Taxing Taxes

I am exhausted. I just finished another day and another adventure. My life in Russia is NEVER boring!

Today was the last day to file forms to pay taxes without a penalty. I was a little intimidated by the process this year and so I knew I was going to need help. I was able to procure the necessary forms from another desperate expatriate, but I was told that I would definitely need help filling them in. Apart from the normal blanks like "Name", "address", "date", "how much money you will be giving to the government", there are numerous other blanks asking for information like "code", "document code", "basic state registration number of the individual receiving body"..... I am giving you a rough English translation of these terms. Needless to say, my 3 year-old niece would have an easier time filling in this form than I would! (Her version would be more colorful, too!)

For the past few months I have been asking around to see who might be able to help me. The date was drawing near and I was desperate for my own personal "H & R Block". About a week and a half ago I found out that our pastor, Boris, used to work for an accounting firm. He helps with the church books. What great news!

I was finally able to get an appointment with Boris yesterday evening. Even he had a little trouble figuring out all the codes, but he was a great help. Pumpkin-time was approaching and I could hear the clock ticking.

Today was the last day for me to turn in the documents because of a quirky little Russian holiday custom. Basically, if there is a non-working, national holiday, they pick a weekend day (or two) to make up for the holiday. My friend Misti argues that you are not really getting a holiday doing it this way, you are just getting a jumbled up schedule. Anyway, today is a working Saturday because the last day of the month, Monday, is a holiday.

You might think that it would be hard to find the tax inspection office. It is not. I stare at it every day. My bedroom window looks at the back door to the tax inspection office for our region. That's convenient, isn't it? You would think so.

My dear friend, Lena, and I planned to get to the office as it opened. We were there just behind about 25 other "early birds". We found out which department we needed and waited for it to open. We had been warned that foreigners rarely have an easy time paying their taxes. I have had friends who were told to leave and not bother the government offices with such silly business. My friend left his business card and told them to call him if they decided they wanted his money. So, when the first lady in office #2 looked at us funny and sent us to office #4, we were not concerned. The nice lady in office #4 sent us to the not-so-nice lady in office #11, claiming that she didn't know if she had the "right" to accept my taxes. The lady in office #11 sent us to the very annoyed lady in office #107. The lady in office #107 asked us why in the world we bothered to come to their building! She sent us to the tax inspection office in another region. As we walked out the door she said, "Oh, and don't tell them I sent you!" We knew good and well that the other office was not going to be more helpful, so we went across the yard to our flat to regroup.

One attorney told me I had to go back to Samara (600 miles away) to pay. Another woman on the phone told me that I couldn't pay taxes if I wasn't paid by a Russian company. Another said that I couldn't pay until I got a note from the US government to the Russian government telling them to accept my taxes.

I was beginning to think that it was hopeless. Lena made one last call and finally someone told us that if I brought my housing contract into the office that should be all I needed! So.... we went back, housing contract in hand and passionate prayers on our lips and..... the woman told us that she didn't know if their office was the correct one for where I lived. The funniest part of that is that we share the EXACT same address with the tax inspection office. She sent us back to office #2 to find out. The lady in #2 asked us for our address. I told her. She said, "That is impossible. That is OUR office address." "Exactly," said Lena, "We live in the same building, friendly neighbor!" Remarkably, she told us no, in fact, we were not in the correct office. We needed to go to the office in the 10th region. "Where is that?" we inquired. "Go across the hall," she said. Sure. It makes as much sense as the codes.

"Go to office #14." In office #14 we met our first male tax employee. He listened to our story and told us, kindly, that he would escort us to the office we needed. He walked us across the hall. You are not going to BELIEVE what happened next..... the woman took our documents, stamped them, and we were out of the door in less than 30 seconds.
I think I need a vacation.....