A note in the box. A certified letter at the Post Office.
The note did not say whom the letter was from. I knew anyway. The IRS.
Because I expected this, it did not ruin the rest of my Sunday. Being the recipient of all kinds of hate messages, delivered certified mail, in person and at least once with 145 grain copper-jacketed lead, I have grown used to this kind of thing. Sometimes it bothers me.
I suggest that any time someone sends you a message in flying lead, it will bother you.
But this time I expected the letter, so #NoWorries.
At lunch, I walked over to the Post Office and signed for the letter. Yep. IRS. Left the Post Office and headed a block east to Lee Cleghorn's office.
Lee said the letter was what we were expecting, no worries, it was finally confirmed from the IRS that the taxes WE say are owed are OFFICIALLY owed.
The IRS addressed the letter, which makes it official, to a person who cannot exist as stated on the address lines.
My name was on the letter. As expected. No worries.
However, this official document gives me a title and official responsibilities which the IRS says I cannot have.
Either I can, or I can't, except in the world of quantum physics, the spectrum of light and dealing with the federal agency, sometimes known as The Infernal Revenue Service.
I have proof. I have letters from the IRS that contradict each other. How I'd LOVE to haul this one into court, but I won't because I don't have the money and I can't make the IRS pay my attorney bills.
I have yet another series of letters which says I can't exist, according to the IRS. They also say I owe taxes under state of non-existence, which I paid. They sent the money back in the form of a US Treasury check. This means they admit I exist, admit I owed taxes, admit I paid taxes and admit I don't owe those taxes.