Stop the Presses!

 

When last we left the My Jobs thread -

I retooled my career by taking business courses at Berry College (1982 - 1984). Unfortunately, despite stellar grades and high recommendations, the best job I could get was working at Atlanta Seal & Stamp for an insensitive "entrepreneur" who was incredibly nasty and self-centered (see Seal of Destiny). I stayed in that job for less than a year).

I hate looking for other jobs. That's why I often leave because I am forced to. Not the case with American Seal & Stamp. I wanted to get out, restart my career, and maybe get on a course with more opportunities.

So, when a chance to interview at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, I took it. I was hired, interviewed by the assistant controller. The beginning of a salary pattern emerged - the assistant controller offered me slightly more than what I made at my last job. I don't know if it was the norm for everybody, but it certainly was for me. You're not paid based on merit - you're paid based on what they can get away with.

I started out as the newsprint accountant, tracking purchases and inventory levels. I checked how much we used compared to how much we should have used. Think that's a small job? Think of how much newsprint a paper the size of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution uses daily. They published the Constitution every morning, the Atlanta Journal every night, and myriad other local papers and supplements.

One day, not long after I was hired, the newsprint supervisor took me on a tour of the newsprint presses so I could have a better understanding of the process. While he showed me the presses, printing the current edition, the presses suddenly stopped. The newsprint supervisor was puzzled because the run needed to be completed.

Turns out they wanted to change the front plates because of a breaking news event. The Challenger space shuttle had just exploded shortly after taking off. He told me that what happened was an extreme rarity, to stop in the middle of an edition. So, just like in the movies, I witnessed "Stop the Presses!"

The inventory was done perpetually and then checked each month physically. They were kept in separate bays and, as time went on, at two locations, one downtown and one in Gwinnett County.

A forklift lifted me to the top of the stacks, and I counted from there. And yes, I don't like heights. And yes, sometimes the stacks were wobbly.  

The physical inventory had to occur on the last day of the month, and it had to happen between editions. Even if that meant the inventory had to be done on Sunday morning at 4 AM. That was fun.

I learned my first lessons in dealing with layers of corporate bureaucracy and management. The controller met with upper management in the middle of the month, and he would project how the numbers would turn out. Then, when I did my newsprint usage numbers at the end of the month, if they did not conform to his projection, he would send me back to the drawing board until I came up with the numbers he wanted me to come up with.

The controller, someone close to my age, was impressed because he knew I had been a teacher and had chosen to do this instead, that I was willing to take the salary hit to do it. Yeah.  That should have been a warning sign that I may have made a terrible mistake. For most of my career,  a teacher with a master's degree would have made more money than me.

I always tried to make sure I was one of the first ones there and one of the last to leave. I was salaried, so it didn't help me make any more money. I thought it would impress them, but I don't believe they gave a ratatouille.

Eventually, I was named General Ledger Supervisor. I had four people to supervise. The accounting department as a whole had about 100 people. With few brief exceptions, everyone I supervised was a minority, and almost all of them were female. I got along well with most, and I was proud of our work.

One person did not like me. When there was a workplace shooting in the news, she would remark on it positively and insinuate it might be needed here. Upper management wanted me to get rid of her but do so with cause to lessen the likelihood she would sue (which she also delighted in suggesting). My efforts failed until she was tardy a few times, and they used that as an excuse to fire her. She didn't come back with a gun; she didn't sue.

She was extreme, but I understood some of the resentment. The white guy got promoted in a department that was decidedly not white. There was a changeover while I was there in Accounts Payable when their elderly white supervisor retired and was then managed by a very competent young black woman.

While I was there, they introduced personal computers - three or four for a department of 100. I became a leader in using those computers, creating spreadsheets and macro-programs to modernize how the newsprint inventory was kept. But, unfortunately, my reward for this innovation was...nothing.

I wanted to advance my career, so I prepared for the CPA exam. This was an intense two-day, four-part test, and for the first time, I did not prepare well enough. The first time I took it, I flunked all four parts. The second time I paid for a training class, studied my toucas off and passed it all in one sitting.

I was so happy and proud. I went to the assistant controller and will never forget his response -  "No sh--! Why the f-- did you do that?"

I became disenchanted with them, and they became disenchanted with me. They told me I had 90 days to prove I could do better, or they would fire me. Rather than go through that farce, I told them I would go if they would certify my experience with them so I could become a CPA. To get your license, you need either need two years of public or five years of private accounting experience. And that's about what I had with them - five years.

And that's what they did. My CPA certificate was like my golden parachute. Now if I could only parlay that into something greater and grander.

Spoiler Alert:  HAHAHAHAHAHA!

 

Seal of Destiny

 When last we met on the My Jobs thread:

My garden epiphany that led me to realize that I would NOT get to do what I wanted for a living, began a roughly two-year period where I took business and accounting courses at Berry College near Rome, Georgia.

I came out of Berry College with high hopes and even higher grades and recommendations. I was confident that I could go out into the workplace and acquire a high-powered career path that would lead to even more lucrative pay than my aborted teaching career.

I must have been high to think this.

Coming out, I found that most potential employers did not think of me as an accountant but a teacher. This was not the background they wanted. I tried CPA firms from Dalton to Atlanta. I tried private industry.

The most hoped-for job by top accounting graduates was to be hired by one of the top eight accounting firms.* I did have one interview with a large firm in Atlanta; it was a day long, and for most of it, it appeared they were more courting me more than I was them. I thought I had this in the bag. But no job offer ever came.

After a few months in the wilderness, I finally got a job offer from American Seal & Stamp, a small business just at the edge of downtown Atlanta. They were offering $13,500 a year. Does that sound low? Even for 1984, that was rock bottom for someone with six years of college education.

I felt like my Dad had taught me that you must be willing to start wherever you can and work your way up.

I was wrong. When I told my Dad about the job, he thought I was crazy for taking it, and that I needed to hold out to start somewhere else at a higher rung. On the other hand, I felt morally obligated to take it since I told them yes. Over the years, I have realized what a stupid decision it was.

American Seal & Stamp sold mostly corporation kits, which included corporate seals and something called Goes paper, which was used for stock certificates. It contained everything you needed to legally incorporate. Except the lawyer. And the actual incorporation.

American Seal & Stamp was owned by Howard Massell, the ne'er do well brother of former Atlanta Mayor Sam Massell.  But Howard was never there. His day-to-day operations were managed by somebody else. He talked to that manager by phone and sent orders over.

You see, Howard decided to move from Atlanta to avoid, uh, some legal entanglements. He wanted, in part, to leave Atlanta to avoid the temptations of drugs like cocaine. And to accomplish that, he moved to Miami.

I repeat. In order to avoid drugs, he moved to Miami.  

His reputation was as a snarling, self-centered asshole. A legend from before I came was that he visited the company one time, and that the manager was so nervous she had a breakdown that caused her to literally collapse. He emerged from his office, saw her writhing on the floor, and said, "Great! Now, who's gonna take me to the airport?"

And this was my introduction to accounting and the business world. It would not get much better from there.

But have no fear! Your intrepid hero stayed less than a year and was able to parley over to another job, one that rocketed his career to...

Well, that is a tale for next time.

*well, it was The Big Eight at the time. Now it's just the Big Four. Is this a great country or what? And people wonder where inflation and price gouging come from? Hah!

It's Another Manic-less Monday!

 

This view greeted me as I left the carport for my early morning roundabout.

My legs and knees feel much better, thank you very much. They're not perfect, but I am mobile, which feels good!

I just saw my health profile results from a recent testing. Blood pressure? My best reading in years! Blood glucose and A1C? For me, they were much better than I expected! They are still prediabetic readings, and I need to use caution. But I don't think there is a good case for medication. If I'm smart and continue to improve my diet and exercise, I can manage it independently.

Yes, my health situation is pretty good, given my age. My boys are scattered, but they are great people, and I love seeing them when I can. And I am one proud Grandpa!

The following are musings, which some consider negative or whining, so please bail if you don't want to read this stuff. Sometimes I kvetch. Fact of life.

Now that I've sold a large portion of my comic collection and have had some time to relax and enjoy life, I'm thinking about what to focus on next.

I hear about it and also sometimes meet seniors who still work - some out of necessity and some because their personalities drive them to it. For example, the two partners in my old firm may never quit - they wouldn't know how to fill the time if they did.

I don't have a problem with filling time, and Alison assures me that there is no necessity to me working,

Nevertheless, it would be nice to help build up our resources so we could do more traveling. And to provide whatever support we can to help Benjamin in his last year in college and his transition to a career,

Because travel is crucial to what I want to do, tying me to a regular employer and reporting to a workplace on a full or part-time basis doesn't seem very desirable.  

I don't want to do any accounting. I got my fill of that. I served my time in it and don't want to return to it.

If I had to grade my accounting ability, I would give it a gentleman's C. I did enough to contribute and keep a job, but there was no way I was ever going to shine. My natural abilities weren't great, and I would never put in the 12 to 16-hour days that some do in that profession.

I once told my employer that I was probably the lowest-paid full-time CPA in Georgia. He did not disagree. He also did nothing to change it. So, if anyone wonders where my sense of inferiority comes from - waalaa! That's a good chunk of it.

Even though I have given up accounting, I have grandfathered in the Treasurer's position at church. Recently, I have made some mistakes that made me aware of my limited abilities and have left me embarrassed and humiliated. It reminds me of why I no longer want to be an accountant.

I love writing. Most of the time. I would give my writing grade a B+.

But, so what? Many A-grade writers have trouble getting published.

I have shown no ability to market my books. My salesman grade would be a D-. That includes the ability to sell me and a book to a literary agent or publisher.

I have had a few things happen recently that have caused me to question my writing ability, which has shaken my confidence.

Nevertheless, because I love to write, I will continue to do it, and maybe I will stumble on a way to make a little bit of money off it.

I love acting. I would give myself an A grade unless dancing is involved.

Currently, I will be starting rehearsals for Harvey. I am playing the same part I did in 9th grade, that of an 80-year-old Judge. The significant change is, this time, I will need less makeup.

I have never figured out how to make money off of acting. Again, that requires a level of self-promotion I do not possess. There is a TV and movie industry in Georgia. Unfortunately, most of it is farther north of where I am, and the commuting costs would negate whatever meager money I might make.

I can't rule out being an Extra in something someday, but the odds are relatively low.

The one thing I can do at an A+ level is read aloud. Having a podcast, reading for audiobooks, posting children's stories - all that would be the balm. Besides my inadequacies in self-promotion, the only thing that stands in my way is technological issues. Can I, within my own home, create a studio with the right equipment and soundproofing to do what is needed for a quality reading?

There are considerable obstacles to making it work, but if I had my choice, it is what I would love to do.

--------------------

I may not achieve a moneymaking level with any of my creative solutions. But I'm going to try. And that's half the battle.

Or maybe 35%. Who knows? My math/accounting ability is quickly fading.

Anyhoo, y'all have a great day!

Thanks for reading.

I'll keep the blog on for ya!

WKRW in Cartersville: My Second Job in Georgia

 

WKRW in Cartersville.

Just one call letter away from greatness.*  And no Turkey Drop.

My time as Circulation Manager was deeply frustrating. Any creative talents I had were ignored and ridiculed.**

In a rare moment, I followed another opportunity while still employed and not being booted or being under threat of a boot. I could have rocked on at the paper for who knows how long, as long as I understood I would never be promoted or given a more creative role.

The couple that owned WKRW were Don (pictured above) and Ollene Kordecki.  Not only were they radio station owners, they were also the founders of the community theatre group, the Pumphouse Players.

Long-time readers will know of my love of community theatre. It wasn't a done deal, as many may believe. I indeed did quite a bit of theatre in high school, but I did nothing in college and during my first years out of college.

It wasn't until I tried out for Inherit the Wind as put on by The Pumphouse Players that I reengaged with theatre. Inherit the Wind was something I performed a scene of in high school drama class, and I had fallen in love with the play. I tried out hoping for one of the lead lawyer parts but got cast as the teacher on trial for teaching evolution. So here I was, this Michigander just moved south, cast in a part playing a Tennessee school teacher. Don Kordecki was in the play-acting the part of a cynical New York reporter.

The Kordecki's friendship and encouragement steered me into my lifelong passion for community theatre. Soon, I was doing lead parts, and I won the Best Actor award two years in a row, once for a comedy and once for a drama.

Their friendship led me to interview and try for a position at their radio station. And I got it! Networking is King.

Unfortunately for both of us, that position was in sales. You hear about the guy who could sell ice to an Aleutian? I was the opposite. I couldn't sell water to a drought-stricken desert dweller.

I tried. They gave me a list of clients and potential leads to additional clients. Your pay was based on commission - how much ad time your clients bought.  

I don't remember successfully adding new clients. My strongest memory is of a guy who had a large clothing store. I managed to get a lunch meeting with him, but my social studies background, where everything is couched with conditions and uncertainty, caused me to be more couched with my language rather than the glad-handing confidence a salesman exudes. I know that, in my conversation, I used the word assume. I know this because I'll never forget his response, "Do you know what it means to use the word assume? It means you are making an ASS out of U and ME!"

Yes, I know that's an old trope. But it was the first time I had heard it. Needless to say, I did not get any of their advertising dollars.

It was not all doggy downers. Don and Ollene were as kind and as supportive as they could be. And I got to write and perform ads! And they were creative! I thought I added quite a bit of zip to their commercial time using multiple voices and humor.

That part mostly went well. However, one client, a sandwich shop, responded negatively to one of my extravaganzas - "Just tell them what sandwiches we have and where we're at."  Oh, well,  Not everything is a home run.

The music format of WKRW was pop. On weekends, they would do Casey Kasem's Top 40, or a similar countdown. They were known as the WKRW (Wicker) Rocker. Clever.  

Don had a community talk show in the mornings, and occasionally he let me on as a guest to talk about politics. That's right. I was doing political talk radio before anybody else. And no, I wasn't as Progressive then as I am now, but I was still center-left.

I got to interview two politicians. One was Zell Miller, then running as a CENTER LEFT candidate for U.S. Senate, opposing Senator Herman Talmadge in the Democratic primary. The sitting Lieutenant Governor, he at the time seemed very reasonable, certainly a better alternative than the corrupt and racist Talmadge,  and we had an incredible conversion, lasting an hour.  

He lost that election but later became Governor of Georgia. He was one of the best Governors since I've been living here. He helped bring into being the Hope scholarship, one of Georgia's greatest blessings, as it helps cover a good chunk of the tuition for so many of our college attendees. Benjamin has had an advanced lever of it, called the Zell Miller Scholarship, which awards those with higher grades to cover ALL their tuition. 

Along about 2004, Zell, no longer Governor, now a U. S. Senator, took a sharp turn right and became a spitting, foaming, angry conservative. I don't know what happened.  

My second interview was with former Mississippi Governor Cliff Fitch, running for US President in the Democratic primary. Yeah, you don't remember him. Think hard. He's doing interviews with an obscure nobody in the small town of Cartersville, Georgia, the home state of the incumbent President of the United States, Jimmy Carter.

We met at a diner, I think in Woolworth's. He seemed... a little off to me. I wasn't then, nor am I now, an expert on alcohol, but there was a slight smell, and he seemed a little..off. Like Zell Miller, I got the impression he was center-left. But I was not impressed. Neither were the voters. He got 0.25% of the country's Democratic primary vote, and earned zero delegates.

But I did get to interview a presidential candidate. Huzzah!

I was earning less than minimum wage, so it was not something I could keep up. In addition, there was strain in my marriage, and I realized I needed to do something else. The Kordecki's were understanding, but they deserved someone who could make them more money.

So, once again, I found myself looking for something else. Another networking opportunity soon appeared.

I was at WKRW for less than a year.

In researching this, I found out that both Dan and Ollene have since passed away, Don in 2010 and Ollene in 2015. I was greatly saddened to read about this. They were great people, and they meant the world to me. Literally. They opened up the world of community theatre to me, which has been a blessing ever since.

* the very funny TV show, WKRP in Cincinnati.  You don't know it?  OMG, some of you are so YOUNG!

**check out the post Proof of Existence: My First Job in Georgia.

Proof of Existence: My First Job in Georgia

After losing my teaching job at Cass City, I was lost and set adrift. The odds of me ever getting another teaching job were infinitesimal. I was lousy enough at interviews. I couldn't see myself trying to rationalize why I lost my first teaching job. It was a different time. You really didn't get second chances.

I tried my hand at substitute teaching with Bridgeport - a bit of nepotism. Although I didn't mind teaching overall, I hated substituting. It played into all my weaknesses.

Not having anything else, I decided to visit a friend in Atlanta who came from Bridgeport and was a close friend in high school. He had recently broken up with someone who he had been involved with for several years, and I went down in part to console him.

By the time I got there, he had already found a new partner. Through them, I met someone who would become my own partner. Long story short, I soon found myself relocated to the South.

My first job in the South was working as a Circulation Manager for a small daily newspaper in Cartersville, Georgia. It mostly involved managing the newspaper carriers, from boys on bicycles, to redneck couples in pickups, to retirees in jeeps.

It was a rough job for a young guy who was more of a creative type than a skilled, commanding manager. Fortunately, one of the aspects of the job was to run contests and otherwise motivate the delivery staff. I came up with the newsletter you see in the picture above. It contained information about routes, new hires, contests, and more.

It also contained a fictional serial, cartoons, jokes, and whatever else I could think of. It was a  creative outlet for me in a job I was otherwise having a hard time with, and I thought, hey, maybe somebody would notice! Maybe the publisher would take notice and let me write for the paper!

Yes, it was just a hand-typed, pasted together, mimeographed mess. But it was my mess, and I was proud of it. So proud that when it came time for the Southeast Circulation Managers Convention, I proudly entered it in the Best Promotion Contest. I was so excited because there were only two entries and three awards in our paper size group! Woohoo! I was in like Flynn!

The big banquet and awards ceremony capped off the event. It came time to announce the awards for our division. The emcee announced the other entrant as first place but then made a joke to the guy as he came up, that "he was the only entrant in the division." Everyone laughed, and there was no second place. There was no acknowledgment that I had even entered. It was like I wasn't even there at all. Like I didn't exist.

It was also a place where I learned early lessons about Southern culture. 1) People had many acquaintances but fewer close friends. If they invited you to come by for supper, they were often being polite and would be surprised if you actually showed up. 2) African-Americans were more deferential in the South than up North - it was quite embarrassing to experience. 3) Whites on the lower economic rung did not respond well to yelling or arguments - they would become violent, scary quick. I got upset with an adult paper carrier one time and learned quickly to never raise my voice. 4) Most small southern towns are run by what I call the "10%" - these are important family clans with a disproportionate amount of wealth and a family name that commands respect. 5) Even though I had student taught at the heavily Southern Michigan town of Willow Run, it took me a while to get used to the accent. People would call to complain about missing a paper or other delivery complaints, and it took me a long time to figure out what they were saying. I had no idea that the word "Paper" had so many syllables.

Although I did not shine at this job and only stayed about a year, I was not let go. Instead, I left of my own volition for something else. Something I was both more suited for in some ways and less suited for in other ways.

 

Getting Out of Gear

 

The summer between my Junior and Senior year of college, my third job was at Saginaw Steering Gear, a General Motors plant.

Like my previous two jobs, I think my father arranged it for me somehow. I didn't interview. The first interviews I remember was trying to secure a teaching job after I graduated from the University of Michigan. I know. Networking? Probably, on my Dad's part. White Privilege? Not sure. My Dad was definitely white, connecting with white employers. My hard work in promoting myself and seeking a job? Hell, no.

The picture above is one I found on the interwebs. I don't remember if this is the Saginaw plant from the 70s, if it looked exactly like that, but I think it is generically correct.

I remember the parking lot. It was vast. A lot of people worked there. Some in my generation assumed that they would work there, just as their fathers and/or other family members or friends did. But that proved to be elusive. The auto industry was soon in decline in our area.  

Once again, like my work at the pickle factory, it was a night shift job. I was a "floater." I filled in for different workers who were taking their vacations. This meant that every week I was doing something different. Some I did okay. Some I was awful.

Most of the jobs consisted of taking parts from one operation to another. Much of what happened was automated, and I guess we were doing what the machines could not do yet. Most of the jobs were very routine and boring.  

There was often significant downtime between cycles of the machine processes. During these significant gaps, I noticed that some workers were reading. Well, you don't have to tell me twice about finding an opportunity to read. So I brought a paperback and started to fill in the time with my first love.

That was the wrong thing to do. The supervisor called me and blessed me out for reading on the job. I can't remember whether I brought up that others were doing it. There must have been a difference between a full-time unionized employee and a college fill-in like myself.

Not everyone gets to live out a true situation comedy legendary moment. But I did.

One day they decided to let me work on a conveyor line where I was supposed to do something to these small parts that came whizzing down the line.

Within minutes it became clear I could not keep up. And, unfortunately, I could not eat what was coming down the line like Lucy did.

I rendered almost the entire plant to a standstill in less than half an hour.

It wasn't funny. It was terrifying. And it did nothing to enhance my popularity at the plant.

When the summer was over, I was again called into the supervisor's office. He told me that my career there was over and that I would never work at a General Motors plant again.

My first job, Dixie Tool, ended in a meh. My second job, Vlasic Pickles, ended with them wanting me to come back and be in management.

Sad to say, the way the Saginaw Steering Gear job ended became more the norm rather than the exception.

It's hard for me to tell for sure, but I think Saginaw Steering Gear closed, maybe in 2001? Unfortunately, I haven't been able to find clear Googled information about it.  

I did make good money there, probably four times as much per hour as I had made at the pickle factory. I made enough to buy my first car, one I could use at college to get back and forth from my student teaching assignment. It was a 1976 (or 77) Honda Civic, and it cost a whopping $3300. And yes, friends, that was a NEW car!

That's just a picture of a 1977 Honda Civic. It's something I found on the interwebs. All I remember is that it was blue. I like blue. What am  I driving today? A 2012 gray Honda Civic. I can't always get blue, I guess.

That completes my memories of my third job. But, as usual, memory is a tricky thing, and I'm sure others will not hesitate to correct me where those memories go astray.

My First Job: Toolin' with Dixie

 It's gone.

I couldn't find anything on the interwebs about the first place I worked. I believe it was called Dixie Tool & Die. The picture above is generic and is from another company (I think).

This may be connected to them.  It hits what they did - a specialty machine shop custom-making tools. Those certainly look like the variety of tools that I saw.

My first job began in my Junior year of high school.  I don't remember any interview process.  It's something that my Dad arranged.  Yes, most of my early jobs were obtained by my Dad (our high school Principal) through networking.  White privilege!  Woohoo!

It was not far from the high school, down a road called Dixie Highway.  I think at one time, before interstates, it was a road that could be taken all the way to the South.  But that might be a false memory.

I got there after school and worked until my Dad picked me up coming out of his work sometime after 5. As the job progressed, I may have eventually used a family car to get there and back.  I did not have my own car until I was a Senior in college.

I was a shipping clerk.  I would prepare the tools for shipment.  That might involve dipping them in some sort of plastic goo that helped protect them from breakage in transit.  Some I had to stencil stuff on. There was quite a bit of diversity in what they made and what the tools needed to be safely packaged and shipped.

The individual orders would stack up, waiting for me to process them.  I was careful but very slow.  If I did something that would cause them to do the tools over again, that would cost them a lot of money.  I don't remember screwing up that badly, but I do remember being terribly slow.

I don't remember too many names.  My immediate boss was Lee (?) something.  He was a very nice man, and always patient and kind to me.  There was an older lady who was like a shipping secretary. And there was an older man who used to bring the tools up from the shop would sometimes joke with me. I don't remember ever seeing the owner.

The job fit a pattern that would be more true than not throughout my work career - I was good enough to survive but not good enough to thrive or survive.  I show up. I work as hard as I can.  Generally, I found the work world 80% tedious, 15% revealing my inadequacies, 4% social, and way less than 1% rewarding.

I'm guessing at wages, but my best estimate was starting at $0.90 an hour and maybe working my way up to $1.10 an hour after almost two years there. I could be wrong.  Maybe it was $1.90.  These were the early 70s.  What can I say?

When I left for college, we networked out the job to my neighbor, Randy Bloomfield, who was a year behind me in school.

He was more social than I was.  He was quicker than I was. In his time there, he more than doubled the hourly rate.

I tried to do my best.  I tried to be as responsible as I could be. I did as well as I could, given my limited coordination and muted social abilities.

It wasn't a great victory.  It wasn't a huge loss.

It was a sign of things to come, of my tenuous grip on the world of work.

Time Ticking Towards My Accounting Career's End

Two more days!

My accounting career ticks towards its conclusion.  The clock pictured above was seen on our weekend's visit to Athens and the Georgia Museum of Art.  More on that later!  I have several posts I'm planning once I have the time to properly compose them.

I'm mostly at the batting clean-up stage.  Organizing my office so it can be used by somebody else.  I have personal items that I need to take home, including gnomes and Spider-Man.  I've already discovered I have an It's A Boy! cigar from my co-worker Dean, and an It's A Girl! bubble gum cigar, which he passed out 16 and 14 years ago, respectively.

What can I say?  Over 22 years with the same employer, you tend to accumulate some things.

Do I have any regrets?  I hope the firm and the clients I worked with can make the adjustments, but honestly, I'm not in control of that anymore.  Alison has been rock solid in her support.  And I am looking forward to this stage in my life.

Do I hope to make some income with other opportunities?  That would be sweet, but it's not absolutely mandatory at this point.  I'm taking a couple of months to filter through things and see what it is I'd really like to do.

One thing I'm sure of?  Whatever it is, it won't be in accounting.  

I'm not sure everyone has fully grasped that yet.  I'm not just leaving Higginson & Paulk - I'm leaving accounting.

Not to be mean, but if you have any accounting or tax questions, please ask someone else.  I am done.  I am out.

It's time to start afresh!

 

We Interrupt This Blog for an Important Personal Announcement

 

No, I promise this announcement isn't sad, at least to me. It is personal and may not be a big deal to others, but it's a big deal to me.

As of October 28th, I am leaving my employer, Higginson & Paulk, and retiring full-time from accounting.

I've been in accounting for the last 36 years (excluding a few months break where I co-owned a bookstore).  I've been at my current employer for 22 years and about 5 months.

I am 66 years old.  I've been semi-retired for over four years.

It was just time to move on.

I confess.  I don't really like accounting, as any careful reader of this blog might be able to figure out.  I've actually been trying to figure a way out of it since I was 40.  

Why so long in it?  Because as little as I make from it, it's something I can do and contribute to the family income.  I am a true Gemini with a dual nature.  I am a dreamer, but I am also a responsible family man.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't, but I am a person who thrives on high praise. Accounting is not a profession that generates accolades (at least at my level of performance).  This reaffirmed my general low self-esteem.

I have, over the years, tried to balance this with community theatre, which, for me, can be a high praise activity.  I feed off the energy from the audience, and I am charged up by their applause.  One of the things I was grateful about accounting is that it allowed me to have most evenings free to practice and perform in plays.

I would periodically get fed up with my work in recent years, and I would ask Alison, "Can I retire from accounting now?"  She would hem and haw, and even if positive, couch it with caveats.

A few weeks ago, something happened that just made me realize that I had reached my fill mark.  I couldn't do this anymore.  I texted Alison, asking if I could leave yet, and this time she said, "Let me check the numbers." She did so at lunch and then texted me back, "Yes, Tom, Yes, you can!"

Over the next two weeks, as I presented pros and cons, she never hesitated.  She was all-in. I could leave, and we would be fine.

I composed a resignation letter to send to the firm partners.  Before I sent it, I had Alison look it over.  This was her last chance to change my mind.  She quickly approved the letter, and I then did one of the most dramatic things I've done in years - I sent it.

I'll write more later, but I'm still going into the office, and now I need to do that.

I will say that although I'm retiring from accounting, I am not retiring from life.  I have plans and dreams, and hopes.

Will I accomplish them all?  Probably not.

But I will now have the canvas to paint them on.

Down on a Wednesday

 

Saturday Night Live has been on a long time.

And I have been there since the beginning.

One of my favorite bits from the early years was from a satirical commercial about dog treats, one  called Puppy Uppers, and the other was Doggy Downers.  It was making fun of how we were losing control of our pharmaceutical industry, and there was now a drug to help with any mood, even for our pets.

Things have skyrocketed since then, and drug advising has taken over television.  They promote tons of drugs to affect every mood or whim.  It's weird because these have to be prescribed by a doctor.  Do they think you're going to go to a doctor hyped up on these commercials and insist he prescribes it for you?  I guess so; otherwise, it doesn't make any sense.

👉 IMPROPERLY DONE SEGUE👈

So, as I have tried to warn my faithful few, not all of my posts can be Puppy Uppers. Some of them are Doggy Downers. 

I occasionally tend to depression.  Yes, even in the midst of these, I recognize how blessed I am. I have a beautiful family, relatively good health, and a stable life.  I have been able to indulge my passion for storytelling, even if it has not been particularly remunerative.

In fact, "not particularly remunerative" could be a major theme of my life. Without getting specific, I have never made what most of you think I have made.  I have pretty much been at the low end of the spectrum all my life.

I had a period where it was hard for me to keep an employer for very long.  That is more customary now, but it wasn't so much back then.  Most of my jobs were only a year or so, with two jobs topping out at about five years each.

Starting in June 1999, however, I have been fortunate enough to have the same employer through the present day.  That's 22 years in the same job.  It has provided base security, and it has been pleasant not to have to look for another job. I hate the application and interview process and am glad to avoid it.  

I am not a raging success at what I do.  I have been adequate enough to keep my job, and I do the best I can.  But there has been no upward momentum to what I do.  I have settled.

I have struggled for years now, trying to slowly break away from accounting and do more things that I love to do, with the hopes that some of them may replace some of the income I've lost.

That has not gone well.  When I first started this, I think some looked at me like a child who's just made a mudpie, and they pat him on the head and say patronizingly, "Good boy!" thinking all the time what a ridiculous waste of time.  Some just believed that I was indulging myself, and nothing would ever come of it.

They were right.  It may or may not be true that my writing/acting/voiceover stuff is too mediocre to succeed, but right or wrong, I think that what holds me back is the same thing that holds me back in accounting - a complete inability to engage in self-promotion and belief in one's self.

I don't know where to go from here.

My recent blog experiment was very disheartening.  I posted nothing new in April to see what the bottom line viewership numbers would be.  It was about 950 views.  Then in May, I posted 12 new blog posts.  Total viewership was about 1350.  Yep, the difference between trying and not trying was ... 400 more views.

I can't make money off my blog.  I've been permanently banned from advertising due to an error in judgment I made about a decade ago.  And it is my understanding that blogs are now considered old-fashioned and not the way you do things.

My fiction writing has crashed to a standstill.  I can't seem to carve out the time to write fiction - my schedule varies too much, and fiction writing requires more space.

I have a completed book that I'm too scared to send to publishers and agents.

My experiments in audio recordings on YouTube have been abysmal, even children's storytelling, which I'm supposed to be good at.

I haven't been in a play in a long time. I have nightmares that I go back to do a play, and it's not the usual "I don't know my lines" dream, but a "nobody likes you and wants you back in the theatre" dream.

And I've done nothing to be an extra or a very minor parts actor in Georgia's burgeoning film industry because I am too timid to make the basic steps to make that work, and I am depressed about my weight, age, and appearance.

There are no solutions here.

Just a major league kvetching.  I have to do that from time to time.

I promise a Puppy Upper fairly soon.

Back in the Wednesday Wandering Saddle

 

Whew!

Formatting problems fixed!

Anyone who wonders what I'm talking about should look at the previous post.  Somehow, it flipped to HTML view instead of compose view.  But I figured out how to flip it off and return to compose.

ARRRRE YOU READY TO WANDER?

Woke up.  Got out of bed.  Dragged a comb across my....naw, I didn't do that.  What do I care what my hair looks like when I get up?

The first thing is to let the dog posse out and prepare their food bowls. I also do the cat creature.  I have to put her up on a table in the study to eat it, so the dogs won't get to it.  She is now too old and fat to jump onto the table, so I have to lift her up/

Ellie and Cocoa Bear get dry food, as does Pixie, although hers is a different food with smaller pebbles.  Boss-A-Man gets a mix of easy-to-chew-softer foods, as Boss-A-Man has very few teeth left.

I take Cocoa Bear for a walk in the mornings.  My foot/leg pains are acting up right now, so it's a bit of a challenge.  I know I don't get enough exercise, so as excruciating as it may be, I still feel the need to barrel through it.  Walking is painful, but I don't think it makes things worse.  I could be wrong.

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I'm trying to discipline my work schedule to help give myself a little more routine.  I am taking Wednesday and Friday off.  This does not always fit the workflow, but I am determined to do it unless there is an emergency deadline.

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Mask policy has completely disintegrated wherever I go. I can't even say what's right or wrong anymore.  I will still wear a mask in most public situations.  

I was in Kroger Monday, and the sign in front now says that vaccinated people do not need to wear masks in the store.  I wore mine anyway, out of habit, mostly.

While looking at a display of prepared fruit, a guy nearby saw me and started to engage in conversation.  He told me that he had done nothing to protect himself through this whole pandemic and had not gotten sick.  He attributed this miracle to God.

Disregarding the theological issues, one thing was clear.  This man was obviously unvaccinated, and he also was not wearing a mask.  

And that's the way I think it will be.  Most of those you see with masks are vaccinated because they were responsible enough to care about themselves and others.  In my opinion, the majority of those unvaccinated were not caring enough to wear a mask before - why should they now because we're on an "honors" system?

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Speaking of going into maskless situations, I plan to attend an OHC Writer's Guild meeting Thursday night.  I have some fear and trepidation, but I will do my best to control that.  I also intend to do all I can to avoid leadership positions.  I don't need the stress.

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I have had recurring dreams about being in public situations, and no one except me is masked.  Most of these have involved our church.  That nightmare came true last Sunday.  We had a vestry meeting Thursday trying to reestablish mask policy, accommodating the shifting guidelines of the diocese.  I thought that we had decided to continue wearing masks rather than putting special conditions on the unvaccinated.

That's not what happened.   On Sunday, it was decided before everyone got there that everyone there was vaccinated, so we didn't have to wear masks.  I tried to keep mine on for a while, but I soon gave up.  It's very confusing.  I know, for me, the mask may no longer be necessary, but it's been a way of life for over a year.

I'll get over it.  Eventually.

Wanderingly Yours,

T. M. Strait

A Season Delayed

 

I so want to get tax season over with. 

But no such luck.

The IRS has delayed the individual tax deadline to May 17th.

Even though I have been semi-retired, I have been generally respectful of major tax deadlines, particularly centered around March 15, April 15, and October 15th.  This has not always been easy, especially in the spring, when Alison usually has a week-long break in early April.  So, we never went anywhere, or spent much time together, during that period.

This year, I can't do it.  I have to buck tradition,  The sudden month delay has caught me exposed.

Now that major parties involved are or will soon be vaccinated, we set in stone our plans to visit family in Michigan.  On the way back, we will visit my son and daughter-in-law in metro Atlanta.

Benjamin gets out of school on May 7th.  We want him to be able to get a summer job, and once he does that, he is not likely to be able to travel. And this is the week that my sister has been able to set for us to come to Michigan.  

Do I feel a little guilty about leaving the week of the deadline?  Yes.

Is it going to make me cancel my plans, and have to potentially wait another year to go to Michigan? No.  It's been far too long since we've been up.  The grand-niece we saw at almost one year old is now in school.  And there are three more (grand niece and grand nephews) we've not even seen.

Sorry, IRS.  Please forgive me, Higginson and Paulk.

I know the deadline changed, but I'm going to need to make this trip.

The Tax Deadline That Wasn't: Keeping Your Distance 14

Our little garden, as observed this morning.

Has it grown in the couple of weeks since planting?

This is as it was initially planted. 

I'll let you be the judge.

Typically, in my profession, there is a great sigh of relief, as the dreaded April 15th deadline has now left the building.

Not this year.

The first tax deadline for individual returns was extended to July 15th.  We still had returns come in, but it was nowhere near the level of prior years.

Much of the slack of this was more than taken up by assisting businesses and non-profits with applications for PPP (Payroll Protection Program) and EIDL (Economic Injury Disaster Loan).  I don't usually name names, but two of the staff have to be noted for putting effort above and beyond the normal call to duty, Ronald Paulk and Chris Arney.

Many of these vital loans are lost in a maze and haze of bureaucratic mess and overload.  I know that many are frustrated by the delay in receiving these.  All I can tell you is that your accountants and local bankers are working hard to prod the process to completion.  Yes, I'm not always the banker's best friend in my commentary, but I really feel like they're trying as hard as they can to meet the ever-shifting paperwork requirements to get this to those who need as quickly as they can.  

I'm not even assigning a lot of blame to Congress.  Could it have been thought out better?  Sure.  But they had to do it quickly.  Speed was more important than pretty.  Given the bitter divisions between parties, it was a miracle we got what we did.

Look at the bright side.  At least you're not waiting for these loans so that HE can slap his name on it.  At least you're not one of those waiting for a check in the mail because HE held them so HE can add HIS signature to them, delivered via USPS, a service he wants to gut and cripple and hijack to a more expensive private system.

This does represent a downturn in the number of hours that I will work.  I want to contain accounting to a couple of days a week, especially during this stay at home period.

Today I go into the dentist.  I know.  I'm bad.  But Monday, I had my one and only dental work (except for a few filled cavities), a crown, fall out while eating a grilled Chick-fil-a nugget.  I didn't even know that was possible.  So, I'm in some pain and have to eat and drink out of one side of my mouth, and therefore have to do something.

I probably won't be able to wear a mask when they re-attach it.  Or whatever they do. God, I hope they don't have to make a new one.

I just hope the crown is still under warranty.

Bazaar Weekend Monday Musings

It was a Bazaar Weekend!

Yes, it was our church Bazaar Saturday, with a wide variety of vendors.  There were lots of arts and crafts,  healthy food advice, artists, pet rescue, and somehow I slipped in there too, selling my self-published books.

The crowd was steady and friendly, and I sold four books. It sounds pathetic, but for me, that was actually pretty good. My inventory of books on hand is dwindling, and I may not re-supply until next year.

That's me.  I'm huge.  My belly is practically on the table.

Saturday was our wedding anniversary, and we went out to eat after the bazaar to L.L. Creek 'n' Bean (I may not have the name quite right).  In my latest effort to lose weight, we did split one appetizer, on entree and two sides.  It was a grilled chicken entree, Blackberry Chipolte Chicken, and it was delicious.

The restaurant was crowded with kids from baseball teams (baseball in November?), and some kids were given free reign, with team members and younger siblings raising hell at their own tables, while the adults (adults, coaches, etc.) sat at different tables indulging in adult beverages, ignoring much of the chaos. It was noisy, but we could still hear each other.  For the most part.

We then saw the movie Doctor Sleep, based on the Stephen King book, and is an extension of the story in The Shining, featuring the boy Danny Torrance all grown up, played by Ewan McGregor, who was able to tap into both the Shine and the Force (he played Obi-Wan Kenobi in the second Star Wars trilogy).  It was a long but enjoyable movie.

Sunday was church, and then later, our continued attempts to watch For All Mankind - more on that in a subsequent blog post.

Today I need to leave early (for the new semi-retired me) to continue to learn the church Treasurer function.  Yes, Alison and I volunteered to take that over.  I have sworn to remove myself from accounting as much as I can, with the goal of putting it entirely behind me, but I find it sort of like trying to quit the mob -  every time I try to get out, they pull me back in!

Until next time,

T. M. Strait

Patriotic Monday Musings

Huzzah!

It's the Fourth of July .... week!  This one is going to stagger a bit.  Not everyone is celebrating on Thursday.

On our way home from our vacation, we passed a town that looked like it was gearing up for fireworks last Friday night!

When I took the dogs out last night, I heard them stressed and barking.  Sure enough, somebody in the neighborhood was launching amateur fireworks.  Fortunately for us, our four dogs don't get too intense about fireworks, but I feel sorry for those who have pets that do.

And it's especially bad for those with bad reactions, as it looks like there may be sporadic fireworks ALL WEEK LONG!

I am not a big fan of fireworks.  I don't hate them.  I just don't find them that interesting.  Not much of a plotline.

When we were in Niagra Falls at the beginning of our vacation, they were going to have fireworks by the Falls that night.  we tried to stay awhile for them, but when it got to 9, we decided to go back to the motel room.  From our room, at around 10 PM, we could see some of the fireworks, but I quickly lost interest.  Sorry.

--------------------------------

Canada has its own national celebration, Canada Day, today.  When we were returning to the states, we had to wait longer at the border, because apparently, a good number of Canadians like to celebrate their long national weekend by coming into the United States.

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To me, the Fourth is a celebration of the beginning s of the formation of the USA, and the journey towards greater civil rights and democracy that is its goal.  The military is an important part of that, but not to upset some, it is only part.  Many individual citizens, including unionists, suffragists, and abolitionists, are all a part of the struggle to push this nation towards achieving its ideal.

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There are vacation blog posts coming!  I have to consolidate our pictures, from myself, Alison and Benjamin, and then I have to organize and theme the stories.

-------------------------------

Alsion and Benjamin have the week off.  I have to work at least some in the early part of this week.  In fact, I should be wrapping up to get to work for a little while.  Sigh.  How did I, a semi-retired person, get a shorter vacation than my spouse who works full-time?  Oh, well. 

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Being in Canada, land of universal health care, Trump made me want to stay there.  Elizabeth Warren and Kamala Harris inspired me to come back home.

-------------------------------------------------


Anyhoo, better wrap this up and get those work hours started and done!

I Love Home

For those who don't like me to be negative about myself, you may want to skip this one.

But I'm not going to be too negative.  I promise.

When I moved to my new schedule, a semi-retirement that began in August 2017, I really wasn't sure what that would mean, what changes it would make in what I do or don't do.

The number one thing I have discovered -

 I love being at home.  

I used to go to different evening activities.  I had to go to Waycross to work, and it was easy to transition into a Waycross area event.  I would just leave work and go.  Most of the organizations, especially theatre, were Waycross based. I would get out of work at 6 PM or later, and just go directly to whatever it was.

Now some days I am in Blackshear.  And I don't want to leave.  Going into Waycross seems such a burden.  Even on days that I do go into work, I rarely stay until 6.

I continue to go to OHC Writer's Guild meetings, like the one I have tonight.  That one is tough because the group is shrinking instead of growing, and I don't know what to do to reverse it. But I tough it out anyway. 

I haven't been in a play for a while.  Ostensibly, I was only going to participate in productions that Benjamin wanted to be in, but that was only part of it.  I liked being at home.  Somehow, the idea of being gone so many nights bothered me.  

Acting parts that suit me are becoming rarer and rarer.  Even parts that fit me are sometimes being given to younger actors.  I still think I'm talented, but...okay, I don't have a really good explanation for it.  

I did see pictures of me in Cuckoo's Nest from last Fall, and some of them startled me.  I've always been stocky, but I had not realized I now had a basketball.  I would really like to deal with that before I go onstage again.

My weight is making me feel very self-conscious.  I have tried to make improvements in my life to deal with it, but so far, nothing has taken hold.  It's not easy, but I'm not giving up.  If I can modify just twenty to fifteen pounds, I might try out for Murder on the Orient Express in the Fall.  If  I can bring myself to leave the house that much.  But let me reassure any director - if I try out for a play, it means I am 100% committed to it and will be an attendance leader. 

It's been hard getting a rhythm.  Sometimes I work more than at other times (tax season and an August audit).  Sometimes I work more in the morning - sometimes more in the afternoon.  As a creature of habit, it's been hard to be consistent when I do things, like with writing or other projects. 

Being home is so comforting.  I'm with my dogs and my books and my hobbies and the magic streaming TV, and even if I'm not carefully scheduled and organized, it feels good to have some space for once.  I worked very hard for a long time in a profession that was not a good expression of who and what I am, and it feels good to step away from that.  Do I wish I could step away full time? Of course I do.  Is it likely to happen with a mortgage and a boy fixin' to start college?  No, it is not.

But I do have more time at home.  And I cherish it.  Maybe I'll balance things out better.  Maybe I won't. Right now, I'm going to do my best to enjoy the way things are.  I won't stop dreaming, but I'll also try to enjoy what I've got.  

Because what I got is a lot.  A lot of the basketball can go, but the rest is pretty sweet.

My Second Job: In a Pickle Vat

What is the strangest job you've ever had?

I don't know how strange it is, but it was the farthest out of character from the way most people view me now.

I spent two summers working at a Vlasic's Pickle Plant in Bridgeport, Michigan.

As usual, it wasn't my 'pounding the pavement' or brilliant interview skills that got me the job.  It was my Dad.  He used his community connections (he was principal of the high school) to get me in the door.  Ever heard of white privilege?  Yeah, something like that.

It may have been connections that got me there, but it wasn't like it was a plum job.  It was night shift.  It was hard work.  It was for very little pay.  It qualified as farm labor, and at that time, that meant you could pay lower than minimum wage.  My best memory of the wage was $2.15 an hour.  But that was a long time ago, and my memory might be faulty.  It certainly was below what many of my other high school compatriots were being paid.

Early on, I got assigned the job of cleaning out a relish vat.  It was extraordinarily dirty and messy, and I would scrape it with a shovel.  I could hear the sound of forklifts while I was down in it.  I feared that they would forget that I was inside the vat and that they would dump a fresh batch of pickles and whatever other ingredients they used to make the relish.  I don't think I would have improved the flavor of it.

Some days I would help with the assembly line.  Some of the jars would not seal right, and it was my job to take them off the line and set aside to be rerun through.  One time I did that when they were processing jars of hot peppers.  We were a home of non-spicy bland diets, so I had no idea of the properties of hot peppers, or more importantly, hot pepper juice.  To grip the jars, my hands got into the hot pepper juice.  Here's a special thing that I later came to understand about hot pepper juice - IT BURNS!  OMG, IT BURNS!  I had to sleep that night with my hands in a bowl of water. 

Sleeping during the day was difficult, but I slowly got adjusted.  It got to be that the highlight of my day was waking up in time to watch Match Game at 3 PM.  Between that and a meal, I was usually soon out the door for another 12-hour shift.

Sometimes I had sweeping duties in the warehouse.  Sound like light work?  Not when you uncover a broken jar of pickles that may have been lying there for days, maybe months or years.  You haven't lived until you experience the look and smell of what appears to be an 87-year-old pickle.

Most nights I worked at the line end, where cartons of pickle jars would come down the line, and we would take them off and palletize them.  At first, I was slow and clumsy, barely able to keep up and hold my own weight.  But gradually I got better, good enough that our four-person team could let two people do the job while two others rested.  We had about fifteen to twenty-minute shifts, trading back and forth.  Yes, that gave me a little time to read, which I thought was absolutely awesome.

I got to know many of the people there, at least as well as an introvert knows anybody.  I was well-liked, by the workers and management. 

I worked there for two summers.  At the end of the second, the management asked me to come back as a supervisor.  That did not happen.  I was a college student and had other plans besides working at a pickle plant.

No, I should not have taken their offer.  But...I was young and did not know how rare that would be in my life.  To be brutally honest, until Higginson & Paulk where I will have been employed 20 years this June, about one-third of my jobs I quit for other things, and about two-thirds of my jobs I was either fired or given the slow nudge out the door.  Only one of my jobs did the employer make an offer to keep me, and that was from a man whose moral compass would give Trump a run for his money.

Job success has been hard to come by in my life.  Part of that is natural incompetence, and part is an innate lack of confidence.

But the pickle factory?  That was a hard experience, but a successful one.  I didn't realize at the time how rare that would be.

We Interrupt This Blog.....

We interrupt this blog for an important commercial.......


Recording!

No, there's no pictures.  I was just too darn excited and into it to remember to take any.  Durn!

What was I excited about?

I mean I just spent the day in the office.  Like thousands of days over the past thirty years, me and math and columns and organization, pen and paper, computers and spreadsheets, carefully containing emotion, expression, and imagination.

What was different about this day at the office?

I WAS AN ACTOR IN A COMMERCIAL!!!

Sorry.  I said that louder than I was expecting.

Two friends from my theater experiences, Darren Council and Jody Rollins, were kind enough to think of me and include me in a commercial they were preparing. It's one that they were preparing for a contest, selling a certain snacky item (two of it's more popular flavors are cool ranch and nacho cheese).

Darren was in a play with me several years ago and has since gotten involved with the movie industry, including video crew work, most recently on Avengers: Endgame (anyone heard of that film?).  Jody Rollins is a gifted musician, a featured player in different bands, and a sound artisan.  This may have been a contest entry, but it was being put together by gifted, experienced professional craftsman.  In the past, Darren has had winning entries.

The commercial needed an office setting, and I was very grateful that my firm was willing to participate.

After reading the script, I was surprised at how well the small board room we had fit the needs of the commercial.   There is a fishing/boating theme running through the commercial, and our boardroom has a nautical theme.  Homerun!

The commercial took about three hours to record, for an end product that would be about thirty seconds.  This elderly slice of ham did his best to say his lines right and "hit the spot." 

It was fun.  I was so grateful to be involved.  I have waited so long for this sort of thing that I had kind of given up.  Even now, I'm trying to not get my hopes up.  I don't want to put myself in a position to be disappointed yet again.

Anyways, for one afternoon, it was something to pretend that I was someone that I was not.  Or maybe, it was a joy to be someone I had always thought that I could be.

I stayed later than usual at work, so I was late coming home.  This time, however, coming home later was a completely different feeling.  Instead of saying "Honey, I'm late, trying to finish up those damn spreadsheets.", I got to say -

"Honey, I'm late.  I was busy finishing up my performance in a commercial!"

WOO-HOO!!!

Dimming Senses: Flash Fiction Friday

I cannot see the rainbow at the end of the forested gold.

I cannot hear the wind that is spinning the turbines of a new age power.

I cannot smell the drafts of befouled air spewed out by industrial giants.

I cannot touch the crisp sheet on the dreamer's bed.

I cannot taste the swirling spirit of your beautiful soul.

My senses have been dimmed, my being overloaded by the taxation of numbers.

Damn!

When is this tax season gonna end?



Man, that was definitely flashy but I don't know how fictiony.  More like a nonsensical prose poem.

I had to try.  Maybe a little too soon, but I am beginning to see/hear/smell/touch/taste that tax season may actually to move towards the exit. 

Be brave!  Soon I may be able to play a favorite game - CREATE YOUR OWN SPRING BREAK!!!

Back in the Old Sub

Every time I try to get out, they pull me back in .... and under.

Semi-retired or not, this is the time of year I put in the most hours at work.  And I find even with the time I am putting in, I'm still fogging over and finding it difficult to concentrate.  I operate in a fog most of the time.  Fiction writing has disappeared, and I can only pray that it comes back after April 15th.

There has been a lot of talk about what effect the tax changes passed in December 2017 had on taxpayers.

My sample is not huge.  Still, I've seen more than most of you.  And I'll tell you this -

It's a mixed bag.

Some stayed about the same.  Some were worse off.  A few did better.

The biggest things I've seen?

1)  Many people who use to itemize, don't pass the new threshold now.  People are still submitting their itemized deductions, but a good number no longer cross the threshold where it makes sense to use them.  For me personally, until the tax law changes again, it makes no sense to even keep track of things like mortgage deduction, charitable contributions, property taxes and such.  I'm not sure how many understand that those things may not be useful anymore.

2) The loss of personal exemptions mute some of the benefit of the increase in the standard deduction.  Many don't understand that the parade of dependents does not help to the degree that it used to, especially if those dependents are over the age of 16.  There is a $500 credit for dependents over 16.  On the other hand, the child dependent credit for 16 and under is now up to $2,000 so those with children may have seen a drop in the bottom line owed.

3) The Trump administration wanted to upfront the potential tax reduction impact of their plan, so they adjusted the tax withholding tables for wage-based employees in a way that most increased their paychecks.  Even so, the adjustment was too small for most taxpayers to notice, but they did notice it's other effect - some found that although their total tax responsibility might be slightly lower, their refund was reduced from what they were used to, or they actually had to pay in.  Those who claimed a plethora of dependents on their W-4 were in the worse shape.

4)  For those who usually do qualify for itemized deductions, even with the higher threshold, some may have found some of their deduction categories capped.  The amount you can take for different taxes - property, state, local, etc., - is capped at $10,000.  That's high by middle-class standards, but I have seen some returns limited by it.  One person had an unusually high tax year in 2017, and with their income more routine in 2018, are unable to take the full deduction on the large amount of state taxes they had to pay the prior year.

5)  If you are a wage slave and paid for some of your work expenses yourself  - too bad, so sad.  That deduction is gone.  On the other hand....

6)  If you are self-employed or get your income primarily through a partnership or 1120S corporation -  woohoo!  There is a new deduction that takes off 20% of your NET income!  I had one taxpayer whose income was mainly through self-employment (Schedule C) and 1120S (a type of corporation where the income flows through to individual returns), and with similar income compared to the prior year, saw their total tax bill go down by about ... 20%!

All of this relates to the age-old question - WHAT ABOUT ME?

Sorry to interrupt that thought, but I have to ask - WHAT ABOUT THE COUNTRY?

The tax code changes reduce the amount of incoming tax revenues by an ungodly huge number, thereby massively increasing the nation's deficit spending.  The benefits are focused almost exclusively on the wealthiest of our taxpayers (not something I see much of in the returns I do - we have some well-off people, but I don't prepare anyone's return that is in this category), further super-charging the income gap. 

The economy is good (albeit beginning to slow), but the long term prognosis of this kind of concentration of wealth is not promising.  There is already pressure to make up the difference by further cutting programs that help the working poor and the middle class. 

There is a lot more I could say in this regard (and those who faithfully follow my blog probably have already read it), but the old clock on the wall is telling me it is time to hoof it to work once again.

File away, America!  We CPAs will do the best we can to help you through it!

And after that, I can return to the wonderful world of fiction!