Keep Your Hands Where I Can See ‘Em

Having left the practice of public accounting over five years ago, I now enjoy a reputation as the CPA that freely dispenses tax advice, no charge, to all comers. After all, since I amassed my fortune and retired young, I should be willing to offer myself up as a public knowledge resource to any schmuck who taps me on the shoulder. Why pay a competent, working CPA a couple of bucks an hour when you can access me for free? Sure, I’m a little eccentric. I pull my hair back and secure it with a pink ladybug barrette. I wear a tee-shirt emblazoned with "Bad Attitude." But I’m a CPA, and the price is right.

When I was making a living at the crafty craft, I often dealt with clients who were disappointed, if not downright enraged, with the advice I dispensed. Kill the messenger. However, I didn’t legislate the tax laws; I just interpreted them for clients. The correct answers were not necessarily the warm, fuzzy right ones.

I don’t have that problem anymore. Now I always give the right answers, whether correct or not. My complimentary advice carries tremendous intrinsic value. Everybody walks away happy. They feel good and it didn’t cost them anything.

And there’s no such thing as a stupid question. Sure, that’s deductible. Just write it in under miscellaneous itemized deductions and clearly label it GREENS FEES. No, you don’t have to declare your early withdrawal of IRA funds and pay a ten percent penalty; it’s your money, isn’t it? Don’t want your estranged husband and his lawyer to know about the rental real estate you purchased? Don’t declare it. You’re protected under Internal Revenue Code Section 6013(e), Innocent Spouse Relief.

Lots of happy customers. Although I’d never sign their tax returns.

My office is always open. Yesterday, at the gym, I was standing at the urinal, peenie in hand, trying to squeeze a few drops of distilled coffee past a prostate long past warranty, when one of my regular "clients" dropped by for a consultation. He nuzzled so close to me I considered asking him to reach around and hold my boy while I adjusted my barrette. This guy had been badgering me with questions for a couple of weeks now, and I could run but I couldn’t hide. He is in the throes of negotiating the purchase of a small business. I think. I don’t pay that close attention. But I gave him all of the right answers again. And he was happy.

Done with my dribble-fest, I rounded the corner to the locker room and was met with the incredulous facial expression worn by a partner at the CPA firm that used to own me. He’d overheard my consultation, and couldn’t wait to correct me.

"Brad, you can’t amortize goodwill over a period of…"

"I know."

"But you told that guy he could use a term…"

"So what?"

"Purchased goodwill must be amortized over…"

"Look, Mike, are you familiar with the tenet of Caveat Emptor, applied in conjunction with the Reasonable Man Standard? It’s a foundational legal concept, and it means you must be leery of advice proffered by a man holding his wiener in his hand. Conscientious fellow that you are, you will probably be surprised to learn that I care even less about dispensing accurate tax advice now than I did when I was in your employ."

His jaw was now resting comfortably on his distended belly. I had to finish him off while he was woozy.

"Remember how I always looked pissed off at work? That’s because I was pissed off. You know that area on the fifth floor you call a file room? I call it a minefield. I forget, what’s the statute of limitations on inaccurate tax filings?"

CPAs are nervous blokes to begin with, and I could hear the acids churning in his enormous gut. During my tenure at his firm, I generated thousands of pages of time reports. Every client file I touched is detailed in those reports. They comprise my Autobiography of the Lost Years.

I imagine my life story is flashing before the eyes of corporate legal counsel as I write this. They won’t find anything. Trust me on this one. I’m not holding my wiener.