Crack that Whip

I used to work with a guy who had a healthy attitude about tax time.

“I’m going home to do my taxes,” he told me one evening, “so if I get struck by a bolt of lightning, you’ll know why.”

I could use a little bit of humor now.

I’m slowly getting my tax papers together, so I can shoot them over to my accountant before an Internal Revenue SWAT team kicks in my door and hauls me off to Gitmo. Or wherever the hell they take (relatively) honest mathematically-challenged Americans.

I’ve never been good with numbers, especially when it involves the government, potential prison time, and righteous streaks of lightning.

Keeping track of bills and receipts is also another financial blind spot for me. Do you seriously expect me to hold on to a piece of paper from last February?

And, as spring follows winter, I make my annual oath that this will never, absolutely never happen again; that I will keep track of every single tax-related expenditure and hand my CPA a coherent presentation of my fiscal status…as opposed to sending him a bucket of “maybes” while cowering in the closet and listening for the sound of government helicopters.

Now all this tax talk reminds of a little incident that occurred at my gym one Sunday afternoon many years ago. Given my current physical condition, memories of the gym are all I have. (Cue sad music.)

I had just finished a particularly grueling boxing class and I struck up a conversation with an attractive woman who had also suffered through the same workout. I noticed she had a pixie tattooed on her arm, which I, shallow male animal that I am, thought was kind of cool.

The career question is one way of keeping up the talk, so I asked this young lady what she did for a living.

Deduct This!

“Oh, I’m a dominatrix,” she replied.

I thought I was hearing things, but I knew I hadn’t. This woman just told me that she was a dominatrix.

It was just the way she said it so casually. Like I’m a lawyer or an accountant, as opposed to someone who gets paid to put her customers through the sexual ringer.

Of course, I’m not really sure if there's a proper way of revealing this bit of intelligence, but I could’ve used a little bit of a warm-up before hearing the truth.

I tried, I honestly tried to pretend I wasn’t stunned by her response. This is New York, nothing shocks me. Dominatrix, alligator wrestler, professional sword swallower, yeah, sure, that’s great—do you have a dental plan?

We had actually moved away from the topic of jobs when my veneer of nonchalance fell by the wayside and I just had to know the whole story.


“So, tell me,” I said, desperately trying to sound slick, “What do you put on your W-2 form where it says ‘Occupation’?”

“I put ‘freelance worker.’”

That seemed logical enough and, hell, if it’s accurate then Uncle Sam should be satisfied. And God help him if he isn’t.

Then I took a closer look at that pixie tattoo and I saw that in lieu of a magic wand this little fairy was holding a cat o’ nine tails. You’d better clap for this Tinkerbell, or else.

There comes a time in every man’s life when you just have to say, “whoops, I think I hear my mama calling,” and make for the exit. And this definitely seemed like one of those times.

I wasn’t rude but the conversation faded shortly after my classmate’s revelation and I went home wondering just what the hell had just happened.

Now I swear on my tax returns that I’m not judging anyone. Whatever turns you on, as long as it’s not hurting anyone else is fine. If anyone is at fault here, it’s yours truly for freaking out so easily.

It’s just that after all those years with the nuns in Catholic school I don’t feel the need for any more humiliation. But do give me your business card just in case.

I still have to get a few more of my tax papers together and I’m going to work to make sure everything is aboveboard so I don’t get nuked by a bolt from above.

And if I hear any pixies knocking on my door I’m heading straight for the closet.

Comments

Ron said…
"This is New York, nothing shocks me. Dominatrix, alligator wrestler, professional sword swallower, yeah, sure, that’s great—do you have a dental plan?"

HAHAHAHAHAHA! Rob, that cracked me the hell up! And it's true, after living in New York...nothing can shock you.

And how ironic because sometime last year I helped a customer in our store who, like the woman you met in the gym, was in fact, a DOMINATRIX, I kid you not! And she went into great detail, telling me some of the most strangest things she's ever done for clients in the way of "being dominant." OMG...she got such joy in telling me (and very LOUD) the crazy things she did. She actually came into the store asking for waterproof foundation and lipstick. Now, I won't tell you WHY she wanted those things because they are much too graphic to say here - HA!

And it's funny because she looked NOTHING like a dominatrix in the store. But apparently she was very good at it and made LOTS of money doing it, so she said.

Glad to hear that you're back at the gym. I bet it feels great!

Have a faaaaaabulous week, buddy!
Rob K said…
Hey Ron, what's up?

So you had customer who was a dominatrix?!? Damn, the money must be good if all these women are getting in on the action!

Isn't amazing how total strangers will share the most intimate details with little or no provocation? Sometimes I think I should've become a priest--I'd knocking out confessions two at a time!

The gym story was an old one, btw. It'll still be a while before I get back to it, but I am exercising at home and getting stronger every day, God willing.

Take care, buddy!!
Bijoux said…
O.M.G.......the crap people feel free sharing these days! LOL, I had a disturbing conversation with a stranger last week, IN CHURCH, of all places!!!!

I guess the IRS doesn't care what you put down on your tax form, as long as you are sending in $$$
Jay said…
Ahahahahahaha!!! A pixie with a cat 'o nine tails! Hahahaha!! Yep, that's funny! I guess she was keeping herself fit for work, then?

Your comment (the one that Ron quoted) reminds me of the movie Grosse Point Blank, which (in case you haven't see it) is a comedy about a professional killer:

'So what do you do for a living, Martin?'
'I'm a hired assassin'.
*Thoughtful pause*
'Do you get Dental with that?'

I love that movie, but I'm not sure how I'd handle this sort of revelation in real life, so I think you did pretty well. :D
Rob K said…
Hey, Jay!

She was fit, all right, and I'm sure her clients were in pretty good shape, too...aside from the whip marks.

I saw Grosse Point Blank years ago, so it's time for a repeat viewing. I did some fine acting with that young woman by keeping a straight face when she told me her line of work.

Take care!


Rob K said…
@Bijoux

In church!? They've got to close that confessional door!

Seriously, you're so right! People share the most bizarre details about themselves. I suspect it's all this daytime TV where people are encouraged to say anything!

Silence really is golden!

Take care

Popular posts from this blog

Land of Enchantment

Missed Connection

Getting Connected