The tax man cometh...

I marched into the meeting room, loaded for bear. I was going to get to the bottom of this tax revaluation. I was going to squeeze an admission of guilt out of the tax appraisal person, no matter how long it took. I was going to stand my ground. I was not going to let up. I was going to leave that room with a lower tax bill! Yeah! Yeah!

Ummm. No. Not quite.

I asked my questions and the appraiser calmly and logically answered. He knew my house inside and out. He knew the kitchen hadn't been updated in 15 years. He knew I have yet to update the bathrooms. He knew I have no garage. (The only thing he didn't know was how long it had been since I had last done my laundry.)

"But you based the value of my home on those gigantic new places!"

"No, I didn't. They're part of your development, so we have to list them, but we didn't compare your house with those."

"But you used homes sold before the housing crash! I know you did. Admit it! Come on. Admit it."

"No. Actually we looked at values in 2009. See (he pointed at a date included on one of the descriptions)."

Crap. He was so reasonable, and he was right.

I went to the tax assessors office to see how much my bill would increase.

I expected to find a wheezened little man. I thought he would be grumpy and ill-tempered...a Bob Cratchet type. But no. The man I found was was pleasant and outgoing. "Come on in. What can I do for you? Have a seat."

He was nice and friendly. How was I going to assert myself to such a nice person?

"They're going to double, aren't they? I just know it. My taxes are going to go through the roof. I'm going to have to move. I'm going to have to start commuting an hour to work. I'm going to have to leave my neighbors. And what about my garden? I'll have to start over, won't I?"

"Nope. Your taxes will go up about $500 for the year. That's not so bad, is it?"

Oh, I said. Oh. Hmmm. But I'm still loaded for bear! I bet there are other people who will have to move! I was still full of bluster and I was looking for a fight. There wasn't going to be one.
Bear. I was loaded for bear. Now what? I gathered my things, gave the guy a sheepish smile, and wandered out to my car. I guess I should be happy, but I'm still a little loaded for bear...