The Random Yak

Those of you in the United States know that the first, foremost and primary concern of all American homeowners during the month of December is…property taxes.

Some of you might think that clashes with the Christmas Spirit, but they’re actually closer than you realize.  After all, property taxes are just the state’s way of letting you demonstrate that you really believe “it’s better to give than to receive.”

Give, and give, and give until it hurts.

And for some of us, it really hurts.

(For the record, whoever thought up the concept of making homeowners – aka “people more likely to have children” – pay massive sums of money to the government two weeks before Christmas ought to be tarred, feathered and dragged through the streets behind a team of incontinent elephants.)

But every once in a while, even this painful experience offers a brief moment of entertainment.

As you may have guessed, I paid my property taxes this morning.  Online. (To the extent possible, I pay everything online.  It’s easier and it saves me the stamps.) The privilege costs me an extra $1.50  (Remember what I said about the stamps?  Yeah, cancel that…) but it guarantees timely payment and frankly the convenience is worth a little fee.  Pull up the website, plug in the APN, give them an electronic check, and watch the counter on my bank account start to spin.  (Downward.  Again.  Stupid bank account slot machine…I can never figure out how to win.)

If you’re not laughing yet.  I don’t blame you.  I didn’t find that part too amusing myself.

Then I logged into my email to ensure that I received the promised “payment confirmation.”  Sure enough, I had an email from someone called “Official Payments” with a subject line reading, “Confirmation of Electronic Check Payment.”  Clicking it open to ensure it really had come from the tax assessor and not some random phishers of men (not to be confused with the Biblical sort, who we also see in force at this time of year) I read:

“Dear Citizen”

Wait…

Dear Citizen?

First off, I’m a Yak, not a deer.  Shaggy hair, little curvy horns without branches.  Get it right.

Second, anyone who knows me can tell you there’s not all that much endearing about me when I’ve just paid my property taxes.  The expenditure of four-digit sums has a noticeably negative impact on my mood, even when I want the item in question. When there’s not a big-screen TV or a pony attached to the purchase, it can make me downright nasty.  So, for the record, if you’ve just commandeered over a thousand of my hard-earned dollars…please have the common sense not to call me “dear.”

And yet, when I saw it, I laughed.  Not because the payment of taxes suddenly became any more amusing, but because the introduction triggered a number of psychic echoes, culminating in a mental image of Sandra Bullock sitting in the assessor’s office trying to convince a confused and cynical Sylvester Stallone that everyone considers giving inexplicably large sums of money to the government a good idea.

Talk about a concept designed to trigger a breach of the verbal morality code.

“Enhance your calm, Citizen.  Money is the root of all evil, and therefore illegal.  Everyone just gives it to the government now.”

Yeah.  Right.

Just give me advance notice before all restaurants become Taco Bell.  I’m moving to Canada.

That, and I want no part of the seashells.

(Editor’s Note: The preceding post makes absolutely no sense if you haven’t seen Demolition Man. And if you haven’t seen it…this post wasn’t funny enough to justify it anyway.  Nothing to see here.  Move along.)