Don DeWolfe CGA

Last night I went to the Valumart for groceries. The total came to $27.52.

I gave the girl at the cash two $10 bills; one $5 bill; two loonies, two quarters; and, two pennies.

When I was done she stared at the change in her hand as if I had just filled it with gummy worms and rusty nails. Finally she said, “I’m not very good with change.”

“Aren’t you in kind of the wrong job then?” I asked.

Then she stared at me like I was made of gummy worms and rusty nails. So I took my groceries and left. Probably she is still there, staring at her hand.

Spring 2009 and it’s my 19th year of earning my living as an accountant. I’m at Mom’s place, going over her tax stuff.

“And I’ll need your receipts for any repairs or renovations to the cottage for the Home Renovation Tax Credit,” I say.

“Oh, we can’t claim that,” Mom replies.

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure you can.”

“Oh no, Dear. We can’t.” Mom says with conviction.

“Why do you think that?” I ask.

“A woman I met in the laundry room said we couldn’t. She read it on the Internet.” Mom replies.

I turn to my brother Jamie, who’s been listening in.

“Can’t argue with logic like that,” he says.

This morning, just after 6:00, as I was coming into the office, I had to step accross a homeless man sleeping in front of the door.

As I was going into my nice warm office, I looked at him, curled up on the cold concrete, and thought, “Wow. He get’s to sleep in.”

Every March and April I spend most of my waking hours doing tax returns. Over the years I’ve noticed a strange phenomenon – just like fads and fashion, different tax deductions enjoy popularity in waves, and just as suddenly, disappear.

The first wave I noticed were ‘happy’ drugs – out of nowhere, everybody had prescription receipts for Prozac and Zoloft and Xanax.

Next it was therapists. Mounds of tidy little receipts, one hour at a time.

And this year it’s…dogs.

For some reason, all my canine loving clients want a tax deduction for their dog. Time after time I have to tell them – dogs aren’t deductible. You may love them like a child, but the Canada Revenue Agency is never going to allow them as an eligible dependant. Which is the way it should be.

Or is it?

If you are self-employed and have an alarm system, a portion of the monthly monitoring fee is deductible as a home office expense. Well, what better alarm than a keen eared, yappy dog?

And, what about those therapist fees? All deductible medical expenses. How is that better than unconditional love, 24/7, from your furry best friend?

Then there’s the meals and entertainment deduction, a legitimate business write-off for drinking and stuffing your face with somebody you just met. Call it ‘networking’. Can there be any better networking tool than a walk on a busy street with a cute puppy? Yet, while premium scotch at a bar is okay, a lap around the block with Rover is denied.

It’s time for CRA to allow dogs as a business expense. They’re cheap compared to a therapist, never require a visit from the police because of a forgotten security code, and provide a healthy and low-fat alternative to a business lunch.

Okay, maybe the whole dog shouldn’t be deductible, but at least an end of it should be. And since we’re talking about taxes, I think it’s clear which end I’m talking about.

Kate told me Jennifer was struggling with a math assignment, and that even though it was tax season, I needed to make time to help her.

“Why don’t you help her?” I asked. “It’s Grade 9 math, how tough can it be?”

‘I don’t really get it,” Kate replied. “I think I skipped most of those classes in high school.”

So after supper I told Jen to get her homework. I cleared space on my desk, and got out a pad and pencil:

Don (confidently, ready to impress his daughter): Okay, what’s the problem?

Jennifer: Number 26. It’s a complex 2 variable quadri-nomial with fractions that I have to factor. I don’t get it.

Don: Hmm. Are there any others you don’t get?

Jennifer: Yeah – 15 more. But this is the easiest one.

Don: Of course. Did your teacher give you any examples?

Jennifer: She did, but they’re mostly about substituting compound fractions with single variables in binomials to solve differential word problems. Would that help?

Don: Uh…not really. (tries to look thoughtful while wondering if it would be possible to force feed Jennifer’s assignment to the cat, then write her teacher a note explaining why it wasn’t done) Do they still put the answers in the back of the book?

Jennifer: Yes.

Don: Good. Very, very, good…

Today a client called my fax line 3 times, then sent me an email saying she couldn’t get through because my ‘fax was on’.

I told her my fax wasn’t on, she was calling my fax line. I pointed out my phone number was at the bottom of every email I sent.

So she wouldn’t feel silly, I made a quip about how if I’d needed bifocals before I ordered my business cards, I’d have used a bigger font.

Then I had that ‘ah ha!’ moment.

Now my ‘signature’ is bigger at the bottom of every email. It might not be as pretty, but at least I can read the damn thing.

d.

This is kind of sappy but…

It was a Friday morning, minus 23 – minus 35 with the wind chill.

I finished my work-out at the gym and was about to get in my car, when a tiny woman in her early 50’s called to me in a thick Spanish accent.

She was shivering, wearing thin wool pants, light leather boots, and a hat more suited for looks than warmth. She held out a sheet of paper. On it was the name of a street that was supposed to be in the area – Prince Andrew. She had a job interview in 15 minutes, and wanted to know if I could tell her where the street was.

I couldn’t. But the name sounded familiar…

I reached for my map book and found Prince Andrew a couple blocks away. Time was ticking down, so I asked if she’d like a lift.

She said yes, and scurried to the passenger’s side. With the heater on full I took off and had her at Prince Andrew a minute later. The wrong end of Prince Andrew.

I raced down the street as she told me how she’d left her home two hours earlier and had taken 4 buses to get this far. I’d read on the sheet of paper the job she was applying for was as a cafeteria worker, and paid $10.65 an hour.

After weaving through a labyrinth of twists and turns, we finally arrived at the right building – the last one on the road. I could see the front door, but the only driveway I could find was marked One Way – Do Not Enter.

After a quick, fruitless search for another way in, I U-turned and went in the Do Not Enter. I stopped at the front door, earning disapproving glares from a handful of people hurrying to get out of the cold.

The woman thanked me many times as she gathered herself up, and asked God to bless me. Her last words as she left the car were, “I’m very lucky I met you.”

She carefully closed the door and rushed inside, and I realized that, in fact, I was very lucky to have met her.

That I was very lucky to be sitting in my heated car, instead of having taken 4 buses. That I was very lucky to live 20 minutes from my work, instead of 2 hours from a job interview. That I was very lucky to be going to my office, where I earned significantly more than $10.65 an hour. That I was very lucky to be happy and healthy and successful and loved in the country I was born in, and that my fears and worries were nothing compared to this woman’s life.

I was very lucky to have met her.

It was Christmas Day, 2007, and we were on our way to the DeWolfe family dinner. I noticed Jen was dressed in jeans, with a burgundy top. I told her she didn’t look very Christmassy, and pointed out I was in green chinos and a red polo shirt.

Just then Tricia came downstairs. She was dressed in black from head to toe, including army boots, a leather studded collar, and a pewter necklace of a skull. On her back was a small black bag, 3 throwing knives sticking from one pocket.

Compared to Tricia, Jen looked like Santa Claus.

I laughed and sent them out to the car.

Merry Christmas.

What would a December blog be without some Christmas content…

A new Christmas tradition was born, and died a sudden death, one year at the DeWolfe Family get together.

It started just before I opened my first gift, with Mom’s declaration that if anybody got something they could wear, they had to put it on. Moments later I was sporting a new, bright red, 100% polyester, singing Santa tie.

The tradition ended a few gifts later when my youngest brother Jamie opened the box of condoms I gave him.

Ho ho ho.

I was at Staples and pulled up to the cash with a cart full of office supplies when a young, surfer dude arrived with only an optical mouse in his hands.

“That all you got?” I asked.

He said yes, to I sent him ahead of me.

The suffer dude passed his mouse to the stocky young girl working cash. She took it, then gave him a long once over.

“Wow!” she gushed, “You’re really attractive! I can’t believe how good looking you are. You’re just gorgeous! People must always tell you that.”

The surfer dude was nonplussed, staring at her like a deer frozen in the high beams of a transport truck. He passed over his credit card without a word as she continued to detail his good looks.

“Hey,” I said, patting him on the shoulder, “Happens to me all the time. You get used to it.”

The cashier glanced my way, noticing for the first time there was another person standing in line, then scrutinized the surfer dude’s card, before passing him the chit and a pen.

Surfer dude grabbed the pen and bent over to scrawl his name. “Better not put your phone number on that,” I said. He snorted, gave me a sidelong glance, then dashed out the door.

The cashier watched him go, then sighed and turned to me. “And, you’re really attractive too,” she said.

“Like I said, I get that all the time.”