I’m not me. Somebody else is.

 

I’m not me.  I mean, I am me but somebody else is too.  With nine little numbers and two dashes, they tried to steal me.  I’ve complained about the highs and lows of technology before, so I wont go too deep into that shadowy well of frustration again.  Except to say, wow.  The great and powerful IRS has deemed with their awe inspiring intelligentsia, that some dude sitting in a coffee house in Texas or a trailer park in Oklahoma is in fact yours truly, Alex M. Kimmell. 

Now if I were financially successful, the other “Alex” would be sitting free and easy.  Even after the IRS discovered the error that they themselves made, “Alex” wouldn’t be in much trouble.  I, the real Alex would be held responsible to the IRS for every penny of the money that they mistakenly refunded to “Alex”.  Ah.  ‘Aint it grand?  They screw up, the criminal profits, and I get stuck picking up the tab.  Sounds fair to me.  Right?  Right?

Fortunately my wife was dealing with the IRS on a separate issue and on a fluke they discovered the problem.  Cool thing is, instead of sending this douchebag any money; the amount he is expecting to rain down over him and all the strippers he could afford was credited toward the amount I owe.  So there!  Honestly, how cool would it have been if they never found out and the scumbag had paid off all my debt?  Sweet!  Oh well.

Hey, if anybody knows “Alex”, tell him that he can have my M.S. and my heart condition too.  I don’t need the shaky hands that refuse to cooperate.  Come to think of it, I don’t need the vertigo, headaches, blurred vision, constant tiredness, inability to exert myself, high blood pressure, fragile immune system, diabetes and mumble mouth either.  If “Alex” really wants to be Alex, help a brother out and take it all. 

What a great country we live in.  Right?  Don’t get me wrong I love America.  Especially the parts where the government agencies that collect the funds to run said government are charging extra to the people who cant afford to pay them in the first place, just to make up for their own beurocratic mistakes.  They don’t want to bother the corporations or the churches that lobby to pass all the laws that hurt the poor people in the first place.  That would just be irresponsible governance.  I also love the part where the other agency that collected a percentage of every single paycheck I earned in order to make sure I’m taken care of if for some reason I am disabled and cannot earn another paycheck, declines to allow me access to any of the purse that I myself filled. 

Bitter?  Me? 

Nah.

I’m pissed off.

I’ve played by the rules my whole life.  I voted, paid taxes, speeding tickets and even did jury duty several times.  Once I was on a case for three months.  Three fucking months!  Not even a reach around man. 

Yet I strongly believe in the theory of America and it’s dream experiment for this new type of government.  We love to say that America is of the people, by the people and for the people.  We love to say land of the free.  But is it?  Like the great George Carlin said, “Americans don’t have a choice.  Not in things that really matter.  We’re given the illusion of choice.”  The older I get, the more I agree with him.  Or maybe I’m just turning into a crotchety old fart.      

So now I get to spend hours, weeks, months sorting through paperwork, waiting in lines, going to websites and holding on phone lines with really crappy musak.  All in the needless pursuit of proving that I am indeed Me.  Myself.  I. 

I feel so free I want to puke.