Taxing the Unemployed: Until Death Do Us Part
Every day I wake up prepared to interact with a world that wants a piece of me. My children need breakfast, rides to school, and groceries in the fridge. My husband asks me to mail the bills and pick up the cleaning. I send everyone off smiling, finish the dishes, make my detailed list of things to do, and join the multitudes of people paying taxes with almost every move they make.
I fill up the car with gas, noticing the price is several cents higher than a week ago. The news verifies that oil is being taxed at a higher rate these days. I purchase milk, meat, toilet paper, the supplies needed for my son’s report, medicine for my daughter’s asthma, and a few other things, keeping a running total in my head of the costs. I simultaneously include the eight plus percent needed for taxes on my overall bill. I put stamps on the bills, including the one with the increase in our property taxes, putting them in the mail on my way to pick up the cleaning. I notice that I owe a few extra dollars to the cleaner’s due to taxes.
When all is said and done, I begin my own work for individual clients. As I total up their purchases, I add in the tax fee. I will need to pay my own quarterly taxes for being self employed. I’ve been working since I was a teenager, faithfully filling out my tax forms every year. Sometimes, I didn’t earn much and actually received a refund. Other times I struggled to pay what I owed. On paper, I looked good those years, but major appliances needed to be replaced, and cars broke down too often. Still, I paid my dues to keep our roads in good working condition, and pay the salaries of our police and fire squads.
I keep informed about increasing tax rates. I am a registered voter sharing my voice with others about whether or not we should have new taxes, or increase the ones we have to meet our specific needs at any given time. I am a law abiding citizen who pays for taxes that have been voted in, even when I disagree with how the money will be spent. For instance, I do not support teenagers getting birth control without parental consent. However, part of my taxes pays for this program.
By the time I die, I will have paid tens of thousands of dollars in taxes, just for being alive. I will have supported projects that I could have cared less about, and paid for things that go completely against everything I believe to be morally right. If I am able, I will still manage to put a little bit aside for my children.
When I die, my children will pay for the funeral with or without funds available from my estate depending on my prosperity. They will pay for the services rendered: body preparation, facility use, coffin, burial site, flowers, etc., including taxes. Taxes will be rendered for any supplies needed for wakes and lodging from those willing to pay their last respects.
Finally, I will be laid to rest. My voice will cease, as my memory lives on in those who love me. Through their tears, they will gasp when they have to pay the tax bill for my financial success. I no longer have a voice to let anyone know how much I already paid during my lifetime. I no longer require the help of police and fire squads. All I wanted to do was give one final offering to my children who continue to pay extra on every dollar they earn, and just about every purchase they make.
My vote doesn’t count anymore because I’m not a living person working to improve our society. I suppose I should consider it a gift that I can still contribute financially to society after I am gone. It seems to be an opportunity to have the perfect legacy. All is well and good in the land of the living because I still pay my taxes even after I am gone. The funny thing is, I always told my children that you can’t get blood from turnips. Leave it to the government to prove me wrong.