Truly Frightening: The Tax Man

I am a very, very good citizen. I do my taxes. Okay, I pay someone to do my taxes. I have a fully-justified fear of numbers, no doubt due to Mr. Foster, my Grade 11 algebra teacher. One time, he took my right shoe in exchange for a text book I'd forgotten. Jerk.

So I didn't appreciate The Man harassing me for my 2009 GST return. I wasn't doing consulting work that year, so I hadn''t collected GST. Or, I thought I hadn't. But trust The Man to hunt me down. And to be a jerk about it. I had an abrupt call with The Man (a.k.a. "Dorinder") yesterday. I was reasonable. I was the voice of reason. But The Man was swinging a big bat and knew it. It's like that customs/border guy that's bored out of his braincase and who decides that he's going to make you run around like a Pekinese on amphetamines.

Scary that these people are The Man. Scarier? Me trying to do the paperwork.

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