The Free Radical

Note: Although the following story is entirely based on real events, some of the details have been ever-so-slightly exaggerated for dramatic effect and entertainment purposes.

Walter didn’t care much for confrontation. He diligently avoided it whenever possible. There were times however, he had found, when others were in error, and there was little else he could do but to confront them with their mistake.

Immediately upon opening the telltale grey envelope from the government taxation office, it became quite clear to Walter that someone had indeed made a mistake, and there was no way of avoiding the impending confrontation. He took the statement over to the telephone (Walter disliked the telephone), sat down determinedly in front of it, and tried to prepare himself for the unpleasantness which was sure to follow.

Walter had an excellent memory; his mind had a penchant for details. He was quite certain that he had paid his property taxes in full and on time. The statement he now held in his hand, assessing a 5% penalty for late payment was certainly in error. It was true that Walter had waited until the very last day– the day upon which the taxes were due– to deliver his payment to the post office, where it was postmarked with the critical date, before it was sent off to the taxation office in Victoria. It was the very same procedure he had employed all of the eighteen previous years for the payment of his property taxes. Walter was no fan of government… or of taxes… and they could bloody well wait until the very last moment in receiving payment from him. He had never been penalized before.

Walter took a deep breath and dialed the toll-free number.

The taxation analyst, a woman– Doreen, with whom he spoke, seemed rather pleasant. Perhaps that would make things easier.

“Yes… um,” began Walter rather hesitantly, “I seem to have been assessed a penalty on my property taxes…” He paused and swallowed hard before completing the sentence: “…in error.” And then he hurried to explain further. “I’m quite sure that I paid my taxes in full and on time… as I do every year.”

“Folio number please,” came the request on the other end.

Right. His identity in the eyes of his government was encoded in a 15-digit number in the upper righthand corner of the statement. He dutifully recited the impersonal code that would open the door to this necessary conversation.

And after just a brief pause “Oh, I see here, Walter, that our office received your payment on July the tenth,” she said. The statement Walter held in his hand confirmed as much. Furthermore, Walter knew that the taxes were due on July the second– the day he had posted his letter with the payment. Legally, a letter was considered to be in the possession of the addressee at the moment it entered the postal system. How long it actually took the postal service to deliver the letter was none of Walter’s concern. He had met his obligation on the second of July.

“Yes, well…” explained Walter, “it’s really the postmark on the letter I sent that matters.”

Doreen agreed and offered to pull the envelope from the files to send a scanned copy to Walter’s email. Walter happily agreed, noticing that this was already going much better than expected… that is, until she came back on the line with envelope in hand.

“I have it right here,” Doreen informed him. “And the date that I’m seeing is the eleventh of July.”

“I beg your pardon?” Walter was instantly flummoxed.

“The date on the envelope clearly says July eleventh,” answered Doreen quite pleasantly.

“But that’s impossible!” Walter quite nearly shouted into the phone.

“No, that’s what it says,” insisted Doreen, maintaining all cordiality.

“But… but…” stammered Walter, “you’re saying that the letter was posted the day AFTER it was already received at your office…?”

“Yes.”

“But surely you can see that that’s not possible… for me to have mailed the letter the day after you received it…?”

“I’m sorry, Walter,” she answered consolingly, “but my opinion doesn’t really count much in these matters.”

“But that date… it can’t be the proper postmark. It’s impossible!”

“It’s the only date I have,” insisted Doreen sweetly.

Walter was at a momentary loss as to how to proceed. He pictured the envelope in his mind… and began probing. “So the date… inside the circle… the one validating the postage… it says July eleventh?”

“No, no, the date inside the circle is illegible; it’s totally unreadable. And I couldn’t even begin to speculate what it might say,” she added as though standing upon some grand ethical principle.

“But it’s the relevant date!” Walter had never been this close to shouting on the telephone before.

“Relevant to what?” asked Doreen as though the asking was most natural under the circumstances.

Walter stated flatly in disbelief “Relevant to my being assessed a late penalty for my taxes.”

“Oh no,” Doreen assured him, “that assessment is based on the date I already gave you.”

“July eleventh.”

“Yes! That one.”

“But it’s the wrong date,” insisted Walter.

“But it’s the only one I’ve got,” insisted Doreen.

“But you understand that it’s impossible for me to have mailed the letter the day after you received it?”

“I do. Perfectly. Honest.”

Walter let go an exasperated sigh. “So how do we proceed with this penalty business then?”

“Well, I suggest you pay it… promptly.”

“What!” Walter wasn’t losing his patience; he was losing his fricken marbles! “You clearly see the impossibility of it. Why can’t you just remove the penalty?” asked Walter quite reasonably.

“Oh, I don’t have THAT kind of authority,” admitted Doreen with an embarrassed giggle.

“Then why am I talking to you,” whispered Walter into the phone.

“So that I can provide you with all of the information pertinent to your case,” she assured him. “You’ll have to provide all of the documentation and details for the Rural Taxation office in an email. This all has to be on the up-and-up, you know… a proper written record and all that.”

“But your office just obviously made a stupid error…” Walter’s sentence trailed off as he realized that this conversation was going no further… if it had gone anywhere at all. He thanked Doreen for her time and hung up the phone.

There really was no way to prepare for a conversation like that… and it hadn’t been quite as confrontational as he’d feared. He still disliked telephones… and Walter could still find no love for his government.

“God help us all,” he whispered to himself.