This article originally
appeared in Columbus Monthly magazine April, 2003
Bag o' Taxes, Cup o' Joe
By Sally Fingerett
Illustration
by Mario Noche
It's
April and it's time to do taxes. It's also time to confess that I never
bothered to learn any computer programs such as Quicken or Quick Books
or Quick Tax or Quick Fix or Quick File. All I've learned to do is Quick
Spend. I will not be pressing one magical button that lines up my income
and my outgo. I won't be experiencing the painless printing of forms
that states how much I get to keep and how much gets given away.
Nope, I'm the maniac who has chosen to dig through three brown grocery
bags filled with hundreds of tiny receipts and credit card statements.
During the previous year I would award myself two or three points per
shot, as I flippantly and irresponsibly tossed unopened envelopes of
canceled checks and statements into these bags. I knew full well that
come April I would have to dump the bags upside down, sit among the
mounds of paper and completely relive my fiscal year.
Well, today's the day. But before I can begin, I need a cup of coffee,
a strong one. One that'll motivate me, organize me, inspire me and help
me focus on what is by far the lousiest task ever, doing taxes.
I'm in my kitchen waiting for the coffee to brew and I reflect on the
fact that even though I might be a wacky right-brain touring musician
who stores her important tax documents in brown paper bags, I was smart
enough to hire a left-brain guru, the lovely and talented Mr. Bernstein,
CPA. Ever watchful of my well-being, Mr. Bernstein reminded me that
besides the obvious travel deductions, I should keep track of all my
spending, down to the minutia. He mentioned that I should save every
receipt, as no small white slip of paper would be insignificant if it
kept me from giving unnecessary dollars (or pennies, as the case may
be) to Uncle Sam. I adore Mr. Bernstein.
So here I am with these bags of receipts for things such as a Snickers
bar purchased in a gas station in Ames, Iowa, that I would take as a
meal deduction. I also discover a piece of register tape for a last-minute
emergency stick of deodorant that cost me $8 at the airport gift shop.
I'll deduct this as technical supplies. Mr. Bernstein will be pleased.
After
a few hours of sorting through my National City Bank statements, check
stubs and receipts, I'm thrilled to have the piles all organized. There,
in my Misc. Road Food pile, I was appalled to count 278 receipts for
coffee totaling $889.60. How did this happen? How could I have spent
so much money on coffee, when it's free on airplanes and always available
in hotel lobbies?
Because
I'm a snob. Knowing that I could deduct all those lattes and espressos,
I had unknowingly become a designer coffee junkie with my own Colombian
connection, if you'll excuse the expression. Once my accountant recommended
deducting all road-food expenses, I took that as permission to frivolously
spend my cash on (insert latest trendy overpriced coffee brand name
here), which has become my passion and addiction.
Sure,
I've made several unsuccessful attempts to give up coffee. Who was I
kidding? The headaches and mood swings surpassed any manic or psychotic
episodes one hears about on "Entertainment Tonight." I've
come to the conclusion that if our nation were to give up caffeine altogether,
we'd be an inarticulate and constipated society. I myself barely made
it through 36 hours before queuing up at a Cup O' Joe in shame and defeat
as I ordered a "7:01 am" espresso with a chocolate bar chaser
on the side. After that, I discovered Stauf's and Scottie MacBean, enjoying
different blends among the mugs and muffins.
But I'm
also committed to grinding coffee beans in the privacy of my own home
after sharing a public grinder and causing what I call "The Flavor
Disaster of "79." It was an innocent enough event. A fan of
Hot Spot Colombian beans, I often used the red industrial coffee grinder
located in the cereal, coffee and tea aisle of the Clintonville Kroger.
While shopping one day, I waited my turn watching some woman pour trendy
Swiss Mocha Vanilla Swiss Almond Chocolate Coconut Swiss Water Hydro
Decaf beans into the receptacle of the grinder. From the whirring of
unseen blades wafted a coffee fragrance that would have been terrific,
if you like that Swiss Mocha Vanilla Swiss Almond Chocolate Coconut
Swiss Water Hydro Decaf sort of thing. I couldn't imagine drinking all
that chocolate-almond-coconut chaos. Coffee is such a basic thing, no
extra flavors, no Creme de la Chi Chi, no need for international canisters
of prefab mixtures promising special moments and intimate chats. Just
give me diner coffee, hold the diner.
The giant
Kroger grinding machine finished and the Swiss Mocha Vanilla Creme de
la Chi Chi lady took her candy smelling coffee and continued shopping.
I poured my beans in the grinder, placed the bag under the spout, set
the dial for coarseness and pressed the button. When my beans were done,
1 paid the cashier and hurried home to make myself a fresh cup of coffee.
For a special treat, I used my glass French press. The water boiled
in no time. I measured the grounds, poured the water, stirred the grounds
for the recommended three minutes and pressed the handle-pushing the
grounds down as the water filtered up. I poured heaven into my cup and
took a sip.
Ewww!
I choked on an awful candy taste. There were ghostlike vapors of chocolate-almond-coconut
chaos in my cup. What a drag, I thought, as I threw five pounds of fresh
ground coffee in the trash and vowed to only grind at home.
"The Flavor Disaster of 79" gave birth to my high-performance
Braun bean grinder. This 24-year-old machine has been loyal, faithful,
steadfast and my most treasured kitchen appliance. I've been in denial
that it might be on its last leg; I'd love a new one, but I've got taxes
to pay.
But wait! I have a groundbreaking idea. If I can deduct cups of coffee
purchased and ingested while touring, why couldn't I deduct the coffee
and its accessories that help me write and practice here in my office/studio?
If I spent $889.60 on Java in 2002, why not deduct a new bean grinder
in 2003? Hell, I could buy myself one of those red industrial grinders
like they have at Kroger! Though it's not a piano, a computer or a fax
machine, a bean grinder is very much an integral part of my business
and creative life. I consider it a most valuable work tool.
I search
for the lovely and talented Mr. Bernstein's phone number. Surely he'll
have an answer to this question. But I'm so exhausted from all this
calculating, I think I'll go into the kitchen for a homemade cappuccino.
