A Short Story About How My Tax Returns Got Done

Things Fall Apart is a novel by Nigerian author Chinua Achebe. It was published in 1958. Things Fall Apart, is the type of novel that if you travel in Africa and speak to someone in any African country that has finished school, they probably would have read it. You know who hasn’t read it yet? Me, an English Honours student from Stellenbosch. I am not sure about your High School but from what I can tell something that is missing in the teaching of English in most South African high schools is that of African literature. I have made it my mission for the next few weeks to finish Achebe’s novel. This post is not actually going to be about that, but I wanted to make that point quickly. Because I took Achebe’s novel with me to read in the line at SARS on Monday.

I’ve been thinking about how to write about this. I have come to the conclusion that the best way to tell you about my SARS experience is in the form of a short story format, so here I go. I am dubbing this short story:

Things Fell Apart

It was a Monday morning in the middle of August. I had taken the day off, but I needed to submit my tax returns. My alarm went off at 05H30, there are tales told across the country of the SARS line. I wanted to get up early and make sure I missed it. However, it was my day off, so I snoozed my alarm until 06H00 and then 06H30. 

I did get up 06H30. I went about my morning routine before grabbing my bag, with all of the documents that I needed to sort out what I needed to sort out and Chinua Achebe’s novel, Things Fall Apart, to read in the line. 

Everyone kept asking me why I didn’t just do my tax online. That was the exact problem, there was an issue with my address so I couldn’t login to e-filing. I wanted to go to SARS to sort that out. 

I got to SARS and saw three lines, I wasn’t sure which one was for me. I assumed it was going to be the longest of the three. I walked to the back and saw an older white gentleman handing out tickets. I asked him what line I should stand in. He asked me if I had my bank statement. I didn’t. 

I skated to the bank printed my statement and skated back. I was then given a ticket and sent to the shortest line. A man was behind, that shouted something like “show me the money”, I knew I wasn’t going to enjoy him. I then heard the man handing tickets out saying some words in Xhosa, he had a tone though. That well just made him seem a little racist, not that he had treated me well either. 

Before I knew it the shortest line had ended up inside and we were now sitting. I tried reading Things Fall Apart. I think I got one chapter done before having to join a standing line. I decided to listen to some music while standing. I thought it was going to be a normal waiting in line for an hour or two situation. 

The guy behind me started shouting for security. He was saying that the guy behind him was touching him. The irony of this was that he had been bumping into my bag the whole morning already. 

I then found myself on chairs again while in the line. I had now gone from outside the building to inside, and now behind the glass wall in the building. To my knowledge it looked like it would be a short waiting period before my query was dealt with. At the time I didn’t know there are two sections to the area of SARS in the CBD that I was in. I had just stood in line to enter the first section. 

I heard numbers being called, so I decided to take my earphones out and try reading Things Fall Apart again. I think I got another chapter done, but we had to keep moving and I had a bag, my skateboard, my tax folder and a book to hold while standing up and sitting down. It was complicated. My ticket number was 526, 525 was called. It wouldn’t be long now I thought. I put the book away, just to make sure I didn’t miss when I was called.

A few minutes passed. The line moved a bit more. We were then told we could move to the second section. Okay, I thought, now it really won’t be long. I was wrong. 

While in the second section I saw something. The guy behind had been a nuisance the whole time, and I did not enjoy his attitude. I may have told him that he was in my seat earlier in the day just because I didn’t appreciate the way he was acting. I then saw him do something really suspisicious. 

He grabbed something off the floor in a flash. I had no idea why he would have done that. Then I saw a lady in front of me looking around and asking the people waiting next to her about something. I put two and two together and realised ‘show me the money’ guy had picked up her ticket. 

I asked him, incredibly nicely I might add, what he had picked up from the floor. He then showed me cans he had been playing with during the wait. The lady more aggresively asked him for her ticket. He then turned the can over slowly to reveal that he had taken her ticket. She took it back forcefully. This small piece of paper tore a bit. 

The piece left in his hand he threw at my legs. If I remember correctly, I told him we’re all frustrated waiting in this line. He responded by telling me to mind my own business. He had his hoodie pulled completely over his head and continued to play with his cans. At this point, I felt a sense that this guy might want to do something dangerous with the metal cans he was tearing apart. 

I am a storyteller who watches a lot of movies, so to my mind cans can easily be turned into knives with the correct amount of tearing. I hinted to security, that something was up with this guy. The security guard then walked up to me and asked what was wrong. I just wanted to hint to them and not have this guy over hear me telling them what was concerning me. The security guard just said he would keep an eye out on the ‘show me the money’ guy. Who told me again to mind my own business.

We waited for a while longer, but now my fight or flight response was in full gear but I couldn’t move because here I was stuck to wait my turn. The line moved up a bit more until I was sitting at the end of a row of chairs and the guy who I had alerted the security guard about was sitting behind me. 

He jumped up and whispered in my ear; “where is your money card?” To which I immediately turned around and called the security guard that was behind us over. I told him about the guy taking the lady’s ticket and his weird question to me as well as the cans that I still believe could have easily been turned into a weapon. The security guard asked him about the cans, he just said it was his business. Then he asked him for his ticket, he just pointed to a flipfolder he was holding. I picked up that the security guard was not going to do anything. What I did, was think about a way to diffuse the situation. 

I did the classic white person thing to do and asked the guy if he needed any help and if there was any way I could help him. He said he was fine, and to show that I was down and not your typical white guy. I gave him a fist pump. The security guard then walked away. 

We then moved up and this guy was now sitting next to me once again. I started getting an immense fear that he was going to stab me in the leg. So I put my skateboard as a cover to my legs. I also kept one eye on him the whole time. After our confrontation, I think we sat next to each other for another hour or hour and a half. 

At some point he said I can help him with food, to which I told him where he can get food. He later asked me to order us debonairs, which I find very strange. I don’t eat debonairs, so I said I don’t feel like it. He then asked me what I did feel like, to which I replied; “To be honest, just getting my tax done.” 

It was probably forty-five minutes before 526 was finally called. I felt some relief at this. I got to a desk thinking I had all the documents needed. I was wrong. I did not have a proof of address. What an idiot, you’re thinking right?

Well, the year before I had gone with a proof of address and I was told that it is the wrong document. I was told that I had to fill out a form, which I had on hand. I googled the documents to take the night before, the form came up, but proof of address did not. ID came up, but not proof of address. 

As you can imagine I was not in a good emotional state. I explained to the lady helping me, that I was not angry with her but right now I am super angry with life after waiting 3 hours to get here. I asked her if there was anything she could do, at first she said she couldn’t because I had the wrong documents. I told her I needed a moment. I took my hands and put together on my face and prayed; “God, help.” 

The lady then spoke up and said that she was just going to do my tax returns and then she said she would also register me for e-filing and I can change my address online. Her tone was rather passive agressive as she explained she did not want to deal with my emotional breakdown. Nonetheless like that it was done. 

I walked out of the offices, highly strung worried that the man with the cans would pursue me. I went to a sanctuary of mine, Battery Park. When I got there I knew the ordeal was over. I wanted to skate but I did not have the energy. My anxiety from the whole morning was still live. 

I decided to go buy ingredients for dinner and then Uber home. I got home, and within an hour I was asleep and slept for about two hours.

When I woke up I went and sat outside with a cup of coffee and opened up Things Fall Apart.