TheBanyanTree: Surviving an Audit

[Monique Colver]

Friday started way too early, with me waking up in a hotel room, alone,
surrounded by bank statements, investment statements, spreadsheets, a
laptop, and those plastic file folder thingies. I’d been up till 3, putting
numbers in columns and reconciling them with numbers in other columns on
other spreadsheets.


                I fear it sounds like more fun than it is.


                In order to give you the full effect, let me back up.


                I’d driven to Seattle Wednesday, arriving in the early
evening. Sleep was fleeting, a few hours only, because in the morning I’d
be meeting with an IRS auditor and my client, and I’d had only a few days
to prepare.


                Not that there’s anything wrong with the IRS. Except that
we’re sworn enemies. Well, on my side. I don’t think they’re aware of the
situation. I’d never been audited, and I’d never been to an audit. At least
not an IRS one. And I’d notified the client that I might not be the best
choice to be at the audit, that maybe he needed an EA, or a CPA, or someone
who had a clue what they’re doing. I’m what’s known as an unenrolled
preparer. What that means is that the IRS doesn’t take me seriously.


                That’s okay, because I often don’t take myself seriously
either. I don’t do a lot of tax returns – my clients who want me to,
mostly, and a few who’ve self-referred themselves to me.


                Thursday morning, 9 am, the audit started at my client’s
condo. The three of us, the auditor, the client, and me, spent the day
going over things, such as: the client’s business, what the client did, how
the client did it, how many people the client did what he does for, when he
started doing what he does, what he did before, the bus schedule, the
client’s skylight in the kitchen, the virtues of Mercedes convertibles (the
client has one, the auditor used to, before he sold it), the cost of boats,
the economy, How to Find a Job (Home Depot is hiring!), taxpayers who don’t
plan ahead, taxpayers who live on credit and then can’t pay for it . . .


                The auditor brought his own lunch, and the client made
grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for me and him (me and him?). And
we laughed. With an auditor! I’d say to the client, “Dear, do you have the
2010 sales over there?” and the client would say, “Right here!” because he
is amazingly well organized.


                I did not call the auditor dear. I called him Jay.


                Jay had his laptop, and I had mine, and sometimes the
client had his, if I needed to print something. Jay and I sent the client
to the bank to pick up some missing bank statements, and by 3 we’d made
much progress, as well as learned a lot about Jay.


                As far as IRS auditors go, we lucked out.


                Jay had a bus to catch, so he left, but before he left he
gave the client an assignment. I worked at it for a bit, then, seeing the
client was overwhelmed and needed a break, told him I’d take everything
back to my hotel, complete his assignment for him and do some more work so
we’d be ready for Jay in the morning, and for him to get some rest. He took
me out for dinner first, and at dinner we talked about everything that
wasn’t related to the audit, because one can think about audits for only so
long before one’s head explodes.


                And you know how I feel about that.


                But when I returned to my room after dinner, with my piles
of work, I sat on the bed in a daze, and it was a few hours before I could
dig in. Hence, up till 3.

                At 6:30 the alarm went off, and I cursed it, and I thought,
“This is way too early.” I fumbled around a bit, looked at my iPad to see
if anything of note had happened in the few hours I’d been asleep, then
reached for my glasses on the bedside table.


                They weren’t there.


                I lied earlier. All the papers and folders had been neatly
put away the night before and were ready for transport. But in addition to
getting to the client’s by 9, I also had to get to the business center
downstairs and print out a whole lot of things. The place was relatively
neat, because I find it best to clean up my mess before going to sleep. But
still, no glasses.


                “Curses!” I said. Okay, maybe I’m paraphrasing. I went to
get up and my hip, which is usually pretty cooperative, was suddenly not.
So there I was, blind, with a hip that chose now to go out. “I’ll take a
shower,” I thought, “and when I get out my glasses will be here.” I don’t
know, maybe I thought they were playing a trick on me. It happens. My
inanimate possessions decide to have a little fun and rearrange themselves.


                I stumbled into the bathroom (well, I was just about blind
and couldn’t put any weight on my right leg, after all), and managed to
shower. Afterwards I emerged, certain I’d find my glasses, but they still
weren’t there. Not under the bed, or on the floor, or behind the bed, or
anywhere they might have been expected. On the other hand, they could have
been right in front of me and I’d never be able to see them, so who knows?


                I got dressed, and my hip started cooperating. This was
fortunate, wasn’t it?


                I called the front desk. “Hi, can someone come up and help
me find something?”


                “Sure, what are you looking for?”


                “My glasses, I can’t see without them . . . “


                I gather this is not an infrequent request, for the nice
man said, “Someone will be right there,” as soon as he heard what was going
on.


                A few minutes later a nice maintenance man (on this
particular trip to Seattle, everyone I ran into, from the hotel to the IRS,
was nice, but that’s usual for me) showed up at the door, presented me with
a complimentary Seattle newspaper, and began a thorough search. We tossed
the room, and the glasses turned up, somewhere in the sheets.


                I could see! This meant that 1) I could proceed with my
day, and 2) I wouldn’t have to call the auditor and say, “I’m sorry, but
I’m an idiot.”


                First stop was the business center, where I printed a giant
stack of papers, and then put them in my car way down in the parking garage
with my laptop, then back to the room to get the rest of my belongings,
since I also had to check out . . .


                And I was only ten minutes late to the client’s. On the 1.7
mile drive over I grabbed the open bag of Reese’s miniatures I’d started
the day before, and shoved those in my mouth. Yes. Diabetics are not
supposed to eat almost a bag of those at once, even the little bag, but
desperate times call for desperate measures.


                I called the client when I got there, so he could 1) let me
in, and 2) carry my stuff, and he came down and when we walked in his condo
he said, “Oh, Jay cancelled today . . . “


                And I said, “What!” because if I’d gone through all this
just so he could cancel . . . but right away I heard, from the other room,
Jay laughing. The client said, "I loved the expression on your face!"
Great. Now the auditor and the client are conspiring against me.


                I told them my sad story, and the auditor laughed. I asked
the client for water to wash down my Reese’s minis, and the auditor said,
“You didn’t have breakfast?” He said this in the same sort of shocked
manner one might say, “You killed a homeless man on the way over?”


                The IRS is a big believer in breakfast.


                We got through the rest of the audit. When my stomach
grumbled the client made me toast, and when I began questioning the client
about a vehicle purchase as if I were the IRS (I just wanted to find out
what was going on), I turned to see Jay laughing uncontrollably. So.
Depending on the auditor, one good way to get through an audit is to amuse
the auditor. Let’s face it: their jobs are not always fun, and the auditees
are often hostile.


                We were all having a casual Friday, with jeans, and the
auditor was wearing a plaid shirt, as if he were going to go cut down a
tree or two afterwards. It was informal, and a time or two I had to break
into their conversations about condos and real estate and cars to get back
to the audit, and a time or two I asked the auditor how certain things,
that were unrelated to this audit, should be handled (hey, free time with
an IRS auditor, I’m going to ask some questions) while the client waited
patiently. We talked about QB, and how to save receipts when they fade so
badly right away, and how other auditors do things.


We  made good time, because the records were good, and we still had time
for me to learn things, and the client to learn things, and the auditor to
learn things. And at the end we came to an agreement that made the client
happy, and the auditor happy. He assessed us no penalties, which is at his
discretion. I had warned the client that no doubt he’d be assessed more
taxes, and in fact, when I’d looked at the tax return in question after I’d
found out about the audit, I knew exactly where they were going, and I
said, “curses!” But the amount turned out to be less than the client, in
his anxiety, had anticipated, and he was quite pleased.


                The auditor told him to just keep doing whatever I told him
to do, and the client told the auditor, again, that I was the best
bookkeeper ever.


                I drove home that night, and though usually the three hour
drive is subject to traffic problems, this time, not one, despite the
increasingly bad weather and pelting rain. And when I got home I was so
happy, and then my hip went out again.


                Crap. But at least I have my glasses, and my sanity, and I
survived the audit. Even better, the client has that behind him and is
happy.


Monique