in a remote corner of the space where we kept the marketing supplies - I was one of only 2 key holders to that space.  Every tax time Monroe would come out of the closet for me.

After several years I was enough of a big shot that I started openly consorting with Monroe and moved him into the built- in closet in my wood paneled office.  I was careful to do taxes only on my time, not bank time - but by now everyone knew that tax time would find me behind closed doors on many an evening and Saturday with only Monroe for company.

When they finally forced me out of my North Avenue office and out to corporate headquarters, the first thing  I packed was Monroe.  It soon became evident that Monroe was not a good fit for the slick, modern building in Rosemont.  I placed him lovingly in my trunk and drove him downtown to our Michigan Avenue branch where I also had an office.  He had a place of honor in my desk and continued to assist in the tax preparation which I continued to do on Saturdays and after hours.

When they remodeled the branch, poor Monroe was so stressed that I brought him home until it was over.  The newly remodeled facility re-opened. I no longer had an office. I secured a place of honor in the supply closet for Monroe - with a boldly precise WARNING - of what would happen to anyone who moved, or God -forbid disposed of Monroe.  My then-retired husband spent endless hours trying to track down the paper tape for Monroe- just as several of my wonderful  administrative assistants had done back in the day.

I spent tax season in the several years before I retired in our downtown branch in a conference room with  no doors and therefore no privacy - but everyone knew not to bother me. 
When I planned my retirement - I hoped I could still "visit" the branch and do my taxes, little did I know that they would consolidate that branch into another one. My retirement and the branch consolidation came within a short time period.

At my retirement party I received a number of wonderful gifts and remembrances -but none as loving and appreciated as Monroe, adorned with a festive ribbon, and presented to me by the thoughtful staff of my downtown branch and their manager.  I think of them daily every tax season since and, as a customer,  still think they epitomize "service".

Today, from April to February,  Monroe lives in my storage closet in a protective plastic wrapper, along with the rolls of tape we found.  I lovingly invite him into our kitchen in March.  If the ink cartridge ever wears out, the engine fails, or the IRS prohibits paper  filing - I guess I'll have to find a new use for Monroe. Maybe as a cheese board.

If all the electronic substitutes are rendered useless by satellite failure or a  massive communication bomb, I can become his agent and rent out his services to the next generation. In the meantime I'll selfishly harbour him in our hall closet.

Love you Monroe.