My partner, the IRS, is a pain
I operate a one-man writing business. It has its ups and downs but by and large it’s kept as busy as I want it to be. It allows for such pleasures as a nap or the crossword after lunch, a visit to a grandchild, or an extra-long lunch hour with a friend. The office is a few steps away from the bedroom and is fully equipped with computer, fax and telephone. Office hours are 24/7. This doesn’t mean that I am working all the time, but the office is open to anyone who calls. The financing arrangements are simple. I finance everything. I have a partner who makes no contributions at all. When there is a cash crisis, I simply hold back on everything that costs money.
My partner
My partner, aka the Government, alias the IRS, also known as the Income Tax Department and secretly known by me at various times of the month as “The Bloodsucker”, “The Parasite”, “The Thief” and some 4 letter versions of all the above.
The partners meeting
We meet once a year, when I divulge all the intimate secrets of the business. I tell him about my clients and about my new clients. I boast about the amount of work I have been doing and I list the number of articles I have sold in order to properly impress him. He, being the sleeping partner, remains silent. I was at his office this morning. We decided a long time ago to meet there and not in the place where I do the actual work. Unlike my desk which is always covered with stacks of papers, little notes on scraps of paper and the back of coffee-shop napkins and a hundred reference books, his desk is clear, containing only a computer screen and keyboard.
The partnership arrangement
As in all partnerships, we have a partnership arrangement. It is simple and straightforward and is based directly on the sharing of income. This is what led to the argument this morning. After I had formally tabled the trading results for the past year my partner looked at me, smiled, nodded his head in delight and said “thirty-seven point three percent”. I laughed and thumped the table with my fist saying, “very funny indeed! Got any other jokes for me?” “I’ll check it,” he grumbled and went back to the keyboard and the screen and then said, “I beg your pardon, you are right. I made a mistake. Thirty-seven point one percent.” This time I hit the top of his desk with the palm of my hand, sending off a loud bang and causing the keyboard to leap into the air.
My partner is upset
“There is no need for that,” said my partner. “We have an agreement, after all.” “What about your contribution?” I yelled. “What did you do to justify your share?” “I am upset by your attitude,” he said. So my partner is upset? Who cares!
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