Mr and Mrs Zen have a pleasant discussion

It's tax time.
Oh.
You want me to do your tax?
(with air of entitlement) Yeah.
Okay. Can you get me a notice of assessment?
What?
Can you get me a notice of assessment? You know, the thing they send you every year to tell you what they owe you.
What?
A. Notice. Of. Assessment. The. Thing. You. Get. Every. Year.
There's no need to talk to me like that.

(three weeks pass)
Did you find that notice of assessment?
What?
The notice of assessment. For your tax.
I didn't look.
Why didn't you look? I need it for your tax. Your tax. It's time to do it now.
I don't know where it is.
Try looking in your documents file.

(three days later)
Did you find your notice of assessment?
What?
The tax thing.
Oh.

(Zen gets file)
Here. It's a document from the tax. You need it to prove your identity.
What?
You need it so you can lodge your form. So I can lodge your form.
Oh.

(hands over document)
This isn't a notice of assessment. It's a refund notice.
Will it do?
Let's hope so.

(a day later)
Oh shit. I am going to need her health insurance details.

Hey, can you get your health insurance policy for me?


(fifteen minutes later)
Can you get your health insurance policy for me?
What?
Your health insurance policy. You know, the policy. For your health insurance.
(which you bought behind my back, using money that I couldn't afford)


(five minutes later)
What do you mean? I don't know what you mean.
Your policy.
I have a card.
Okay, give me the fucking card.
There's no need to talk to me like that.
Just give me the fucking card. I knew this would be an uphill battle. But how hard is it to just go and get the policy?

(two minutes later)
I can't find my card. I have this document though.
That's your policy.
Why didn't you say that's what you wanted?
What?
Why didn't you say that you wanted this document?
I told you I wanted your policy.
I didn't know this was my policy. It says certificate of something.
Yeah, that's your policy.
I don't like your tone. You don't have to talk to me like that.
What?
(incoherent bellowing)
No, I knew it would be trouble asking you for it.
(further bellowing)
No, I need it for your tax. Which I'm doing for you. Because you cannot be fucked doing it.
(bellowing reaches new pitch)
Just fuck off.
Don't tell me to fuck off.
Fuck off and leave me to do your tax.
You know, if you tell me to fuck off, then I'll "fuck off".
Don't threaten me. And just fuck off.
(and don't fucking tempt me)

posted by Dr Zen @ 9:09 pm