The Folks on the Corner

When I began writing this blog, I made a conscious decision not to write about politics, religion, or anything that might cause serious philosophical arguments between myself and my reader-friends.  But something has been festering inside me, something rotten and biting, and I just can’t hold it in any longer.

This spring, I avoided paying my taxes until the last possible moment.  It wasn’t for the usual reason–my desire to keep my money away from the wasteful “people’s” government for as long as possible–but because I simply did not have the money.  I did get a small refund from the federal government this year–after paying in more than I should have all year–and for this I was incredibly thankful.  But my state wanted all of this from me, and hundreds more.  My NY tax burden was as large as my federal one!

I had carefully prepared my taxes, using my favorite online tax software.  I of course prefer to use an accountant, a person I can ask questions and whose expertise I can trust; but expenses necessitated spending less money on tax preparation, and more on propane.  I knew I wouldn’t have as many credits this year going into the process, as I’d had no cash with which to make more energy improvements on my house.  I lacked the typical savers, such as a husband and children and a low income.  I was, as they say, screwed.

My income is solidly middle class–at least, it would be, if you multiplied it by two and added another person to my household.  As it is, it is slightly less than enough to handle a mortgage payment, a car, and New York energy prices.  Add in a student loan debt, construction loans, and high-as-giraffe’s-nookie local taxes, and I am (not) literally drowning in a stack of bills I cannot pay.  My job’s long hours and random schedule leave no time for adding a second income, nor does my level of energy make it possible.  I am working my ass off, and the ends are not meeting.  Sadly, in this region especially, I am at the peak of my earning potential in my chosen field (or in anything for which I am qualified).  I am not complaining about this, either; I am earning more than I ever have before, and feel fairly compensated for the work I put forth.

The property taxes on my postage stamp-sized lot approach $4000 annually.  For this, I purchase a mediocre public school, a tiny town park, and a larger per capita police force to (unsuccessfully) keep all the drug dealers in line.  I get a fire department and a rescue squad; but  not a local 911 dispatcher, so that in an emergency, my call goes to a 45-minutes-away call center and back to Hoosick Falls, creating a half hour wait for emergency personnel who are all located within three blocks of my house.  (This has been tested and proven on more than one occasion.)  For another $1000, I get undrinkable water and curbside trash and recycling pickup.

On top of those local taxes, my state wants thousands of dollars of my money to finance a too-large, dirty bureaucracy that doesn’t work.  The Albany politicians use my money to fund trips to everywhere, giant annual pay raises, and–apparently–high class hookers for the governor, with state police to guard the door.  The rest of the state (made up of dying farms and laid-off factory workers) pays for the upkeep of New York City and its *extra* state offices and services.

Don’t misunderstand me.  I don’t hate paying taxes.  I really don’t mind at all, so long as I have my shot at getting some of that money back in services and benefits.  I pay in, and I expect to receive something back.  That’s how it works, right?

Only that’s not how it works.  Every day I hear stories about people receiving giant tax refunds, and every one of them pisses me off.  For example:  I had a girl working for me who had two children out of wedlock, a boyfriend who worked sporadically, and who was on public assistance for food, utilities, and housing.  I happened to know she only grossed about $8,000 a year.  (Her earning potential was much greater than that, but this was unnecessary as the state was more than willing to make up the difference.)  She had cable television–which I cannot afford–and a car, and bragged to me that her tax refund was going to be over a thousand dollars!  She hadn’t paid a thousand dollars, I’m sure of it.  Another coworker was disgusted to report that his unemployed daughter with three children was receiving nearly nine thousand dollars in combined refunds, even though she herself did not pay in any taxes throughout the year.  Her husband had worked part time all year.  Something seems fishy to me.

When I revealed to my boss that I was pregnant and expecting to remain alone, he told me I needed to get my ass to the welfare office and collect what was coming to me.  “You have to sign up for WIC!  You can get free milk and cheese and bread even while you’re pregnant!”  I wasn’t thinking I needed such a thing, but he reminded me how I’d struggled to pay in taxes all year, and that I should get some of that money back in benefits.  So I looked into it.  Turns out he’d have to demote me and cut my pay into a third of what I make in order for me to qualify.  (I did briefly consider counting each of my pets as a member of the household to push me into a qualifying bracket…but I tend to obey the rules.)

Every day when I walk the dogs, I pass by many different kinds of households.  I pass by small and large, older homes where families work hard to make the ends meet, where they participate in community events and give money at church and struggle to keep up with taxes just as I do.  And I pass by other homes where people scream at one another with their doors hanging open, where children run down the sidewalks in their diapers, while their mothers have crass conversations on pre-paid cell phones out in front of God and everybody.  Those people are always home.  At one house in particular, from April until November, the whole lot sits on the porch.  All.  Day.  Long.  Every day.  They sit, and they stare, and they drink beer and talk about every person who passes.  Every day, I pass that house and wonder how they can afford to live there.  And then I take a shower and go off to work an eleven hour day, where a quarter of my paycheck never gets to me.

I read a blurb on the internet that said I can expect my “middle class taxes” to go up this year.  I don’t know whether or not that’s true, but I do know this:  in order to pay this year’s tax burden, I had to forego paying the last propane delivery, and put off the electric company–which would make me feel very guilty, if they weren’t a monopolizing band of crooks–for another month.  In order to pay the government–and the people on the corner–I had to become a deadbeat myself and avoid paying my other debts.  I’m not okay with that.

If I have to choose–and it does seem to be a choice these days–I will continue to be the one who works hard to contribute, who goes to a decent job and gets raped and robbed by The Man in order to sustain her do-nothing neighbors so they can sit around watching their cable television and enjoying all their free time.  I will pay for my own milk and cheese and bread, and own my can’t-afford-it house, even if I have to freeze all winter long.  And at the earliest opportunity, I will sell that house and move away from a state where career politicians have extended the budget so far, that a person with a good job who does her best to pay the bills cannot catch a break.

Ironically, if I have this out-of-wedlock baby prior to the end of the year, I will have a much easier time with next year’s taxes.  Just so you know, I’m not okay with that, either.