I had these two widowed sisters as tax clients. They both lived in the country and had a few head of cattle, mostly bottle calves.

On the farmers’ filing deadline, March 1st, the sisters appeared in my office to pick up their returns and write the checks to pay federal and state income tax (this is back in the paper filing days).

One at a time each would sit at my desk and write out the checks and sign the returns.

One time one of the sisters discovered she was out of checks and took off to get another packet, or so I thought.

Both sisters were gone for over thirty minutes. I was getting irritated because they showed up just before five and I needed to get home and feed my boys.

Back they came, utterly perplexed. Seems they had spent the afternoon visiting a friend and decided to stop at my office on their way home (wasn’t that nice of them!)

When they left to get more checks they went back to the friend and asked to borrow some of her checks and couldn’t understand why she refused.

All the while I had the old counter checks in my center desk drawer, which she wound up using.

Had I known where they were going and what they were trying to do I could have stopped them, given her the counter checks, and saved myself almost an hour.

After that I scheduled a time for them to pick up their returns thus avoiding the “right before five” show up at their convenience time.

Related:
Taxing Taxing, Part 23
Taxing Taxing, Part 22
Taxing Taxing, Part 21
Taxing Taxing, Part 20
Taxing Taxing, Part 19

CONTENT WARNING: Gross (Vomit)

I’m doing taxes for a woman who’s brought her child. She plops her purse on the table.

Woman: “It’s a Louis Vuitton.”

The kid looks a little green and keeps complaining that he’s feeling unwell in various ways. The woman keeps reassuring the kid:

Woman: “Only a few more minutes.”

Me: “You can simply do a dropoff or reschedule if your child is unwell.”

Woman: “No, I want to do it now.”

A few minutes pass, the kid complains again, and she replies the same. The cycle repeats a few times.

Finally, the kid grabs her purse and vomits into it. She absolutely shrieks.

Me: *Blandly* “Would you like to do a dropoff or possibly reschedule?

This time, she agrees.

When she returned to pick up her finished taxes, she had neither the child with her nor the purse.

We do taxes for clients. We offer cash back as a referral bonus if people refer others to file with us.

After each tax session with a client, I always end it with, “If you enjoyed my services today, please refer us to your friends and family. If you didn’t enjoy my services, please refer us to your foes and enemies. You get paid either way.”

One of my clients goes on a spree of referring people. He refers nearly thirty people to me. I call him up to congratulate him, and I ask him if he’d like to return to me next year.

Client: “F*** no. I hated your services. I’m never coming back there again.”

Me: “So, why did you refer so many people?”

Client: “I hate those motherf***ers, too. But, with that whole cashback program, you had the right idea about referring my enemies.”

Me: “Oh. Okay.”

He never returned, but his enemies have become regular clients of mine.

I’m a retail tax accountant. I’m doing taxes for a client, and he says he’s a sailor. He’s got about twenty W-2s (wage statements) from about eleven states, and they each have about $2,000 to $3,000 on them… with no withholding.

He keeps talking about how he’s got twelve children by seven women and how he spends all of his money on caring for them.

I try to explain to him that, without withholding, it’s very likely he’s going to owe money. He’s having none of it.

Client: “God will take care of me! I have a good feeling about this. God will take care of me.”

Well, the bill came in, and he owed the IRS and each state not insignificant amounts of money. He got so angry that he kicked my computer, putting a dent in the case, threw his documents onto the floor off of my desk, and stormed out of the office. He slammed the door so hard the wood of the jamb cracked a little, and it dented the striking plate.

He never returned to our office. Our manager contacted the police and sent him a bill for his damages, but he couldn’t be found at the address he gave us, nor any of the many addresses from his W-2s. We were unable to hunt him down and eventually sold his debt to a collection agency for pennies on the dollar.

I work as a tax preparer. A client calls in on our phone line.

Client: “Hello. I’ve got a problem. My ex-girlfriend’s got my emerald card, she’s got my email address, she’s got my [Tax Prep Company] account, and she’s got my phone, so I can’t access anything. How can I tell when I get my refund?”

An emerald card is a substitute for a bank account that allows underbanked individuals to get their refund by direct deposit.

Me: “If you’ve got your ID, we can issue you a fresh emerald card, and the refund will go there.”

Client: “She’s got that, too.”

Me: “May I ask what happened? Did she steal them from you, or…?”

Client: “She kicked me out of the apartment, and they got left behind. I’m kinda homeless right now.”

Me: “You might want to contact the police. They can help you recover your belongings.”

Client: “Oh, no, I can’t do that.”

Me: “Um… why not?”

Client: “There’s a warrant out for my arrest.”

Me: “Ah.”

Client: “So, is there anything you can do to help me?”

Me: “Do you have any documents to verify your identity?”

Client: “What does that mean?”

Me: “Like… ID cards, passports, birth certificates, social security cards, that sort of thing.”

Client: “No, they’re all in the apartment.”

Me: “Unfortunately, then, there’s very little I can do for you. I’m sorry.”

Client: “Nah, I kinda figured, but it didn’t hurt to ask. You’re not gonna tell the cops I called, are you?”

Me: “No, I won’t.”

Client: “Thanks. You have a nice day!”

Me: “You, too.”

And he hung up.