So the IRS sends us our tax refund minus $37, claiming we made a mistake on our return. My husband looks it over and says nope, we're right. They're wrong.
Most people would have let it go, assuming there was either an arcane bit of tax code they were missing, or just too small a sum to quibble over. But not my guy. He stands on principle.
I asked, "Do you think it's intentional? Like maybe they're trying to skim $37 off a few million returns to help trim the budget deficit?"
He laughed. "Even if they stole $37 from a million people, that's still only $37 million. Compared to the budget deficit of over a trillion dollars, that's sort of like you finding a nickel in the couch."
So he called the IRS and got someone who couldn't explain the $37 discrepancy. He got transferred to another person who couldn't figure it out. He got transferred yet again to someone who admitted the IRS had probably made a mistake, but wasn't really sure. My husband insisted on being transferred to someone who had the authority to make the decision.
By this point he had been on the phone forty-five minutes. We were all waiting for him to get off so we could go out for pizza. He finally told us to go without him. "Bring me back an eggplant parm hero," he said.
An hour-and-a-half after calling, he finally got someone who admitted the mistake and promised to send us a check for $37. My husband asked, "Is there a confirmation number you can give me so I can follow up if I don't get the check?"
"No," he was told. "If you don't get it in six weeks, just call us back."
Knowing my husband, he will.
But we'll try to time dinner a little better. Not that I mind bringing a hero home from the pizza place ... it's just that I'd rather walk in with one.