Taxing Day

March 6th, 2007

Today we went to see our tax man, Bob, in Agoura Hills. That’s an hour’s drive north of us, past tract-mansion country and into horsey country. Bob is worth that drive. His office is decked out—DECKED OUT—in 12″ G.I. Joe dolls and thank-you gifts from his special effects clients … a model alien’s head here, a framed picture of a sci-fi gargoyle there. Photos of his two daughters fill any spaces that might otherwise remained undecorated. Each year, Bob consistently wears Abercrombie pants, T-shirt, and zip-up sweatshirt; maybe this is his daughters’ influence. He notes our expenses in his tiny code of mechanical pencil markings on legal-sized accountant’s graph paper. He sips coffee and smiles, seemingly genuine in his interest in what we’ve been up to in the last 11 months. “Oh, you bought a TV? Flat screen? Do you like it?” “No more ‘Student Teacher.’ Now I can just write ‘Teacher,’ right?”

Now Stevel is playing Q-bert. He insists that when Q-bert falls, the garbled nonsense he curses is the word “Shit.” Maybe.

Leave a Reply