November 2, 2021

 

It was exciting, really, a letter that arrived last Saturday from the IRS.

 

After the heading which held addresses, and nearly every bit of information about me a thief might enjoy having, short of my height, this phrase appeared in bold letters:

 

Overpayment on your December 31, 2020 Form xxxx . . . 

Where do you want us to apply your credits? 

You bet! I’m ready to tell you. 

 

But wait! There’s more!

Enough months ago that tomatoes vines could be planted, ripen, produce, and renege on any further growth, the IRS informed me by a first letter that they (is it “they” or “it”?) weren’t/wasn’t completely convinced that I am who I have, quite without any suspicion, claimed to be since inheriting a small trust in 2013, for which I have since, successfully, faithfully filed all necessary tax forms called for concerning it.

That letter said something like this:

Please send a slew of ancient documents (specifying some that I had never heard of) that will convince us that you, rather any other, might be the beneficiary of this trust. Upon receipt, you can expect to hear next within four to six months. 

 

I scoured current file folders, sifted through stored boxes of old probably-not-but-possibly-necessary-papers concerning the trust issued by various parties in Utah, Arizona, and Washington state in an attempt to provide for the IRS what, surely, they/it already had on record. 

 

Did I mention? They owed me money.

 

So, imagine, seven months later (tomato plants winter rain wilted) my delight when a single page form arrived from the IRS that rightly listed nearly everything about me but my weight and social security number. 

 

The Very First Line following two columns of personal information:

“Overpayment on your December 31, 2020 Form xxxx

      You have a credit of $$$$$$$ that you didn’t claim . . .

      Where do you want us to apply your credits?”

 

The second section of the form, separated from the first by a solid black line, read:  

      “What you need to do”

I’ll do it! I did what they suggested. I called the the number listed three times on this single page: 800-829-0115

 

1:00pm

Monday. November 1, 2021

I had a 3:00pm meeting to attend. Plenty of time.

 

Ring, ring, ring . . . then, a recorded voice: “Your wait time will be more than 60 minutes.”

 

What the heck. I had things to do while waiting. I put the phone with its wretched music on speaker. I washed fruit, I ground coffee beans, I washed up some dishes by hand, putting them in the dishwasher to dry, I searched for some party plates I couldn’t/can’t find. I moved from the kitchen.

 

I played with the dog some. Scooter is learning to “Push!” the ball to me. I used the toilet, I moved the phone to a kitchen counter where I could easily hear the frequent reminder to “please stay on the line;” that “all representatives are busy serving other customers.” My turn would be coming up. I went for my knitting. With the help of five #8 double-point needles, I completed a sleeve for a child’s woolen hoodie. I shot off an email to the friend hosting the 3:00pm meeting. “I mean to be there but I’m on the line with the IRS. I may be late.” 

 

2:25pm:

A real voice interrupted the recordings. In a clear, no-nonesense voice, a woman identified herself by name and a rattled off series of numbers. Haley, I believe she said before asking how she might help me.

 

Let’s get it clear here. I was the one helping. She asked questions. I provided answers. I read from, and described the one-page letter/form divided by bold words and solid lines describing “Overpayment on your December 31, 2020 form xxxx.”

 

“The letter asks me to let you know where I want you “to apply your credits.”

It sounded simple. I’ve called to tell you where to “apply” my credits.

 

“But,” she said more than once. She seemed not able to . . . what is your full name?

Are you the primary  . . . ?

 

After several quizzings, after two ‘short holds,’ and several more minutes, I was informed that Haley didn’t have “me” as the person she should be talking to. 

“What was it again that you  . . .?”

As carefully as she tried, she couldn’t tie me to my request.

“Tell me again what the letter you received said. 

I began again, reading from the first line in information.

 

2:55pm

“It says ‘What?’”

This, after the fourth or fifth time I had quoted from the letter that clearly stated that I am the person to whom they owe a substantial amount of money, and all I needed to do was call the number listed three times in the body of the letter, and answer the question printed in large, bold letters,

       Where do you want us to apply your credits?

 

“Oh!” said Haley Whomever, “You have a CREDIT coming? This is the Payment Department. Let me transfer you to the Refund Department.”

 

Hold it! I thought. This is the phone number listed three times on the letter. I’ve been on this call now for two hours.” I tried to remain calm. 

The meeting I meant to attend was beginning.” I asked, “When you transfer me, will I be holding again?”

“I hope not for too long,” said she.

Haley was gone.

Music.

Canned voice called out: “All our representatives are busy helping other customers. Your estimated wait is 15-30 minutes.”

 

3:20pm

“Hello,” said Donna who instantly rattled off her identifying numbers in the required fashion. 

“How can I help you?” 

“First,” I said, putting down my knitted second sleeve, “Do you have my phone number, just in case we should somehow be disconnected?” I was thinking of the several “Can I put you on hold” requests during my time with Haley. I feared the condition of my brain and blood pressure should this call fail. 

“No, I do not have a record of your phone number,” I asked her to write it down. You know, in case, after two hours already on the line holding, I might accidently be dropped. She took my number. 

 

“How can I help you?” 

Donna was sympathetic about the time I had already spent with the IRS. She agreed, I should not have been with the Payment Department but now, she, in the Refund Department, was ready to help me.

 

Let’s get right to it.

No, she couldn’t help me. We realized this after her many questions, a few “short holds,” and twenty minutes spent together (along with the form in my hand).

“You said this was a letter you received saying a credit is due?”

Yes. It is this simple – “Overpayment. Where do you want us to apply your credits?”

“And it was addressed to you?” Emphasis on “you.”

Yes.

“Will you read me the letter again, please?”

I read.

I started with: Childs Trust FBO Barbara Pine (note – no apostrophe in “Childs”)

 

“Wait!” She stopped me cold. “This is a Trust? No wonder I’m not able to help you. Let me transfer you to the Trust Department.”

But! But!

My “But, but” surrendered to her “the longer you are here with me will only increase the time you wait to reach the Trust Department. I am sorry, but let me transfer you. They will take care of this quickly enough.

 

3:45pm

“Please stay on the line. Your wait time is estimated to be 15-30 minutes.”

Indeed, it was.

Indeed, “quickly enough” did occur though the wait did take a full 30-minutes, and the problem solving did require a few “short holds.” 

From a very kind woman in the Trust Department, I learned that the phone number three times listed on the form asking, “Where do you want us to apply your credits?” happens to be the one and only number to call. 

I have been educated. It wasn’t enough that I mentioned to three agents that I received a form saying, “An overpayment” had been made by a Child’s Trust, and that in response to, “Where do you want us to apply your credits?” I simply wanted to choose Option Two. 

Send it to me.

Send it to the address you have, yes, that’s it, on file.

Sure, send it now.

That should have taken, what, the whole of maybe ten minutes?

 

5:00pm

“Can I put you on a short hold, to see if that payment can be released? If it can be, you should expect a check within six to eight weeks.”

I started chopping vegetables.