i always wanted a big brother.

This morning as I was slothfully trudging out the door of my apartment, I delayed my departure by noticing the unopened pile of mail on the table from yesterday. I didn't open it at the time because the apocalypse had arrived outside, and I could neither open the mail with my mittened hands, nor see it through the hail, sleet, snow, and lightning bolts that were striking all around me. So, instead, I fanned through it this morning on my way out the door.

In the pile, an envelope from the Massachusetts Department of Revenue. My immediate reaction was "Weird. They're supposed to direct-deposit my refund. What did they fuck up this time?" Then I opened it. And my second reaction was "Why the FUCK do they want $197 from me!??!?" Having neither the time nor patience to deal with this, I slipped the letter into my bag and went out the door.

Now, hours later, and in a progressively shittier mood than I was hours ago, I decided to revisit the matter. The form states a few key details:

• Notice of Assessment
• February 18, 2005
• $197.01 ($165.32 + $31.69 in interest. INTEREST!)

However, the form also fails to state a few key details:

• Why.
• Why.
• WHY!!!

So after a little research on the web, I got nowhere. The only indication I could find of the existence of this Notice was that they've already docked my current refund the $197.01. (So much for disputing.) I realized my best and only option was to dial the phone number and spend 11 hours on hold until someone hopefully semi-intelligent picked up the phone. I would even settle for a computerized voice telling me I made a math error, or that the tax rate went up. Something, anything, to clarify this damn Notice.

So I dialed. And some machine picked up, and a female voice said "Welcome to the Massachusetts Depahtment of Revenue." (Ah, the sounds of home.) "Please listen cayefully to the following menu." I followed the sequence and was put on hold for the "next available opahratah." To my surprise, my hold time was a mere 6 seconds. A charming, non-disgruntled, helpful woman picked up the phone.

After I gave her my social security number, address, date of birth, a blood sample, a retinal scan, and DNA analysis, she asked "What can I help you with today?"

"I just want to know....WHY?" I asked.
"Oh, well, it says here you failed to report some income in 2001."
"2001?"
"Yes, for the amount of $1567."
"In 2001?"
"Yes."
"If I failed to report it, how do you have it?"
"The federal government sent it to us."
"Oh. From 2001?"
"Yes ma'am."

I dug through the saved online files on my H&R Block profile, to find a 1099 listing for $1567 on my 2001 federal return. Beside it, the description "prize winnings."

Ah, prize winnings. That would be the two Madonna concert tickets, weekend for two in Martha's Vineyard, and his and hers mountain bikes, a prize package totalling--you guessed it--$1567--all of which I won from a radio station. The thing is, I know, I KNOW, that this was a line on the Mass. Telefile book of 2001. I remember putting it in the wrong spot, then moving it... moving it TO the line that specifically asked for WINNINGS. Why would I screw that up??

But it doesn't matter. They already took my money. Now they're taking more. And really, I guess it's still a small price to pay for fulfilling my lifelong dream of seeing Madonna in concert (and with awesome seats, may I add), and for an "expenses paid" trip to the Vineyard on the most beautiful September weekend in 2001 before life as we know it changed, with a room overlooking the glistening ocean full of sailboats AND a fudge store. Plus, I believe I just sold the his and hers mountain bikes when I left Boston. Sold them for...$200. Go figure. I made a $3 profit.

But in the end, I am a little freaked out that, even 4 years later, Big Brother is talking to Semi-Big Brother and keeping an eye on me, followed by vague and cryptic Notices of Assessment, which in turn is already a joke because they just took the money from me anyway. In a way, all this headache was for nothing...I'm just a pawn in their little game.