On being ... repurposed

By Ingrid Sapona

One of the nice things about living alone is you don’t have to explain your everyday behaviour or decisions to anyone. That said, I often catch myself coming up with rationalizations for my actions, as if I had to justify them to someone. Wait, that sounds a bit odd. Let me put a more normal-sounding spin on it: before I decide whether to do something, I mentally go through as many arguments -- pro and con -- as I can. Maybe it’ll make more sense if I give you an example of something I found myself debating about last week.

I’m taking a phys ed course one night a week at a local high school. It’s a “boot camp”, which amounts to a bunch of middle-age folks doing laps, squats, lunges, sit-ups, and pushups in a gymnasium. (I know, it sounds like we’re trying to re-connect with our youth. Well, I for one was never that into gym in my youth. Believe me, the only thing I’m “re-connecting with” are muscles I never knew I had.)

Anyway, some of the stuff we do requires lying on our stomachs or backs on the floor. I’m long past worrying about cooties, but I have to admit, the gym floor is pretty disgusting. After the first class most of the women brought yoga mats. I don’t have one and I figured a towel would be fine since I just go home, shower, and throw my clothes in the laundry. But, during last week’s class I realized another problem is that the floor (a basketball court) is quite slippery, making floor work both gross and hazardous.

By the time I got in the car after the class that night, my inner debate team was raring to go on the issue of whether I should buy a yoga mat. First up was the “buy it” side: “Just bite the bullet and buy a yoga mat – it doesn’t have to be anything fancy or expensive. So what if it disintegrates after four months? It only has to last for six more sessions.”

Then the contra viewpoint chimed in: “Come on -- you’re not one of those yoga mat-totting baby boomers. Please…”

Then the rebuttal: “But think of your knees – that floor is so hard on them – aren’t they worth protecting? Go on, get one…”

Followed by the surrebutter (I’m a lawyer – look it up if you don’t believe me!): “So just double the damned towel when you’re doing something on your knees, no big deal. Besides, where would you store a yoga mat? You have no room for more stuff!” Finally, as I hit the shower, the moderator chimed in: “No need to decide tonight…”.

Though I thought I had put it out of my head, the next afternoon it was clear that I hadn’t. I was obsessed with trying to think of something I could use besides a towel or yoga mat. Before I knew it I was digging through the bottom of a closet to see whether I still had a long, narrow carpet I was no longer using. (If you must know, I was no longer using it because I ruined it last year by putting in the washer. As you can see from the photo I took at the time, somehow the washer took a fairly large, fray-free bite out of the carpet.) I was pretty sure I had gotten rid of it because storage space is precious and it certainly wasn’t suitable for my front hall any more.

I couldn’t believe it when I found the carpet neatly rolled up in the corner of the closet. Why had I kept it? And how long had I had it? I checked the date on the photo – it was from May 2009 -- eight months! Just then a voice inside my head chided me with, “Yeah, space is at a premium … so premium you’re keeping holey carpets!”

Unrolling it ignited a whole new discussion in my head: Would it be too embarrassing to use in the gym class? That debate went something like this: “Embarrassing? How about pathetic? Who brings a floor runner to a gym class -- even an un-torn one?”

“But the runner is exactly the size of a yoga mat. And, it’s certainly clean (after all, it’s not been used since the washing that caused the mysterious hole) so it would be a hell of a lot nicer than that icky gym floor. And it has a rubber backing, so no more sliding around. So what if it has a hole? Besides, who’ll notice it?”

“True, no one will notice the hole -- they’ll be too busy snickering at the loser who brought a carpet to boot camp!”

“This isn’t high school (well, it is, but I’m beyond high school, if you know what I mean). What do I care what people think? Besides, I’m there for a workout -- not to impress anyone.”

This point/counter-point went on for quite some time until I came up with the winning argument -- one in favour of taking the carpet to the class. It’s very clever, if I must say so myself – it provides an excuse, er, rationale, for why I didn’t throw the carpet out last May and it is oh so 21st century: I’m repurposing the runner.

What’s that? You’ve never heard of repurposing? Well, think of it as the 4th R – reduce, reuse, and recycle are all so yesterday…

You know, I’ll bet repurposing catches on. If not, maybe my holey runner will start a trend in workout gear. Stranger things have caught on…

© 2010 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... seen differently

By Ingrid Sapona

I realized recently that I’m a bit of a butter snob. Well, judgmental about it at restaurants is more accurate. I’ll get back to that in a minute….

A couple weeks ago I went with two friends (Trish and Stu -- not their real names) and my sister to O.Noir Toronto – a restaurant where you eat in complete darkness. (For those whose French is rusty, noir means black in French. Clever, non?)

Yes, O.Noir is a concept restaurant, but it’s not a gimmick. The concept came from Zurich’s Blind Cow Restaurant, which was started by a blind minister in 1999. The idea is to give people a sense of what it’s like for a blind person to eat a meal out.

Other friends had eaten there so I knew a bit about what to expect. For example, I knew that, to ensure total darkness in the dining room, you’re asked to take off watches and devices that might emit light. I also knew you order before entering the dining room and that you could order items from the menu or a surprise multi-course meal. (To ensure a trip to the Emergency Room isn’t part of the surprise, you’re asked if you have food allergies.)

Though I knew these details, the implications of them didn’t register with me until I was there. For example, though I planned on ordering the surprise (my friends who’d dined there dared me to), when I saw steak on the menu it dawned on me that I’d have a hell of a time cutting a steak in the dark and so ordering shrimp suddenly seemed like a good idea. Remembering the dare, however, I went stuck with the surprise.

When Trish decided to order off the menu, Stu, in his usual enthusiastic manner, said, “Great -- I’ll get the surprise and we can share!” As soon as Stu said this, all of us had the same thought: how do you share when you can’t see? It never occurred to me that if I were visually impaired I’d have a hard time sharing appetizers and desserts, which is one of my biggest pleasures when eating out.

After we placed our order we were introduced to our server -- Jenny -- who, like all the servers there, was visually impaired. Jenny asked us to form a line, with each of us holding the shoulder of the person in front of us; she then guided us to our table. Thankfully the walk wasn’t too far.

Once we were seated, Jenny explained the orientation of our place settings and encouraged us to feel for our plate, cutlery, water glass, etc. Then she offered us rolls and told us we’d find our bread plate and butter if we reach out far in front of us.

Ah yes, the butter. In reaching for it I noticed it was one of those single-serve, plastic packets you peel the foil off to unwrap. When I felt it I thought, “hmmm … rather cafeteria-like.” But when I was ready to start buttering my bread, I was damned thankful I could feel the little container -- thanks to it, I had at least a chance of getting butter on the knife and then on the bread.

Before leaving to get our drinks, Jenny asked our names. This seemed really odd to me. But, when she started serving the appetizers I realized that by learning our names she was able to ensure she gave each of us what we’d ordered. And, I must say, I’ve never appreciated knowing the server’s name as much as I did that night. More than once I could hear someone nearby but I had no idea who it is -- it was nice to be able to discretely ask: “Jenny?”

When the entrees arrived, though Stu and I quickly agreed that our main course was chicken (thankfully de-boned), figuring out what accompanied it was trickier. There were a few vegetables I never did conclusively identify. Mind you, because I was intent on figuring out what I was eating, I seemed to notice the taste of the food more than usual.

I was unprepared for how challenging it was to find the food on the plate. The best I could do was kind of stab with my fork and hope I got something. And, though finding your mouth seems straightforward, there’s room for surprise there too. One time, as I brought the fork to my mouth, I felt something gently slap my cheek. I quickly realized it was an asparagus spear jutting off the fork. Though I laughed about it, I did think how embarrassed I’d have been if others had seen me do that, which certainly could be the case when a blind person eats with others who are sighted.

The evening featured revelations for each of us. My sister, for example, became aware of a habit she never realized she had: she likes to eat in a particular order -- a bite of meat, then some potato, then some vegetable. Not an easy habit to indulge when you can’t see your food. And at one point Stu asked: “Do you guys find yourself nodding when someone says something? I just realized how much I do that! I guess if I want you to know I’m agreeing with something, I’ve actually got to say it. It’s so funny…”

With no pun intended, I must say the experience made me see many things differently. I gained a tremendous respect for how hard it must be to make your way through a world you can’t see. Simple tasks like salting your food become challenging, and you must be very trusting of others for things that sighted people take for granted, like the ease of walking to and from the table and passing things to others. I also learned some embarrassing things about myself, like my making butter-based assessments of restaurants. Shame on me… From now on, whenever there are plastic packets of butter, cream, or whatever, instead of passing judgment, I’ll think: “How considerate of the visually impaired”.

© 2010 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... non-traditional

By Ingrid Sapona

I laughed when I first heard last week that the Pope decided to move the Christmas Eve midnight mass to 10 p.m. I figured either I had mis-heard or the story was a joke. Subsequent news articles, however, confirmed the time change. I guess, contrary to what I had assumed, there is no religious significance to holding the mass at midnight -- it was merely a tradition. This got me thinking about tradition.

Of course, traditions abound in many aspects of peoples’ lives, but the number of traditions people observe around the holidays is pretty amazing. Take food for example: many families have traditions about what they eat and when they eat it (whether it’s turkey on Christmas Day, champagne at the stroke of midnight, or pickled herring on New Years Day), not to mention the sweets they enjoy (chocolate Hanukah coins, fruitcake, candy canes, stollen, Yule logs, etc.).

Many have traditions related to gifts: around what is given (stocking stuffer type things, practical items, luxury items, edible gifts, potent potables, money, donations, etc.), and who they give to (friends, relatives, neighbors, bosses, and so on). Some offices or groups have traditions around gift swaps featuring rules about only giving gag gifts or spending less than $X. Families often even have traditions around when they open gifts and with whom, for example, opening gifts at grandma’s house on Christmas Eve, and at home Christmas morning.

Hell, when you get right down to it, even using the phrase “the holidays” to refer to the period from mid-December to early January has become a tradition (at least in Canada and the U.S.). For example, people can be heard asking pretty much everyone -- regardless of their religion: “What are you up to for the holidays?” Or, “Will you take any time off during the holidays?”

It may be impolitic to say this -- especially during this tradition-rich time of the year -- but I’ve got mixed feelings about traditions. Traditions can be very comforting. They connect us to the past and can remind us of things we value. Often, carrying on a tradition is a way of showing respect for how previous generations might have struggled or how they did things. One tradition in our family, for example, was that my father was in charge of the Christmas Day dinner. Since he died, I’ve taken over the job and I love trying to re-create his feast. Just reading the recipes (which he dictated to me as we made the dinner together the year before he died) I can hear his voice. The meal is not just my tribute to his cooking -- it’s our family’s way of feeling his presence.

For many, the act of developing new traditions is a source of joy. When people get together, for example, they often develop traditions of their own as a way of signifying to each other that they are united (as a couple or even in a business or charitable venture). Some traditions get started accidentally, but they endure through intentional actions. For example, a number of years ago my sister found it was cheaper to fly into Toronto and for us to then drive together to my parents for Christmas than for her to fly directly to where my parents live. Though the flight costs are now pretty comparable, it’s become a tradition that she flies to Toronto because it gives us a chance to spend a bit of extra time together.

But traditions can also be a source of stress and tension. We all know lots of people who get particularly stressed out during the holidays in the name of carrying out certain traditions -- whether it’s feeling they must bake dozens upon dozens of cookies, or spend hundreds of dollars on gifts, or feel obliged to see people they don’t much like.

Traditions often are surrounded by expectations, so there can be a tremendous amount of guilt tied to trying to modify a tradition, much less break one. And, anytime expectation is involved, the possibility of disappointment is always lurking. Take my Dad’s stuffing, for example. I never cared that much for it and when I follow his recipe, it never seems to turn out. But, it’s taken me a long time to get up the nerve to even consider varying it, for fear that others will miss having Dad’s. This year I finally broached the subject and, rather than trying something completely new, my mother and I agreed on how I might tweak Dad’s recipe a bit. (Given how it turned out this year, I suspect my family might welcome the idea of me trying something completely different next year!)

Another problem inherent in modifying a tradition is the fact that people often read things into the change that aren’t intended. “Aunt Ethel didn’t send us a fruitcake this year and she’s never not sent one before, we must have done something to offend her.” Indeed, eyebrows can be raised (and whispers heard) even when there’s a perfectly legitimate reason for varying a tradition. The skepticism voiced in response to the Vatican’s explanation that the decision to hold midnight mass at 10 p.m. was simply “to tire the (82-year-old) Pope a bit less” is the perfect example of this.

So you see, I truly am ambivalent about traditions. But, after having thought about it all week -- though I’m not Catholic -- I’ve decided to use the Vatican’s willingness to vary a long-held tradition as an example in my own life. I’ve decided that in 2010 I’m going to try not to cling to tradition just for tradition’s sake. I’ll do my best to honour traditions when I can, but if they don’t make sense for me and my life any more, I’ll modify them when possible, or let them go, choosing instead to simply hold on to the memories.

All the best to you in the New Year -- and thank you so much for indulging me this past year by reading On being…

© 2009 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... brand concsious

By Ingrid Sapona

I’m not a brand snob, nor have I ever been terribly impressed with things simply because of the brand they might be. And, I find it odd when brand names are prominently displayed on the outside of things like clothing. I know, some people want everyone to know they’re wearing a Hilfiger this, or a Roots that. But honestly, am I the only one who thinks labels belong on the inside?

Indeed, maybe I should be embarrassed to admit this, but I once discreetly mentioned to a woman after an exercise class that it seemed there was something small, but quite bright, stuck on her behind. It looked like one of those florescent orange price stickers stores use to show sale prices.

She seemed genuinely appreciative of my mentioning it and when we got back to the ladies change room we both had a closer look. It turned out to be the brand label intentionally sewn into the seam on the outside. Needless to say, I was embarrassed I drew her attention to it, but she seemed equally embarrassed that the label drew attention to her behind. Why would a manufacturer do that? (True, it got my attention -- but for all the wrong reasons!)

Don’t get me wrong -- I pay attention to brand names for some things. To me, a brand represents a certain standard of quality and uniformity of manufacture. I’m willing to pay a bit more for brand names for products I rely on to be of the same quality over time -- things like tea, toothpaste, underwear, etc.

Recently, my faith in brand names and the quality I’ve assumed goes with them has been shaken. The first tremor was caused by a report on the Today Show about holiday shopping at manufacturers’ outlet stores. Though I’d noticed that the number of outlet stores has grown exponentially over the past 10 years or so, I never wondered why. I always thought outlet stores sold seconds or “irregulars”, or stuff from the previous season that didn’t sell.

According to this report, however, many companies actually manufacture items just for their outlet stores. Often these products look like that manufacturer’s regular goods, but they’re made of lower quality materials and are less durable. To the untrained eye (or at least when looked at from a distance) they may look the same, but they aren’t the same quality. I guess that explains the proliferation of outlet stores.

The second, and more discouraging, realization that a brand name doesn’t necessarily guarantee the quality I might expect came last week when I was shopping for a television. I had done some preliminary research and had decided about the type, size (37"), and amount I was willing to spend. I had also decided I’d buy it at an electronics store my family has shopped at for years. This store carries a wide selection at competitive prices, they’re well known for their service, and the salespeople are not on commission, so they don’t pressure you.

Because it was a Saturday before Christmas, I went to the store early. The prices and brands of 37" sets were the same as I’d seen elsewhere. As well, they had a 40" in a brand I was interested in and it was $100 cheaper than the same brand’s 37". I asked a salesperson why the price difference on that set and he immediately said, “That was one of our Black Friday specials and we still have a few.”

On closer examination of the specs I noticed a few differences between the 37" and 40", but they were in things that, frankly, I didn’t think I’d notice at home. The 40" seemed like a good deal. But, I needed to think about it and consider whether that size would fit the room.

Later that day I went back to get the 40". Before handing the salesperson my credit card I had one more question: I asked whether he thought the store’s five year extended warranty (which was $99) was “worth it”. Without skipping a beat he said, “On that set it’s DEFINITELY a good idea -- that’s our Black Friday special.”

The authority with which he spoke and unequivocal nature of his comment compelled me to ask whether they’d experienced problems with that model. He said, “Well, no -- we’ve only had it a couple weeks so it’s too early to tell -- but it’s our Black Friday special.” Still not clear about the implications of it being the Black Friday special, I asked what that meant. He explained that over the past few years companies have become very sophisticated and they manufacture Black Friday specials specifically to a price point. Naturally, to do this, he explained, they use lower grade components.

I told him I thought so-called Black Friday specials were just loss leaders intended to bring folks into stores. He said that they are, but now manufacturers have come up with a way of maintaining their margin and pleasing retailers by offering models specifically manufactured as Black Friday specials. I was astounded -- and even a bit skeptical -- but that might explain why I hadn’t seen any 40" models by that brand a few months ago when I started looking at televisions.

Well, this information certainly brings a whole new meaning to the idea of “special”. In the end, I didn’t go with the Black Friday special; I went with the 37" I had originally had my eye on and I skipped the extended warranty. Time will tell whether I made the right choice.

I don’t know about you, but these revelations make me angry and reduce the limited appreciation I had for brand names. I have no problem with a company that offers a range of products at different prices -- like a book being available in hardcover or paperback. But, a company putting its name on an item and marketing it at a “sale” price when, in fact, it purposely manufactured that item to a lower standard seems dishonest.

So, next time you’re jealous that someone’s wearing this brand of X or has that brand of Y, take heart -- there’s a good chance the item isn’t quite what it appears to be.

© 2009 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... fixated

By Ingrid Sapona

I’ve had my condo two years this month. The woman I bought from was the original owner. She had the foresight to buy two storage lockers. The locker room is quite nice -- it’s clean, dry, and well-lit. I had a storage locker in the basement of my apartment and I used it, but I always dreaded going down there. It was dark and dreary, and the boxes of mouse poison in every corner reminded me of things I didn’t like being reminded of.

When I moved, I promised myself I’d make better use of my storage lockers, especially given the luxury of having two. So, I bought big, see-through stackable bins for things like holiday decorations and craft stuff and proper file storage boxes for my business-related things. All the plastic bins and file boxes went into one locker.

My second locker was a different story. Because one of my bedroom dressers didn’t fit in my new bedroom, I put it in the second locker. I figured I’d keep my summer clothes there during winter and visa versa. But, it turned out I had enough closet space in the condo for all my clothes, so I didn’t need the dresser for them.

I kept some sailing gear and linens in it, but that was about it because little else fit easily in the drawers. Over time I ended up piling things on top of the dresser and leaning things against it. Soon the locker looked like a closet you shove items into and quickly push the door closed before something falls out.

The fact I was wasting the extra space I was so excited about when I moved in was weighing on my mind and, in some respects, dragging me down. So, with the second anniversary of the move coming, I decided I should do something about the situation. I knew the first step was to get rid of the dresser.

It took some hunting, but eventually I found a charity furniture bank that picks up larger items (like dressers). Finally, this past Monday I phoned them. I was caught off-guard when they offered to pick it Thursday morning, but I agreed. Suddenly, after two years of dithering, it was full steam ahead on getting organized. I had to move all the stuff out of the locker to get the dresser out and I had to figure out how I’d store things once it was gone.

I decided shelving for storing bins and boxes would be best, but the locker’s an odd shape, so not just any shelves would do. After lots of shopping around, not to mention measuring and sketching out possible configurations, I chose some shelves from Ikea. Getting them home took a couple trips and -- given where I bought them -- some assembly was required. Luckily I had the right tools.

By Friday night the dresser was gone, the shelves were in, I had sorted through my stuff, getting rid of many items I didn’t use, and I had organized what remained. It seemed like quite a whirlwind, but when I was done I felt as though a load had been lifted from my shoulders. Sure, it took me two years to figure out what I wanted, but once I decided, it all came together quickly.

On Saturday a friend called to see whether I had a particular tool. For about a month she’d been looking at different ways of storing her bike. Apparently she finally decided and bought a rack. She had started installing it in her garage but ran into a problem and she needed a particular tool. Unfortunately, I didn’t have what she was looking for. She mentioned she’d ask other friends.

On Sunday I stopped by to see how the installation went. Though she didn’t get her hands on the tool she thought she needed, she had gotten a bit further with the installation. She gave up, however, when she thought she might break the rack if she continued trying. Then she berated herself for becoming “fixated” on the idea of putting up a rack in the first place. Realizing she was just frustrated, I went to look at it. When I saw it, I realized I had just the tool she needed -- a wrench I had used to assemble the shelves.

I offered to go home and get the tool but she told me to forget it because it wasn’t important and it didn’t need to be done right away -- if at all -- because it was just something ridiculous she got in her head! Though I reassured her she’ll appreciate the rack once it’s up, she was too exasperated to agree.

Understanding the urge to implement a decision once you’ve finally made it (especially if you’ve been thinking about it for some time), I went home, got the wrench, and headed back to her house. When I arrived with a smile on my face and the tool in my hand, I simply said I had a bee in my bonnet and I was anxious to see whether we could finish it. Well, ten minutes later we had the rack up and the bike hung.

Afterward she thanked me, but again chided herself for fixating on the rack in the first place. I said I thought she was being a bit hard on herself. I reminded her I had spent the better part of the week “suddenly” attending to the storage locker that I had done nothing with for so long. Sure, I got a bit stressed out about it as I was putting the shelves together, but I kept focusing on the end result, which I saw as a triumph. (Maybe just a triumph over indecisiveness, but a victory all the same!)

The next day she called to tell me that she likes the bike rack -- it was her way of saying thanks. I was happy for her and I know it’ll come in quite handy. Now, if I could just convince her to stop seeing goals as fixations, I think she’d enjoy more of life’s little triumphs.

© 2009 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... too much fuss?

By Ingrid Sapona

A girlfriend’s father has been in and out of the hospital lately and she’s been helping her folks out quite a bit so, thinking she deserves a bit of TLC, I invited her over for lunch. Though she jumped at the invitation, she stressed that she didn’t want me to go to any trouble. I told her that I thought she deserved a break and that having her over would be my pleasure. Before we agreed on the date she again reiterated that she hoped I wouldn’t fuss. To be honest, I was a bit irritated at her insistence because I welcomed the opportunity to fuss a bit. But, I contained my annoyance and told her not to worry.

As soon as we hung up I began planning the meal. I love cooking and, for me, having people over presents an opportunity to try something new or an old favourite that I don’t make too often. Part of it is that when you live alone there are some things you just don’t make for yourself because there’s a limit to how many days you can stomach something (even favourite foods lose their appeal by the fourth evening) and there’s only so much space in the freezer for leftovers.

Besides enjoying cooking, I love entertaining. It’s a chance to pull out the proverbial “good china” and there’s always decorating the table and the challenge of creating an atmosphere that’s welcoming and relaxing. (Truth be told, it’s also a great excuse to splurge on a little something in bloom for the table!)

A couple days after making plans with my girlfriend, my godparents phoned to invite me over for dinner. I hadn’t seen them in awhile and I was delighted at the thought. I always enjoy our visits and I know that they both enjoy entertaining and fussing over things. Joe, my godfather, loves to cook and I figured, like me, he welcomed having an excuse to put his formidable talents to use. We quickly settled on a date.

It turns out, I was right. My godparents knocked themselves out with an Asian-inspired three-course feast. Not only was the meal delicious, it was fun to share Joe’s enthusiasm. At one point, after asking him about the sauce adorning the fish, he popped out to the kitchen and returned with the recipe. He then described how he varied it a bit because he wasn’t sure I would like one particular ingredient. Later on my godmother let it slip that for days Joe had been contemplating the “menu he’d serve Ingrid”. I was honoured and happy that they know I truly appreciate the attention to detail and the effort they put into the meal.

Now, back to the get-together with my girlfriend. As it happens, the night before the lunch she phoned to ask if I’d mind postponing for a week because she wasn’t feeling 100%. She asked if it would be a big inconvenience and I reassured her it wouldn’t be. The truth was that by that point most of the meal was ready (I do as much as I can in advance so that when I have a guest I don’t have to spend a lot of time in the kitchen), but that was ok. You see, I really didn’t mind because I had enjoyed all the preparations – the fact that I might have to re-make some of it later didn’t really matter.

So here’s my take on fussing over things. I think everybody fusses in their own way over things that matter to them. Some people fuss over cleaning their car, others fuss over dressing up. I happen to fuss over food and entertaining. The way I see it, fussing can be a form of self-expression and even a creative outlet. So long as your fussing is self-motivated (in other words, you’re not fussing because it’s expected of you) and so long as your fussing doesn’t rise to the level of an obsession or compulsion, I say go for it.

So, next time someone you know starts to fuss over something, I say sit back and let them. Afterward, be sure to revel in the outcome with them -- you’ll both be happier for it!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to looking for a new stuffing recipe -- the holidays are around the corner and I’ve got some things I’d like to fuss over …

© 2009 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... a rite of passage

By Ingrid Sapona

A few columns back I mentioned I was notified about being audited by the IRS. Well, I’m happy to report that it’s over. In terms of tax, it was pretty much a non-event (though I owe about $25 plus interest). In other respects, it was quite an ordeal.

It started with a letter notifying me that my 2007 return was selected for a “compliance research examination”. The letter explained that the IRS “must examine randomly selected tax returns to better understand tax compliance and improve the fairness of the tax system.”

The letter went on: “If we find any errors during the examination, we will give you the opportunity to explain them. The results of this and other compliance research examinations will improve our effort to help taxpayers understand and follow the tax law, reduce unnecessary and costly examinations, and reduce burden on taxpayers.” Well that sounds reasonable, I said to myself. The letter instructed me to call Agent John Doe (not his real name) by a certain date.

I immediately phoned my accountant Ted (not his real name). Ted was aware the IRS was conducting a “research project” related to Americans living abroad -- other clients of his firm have been contacted. Lucky me -- I was the first person in Toronto that he’d heard about.

Ted reassured me that I have a straightforward return and he thought it would probably be handled as a “desk audit”, which meant that I’d have to provide specific backup documents related to various items on the return and that would be it. He also offered to be on the line when I phoned Agent Doe. I took him up on the offer and we placed the call.

A gruff-sounding voice answered: “Agent 1234567, John Doe here”. I kid you not – he gave his IRS agent number before his name. I suddenly felt like I was in a Monty Python skit about an officious tax auditor. I took a deep breath and introduced myself.

Agent Doe immediately explained that the examination is related to a research project and that I’m not being audited. Whew -- that’s a relief, I thought. He then added, however, “Of course, if there’s any discrepancy I’ll have to make an adjustment and if you owe anything you’ll have to pay it, along with interest and penalties, if applicable.”

Then, to make me feel better (I assumed), Agent Doe commented that my return is fairly straightforward. Ted and I both voiced our agreement to that. Then I asked about the procedure for this “examination”. I was quite floored when Agent Doe explained he’d be coming to Toronto for the “interview” portion but that in terms of reviewing my records it was my choice: he could either review them “on-site” or he could take them with him.

Ted asked what “on site” meant, given that I work from home. You guessed it – it meant at my home. Then I asked how long it would all take and I was stunned when Agent Doe said probably about five days. “Five days? But you just said my return is straightforward,” I protested. That’s when Agent Doe explained the real difference between this and an audit: “On an audit I would pick a few items and verify your backup documents related to those items to make sure things look right. If things are off by a few bucks, that’s ok. With this research project, however, I have to look at everything and account for things to the penny,” he said. My earlier relief suddenly evaporated as I realized this would be more like a “super audit”.

We settled on a date for the “interview”, leaving for later the decision of whether Agent Doe would be examining my records on my dining room table. Before ending the conversation Agent Doe said he’d courier me information about what he wanted to see. Two days later I received a three-page list of questions.

I immediately began compiling the requested information. I found it all, but I got nervous when I couldn’t come up with the exact figures Ted used on the return. Fortunately, a few days before the audit, Ted walked me through it all. Though I was disappointed to find a few minor errors (basically figures that were transposed), I consoled myself with the idea that Agent Doe was bound to find something. (I hate to sound cynical, but I figure he has to justify the cost of his trip.)

So, at 8:45 a.m. (sharp) on Monday the 19th, I met Agent Doe at the security desk of my building. Taking my cue from our initial conversation, I decided the best approach was formal and all business. So, after asking to see two forms of ID (can you say officious?), I escorted him in. After interviewing me for 90 minutes we started on the specific questions about the return. By lunch time I think it was clear to him that: 1) my operation truly is small and straightforward -- a year’s worth of business receipts fit into one (thin) file folder, and 2) he wasn’t going to need the three days(!) he had scheduled to go through my stuff.

I think he could have plowed through all my information that day, but since he didn’t have another appointment in Toronto until Thursday, he called it quits around 3:45 p.m. Because I was unavailable on Tuesday, he took some of my documents with him and we agreed to meet here on Wednesday. Before leaving, he commented on how organized and thorough my information is. (Damned right, I thought!) Oh, and he mentioned that no one’s ever asked him for two forms of ID. (Damned right, I thought!)

I didn’t know how long it might take on Wednesday, or whether he’d ask for additional information. Turns out, it took less than a half hour. He told me the adjustments he proposed (they were the mistakes Ted and I had caught) and approximately what I would end up owing as a result. I agreed, and that was it. He thanked me for my cooperation and again commended me on my organized and thorough record-keeping.

When all was said and done, though the amount I’m out of pocket is negligible, the whole thing cost me more than 25 man-hours. (Kind of ironic that the alleged reason for this research project is to “reduce unnecessary and costly examinations” – but never mind.) And it was quite stressful. As I was preparing for the audit, I couldn’t help think that I must have been singled out because I did something wrong. Though I take my business seriously and I consider myself a professional, I don’t use any sophisticated software or complicated filing systems. I kept wondering if I should be doing things differently.

Mind you, some good did come of the experience. For one thing, as I was responding to Agent Doe’s questions, I began to feel more confident in my business practices. Indeed, the fact that he complimented me on my records was gratifying. But perhaps the most unexpected positive to come out of the whole thing was my new-found appreciation for what a great role model my father was and how much he taught me about owning a business.

You see, Dad had a small restaurant and starting in junior high he let me earn my allowance by doing his books. I did his weekly payroll (complete with payroll deductions), his weekly income and expenses ledgers, and the monthly, quarterly, and year-end totals. This was long before we had PCs and computer programs. Of course, now we do -- but I never really thought of doing it any way other than the way my father did it.

So there you have the story of my non-audit audit. Or, as I prefer to think of it: the story of my rite of passage as a business person.

© 2009 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... priceless

By Ingrid Sapona

Last week a friend and I went to a taping of a well-known Canadian talk show. The show attracts interesting guests from all walks of life. The taping we attended featured a Billboard-topping Canadian singer, a venture capitalist, and the first couple voted off “Battle of the Blades”, a popular Canadian reality show. (Yes, Canadians like reality shows too and, not to be outdone by the U.S., last year the CBC premiered this uniquely-Canadian show -- it features former NHL players teamed with well-known women figure skaters in a pairs figure skating competition.)

Though my friend and I hadn’t ever watched an entire episode of the hour-long talk show, we thought going to a taping would be fun. What clinched the deal was the fact that ordering the (free) tickets on-line was a breeze. I thought we’d have to order tickets weeks, if not months, in advance. Instead, we got tickets for a show later that week.

We were asked to be there promptly at 2:45 p.m. So, at 2:40 we joined about 30 others who were already in the check-in line. At about 2:50 we noticed a second line forming and we speculated that that line probably was for people who hadn’t pre-booked tickets. (The day before the taping the guests were announced on-line and, given the popularity of the Canadian singer that was scheduled, I figured people who hadn’t pre-ordered tickets might have shown up in hopes of their being space.)

When we finally made it up to the check-in person, we were asked to sign in and then join the other line. Apparently that other line wasn’t for the ticket-less -- it was just where you stood after signing in. We dutifully joined that line and waited. Finally, at about 3:30, a bunch of us were ushered into a freight elevator to be taken up to the studio. Well, taken up to the floor the studio was on. There we joined another line. We didn’t get into the studio until about 4:15. By then -- despite my best efforts at staying cheery -- my enthusiasm had diminished quite a bit.

The first segment featured the singer performing two Christmas songs (this was being recorded for airing December 24th). After finishing the second song they decided to re-do the first song because we were, well -- too polite and quiet. On the second take we were urged to let loose, sing along if we wanted, and clap and cheer louder. I guess our efforts were good enough that second time because after that we were ushered back into the hall to wait so they could remove the drums and piano and re-set the seats for a normal interview. When all was said and done, we finally left the studio at about 6:15.

While we were in line and I felt myself getting antsier and antsier, I thought about how I used to be much better at handling such waiting. Indeed, I have many fond memories of my sister and I buying inexpensive lawn seats at concerts and getting there hours early to scope out a prime place and spread our blanket and wait. Mind you, in those days no one frisked you on entry and they didn’t mind if you brought in a sandwich or something to munch on along with your blanket. Nowadays, if you and your blanket make it through the security search, the best you can hope for is concession stands with junk food costing top dollar.

There was a time, too, when friends and I used to think nothing of waiting in line at sold-out documentaries and shows in hopes of snagging one of a handful of rush tickets that might be released minutes before the show starts. I’m not sure when it happened, but at some point a few years back I guess we came to the realization that if there’s something we want to see we should try to get tickets in advance. And, if we don’t manage to get them, we’re fine with that because we realize there are lots of other enjoyable ways of passing time.

On the way home from the taping my friend and I agreed that the guests were entertaining and all, but I don’t think either of us would rush back to attend another taping. And, I think it’s fairly telling that the next day, when another friend asked me how it was, my first comment had to do with the long wait, rather than with anything the guests said or did.

Since then I’ve been thinking more about my impatience that afternoon. I won’t deny that as we were waiting a voice inside my head kept chiding me with: “you get what you pay for” and “there’s no such thing as a free lunch”. And yet, I’m not one of those who goes through life thinking “time is money”. Indeed, I realized long ago that one of the best things about working for myself is the fact that I don’t have to account to anyone else for my time. (Measuring things in tenths of an hour, as I used to have to when I practiced law, is enough to drive anyone crazy and it’s even worse if you start believing that those tenths are worth $X at your charge-out rate!)

Ultimately I think my growing impatience with lineups is a sign of age. Though I didn’t have anything particularly pressing to do that afternoon, I couldn’t help think that life is short and my time could have been better spent than standing in line.

Ah well, I guess I’ll just have to chalk it up to a first hand reminder of something MasterCard has been telling us for years: there’s a difference between free and priceless.

© 2009 Ingrid Sapona