To Make Taxes More Taxing, Press 1 . . .

We have all been to phone hell and back. We’ve all lived to tell about our descents into the digital madness of government offices and banks and just about any form of bureaucracy. We’ve all felt that shudder of dread as a disembodied voice starts to explain:

“If you want this, press 1. If you want that, press 2. If you want the other thing, press 3. If you want the other other thing, press 4. If you think O.J. is guilty, press . . . “

Now comes Harold D. Watkins of Studio City with more testimony about this insidious form of tyranny. Watkins, a retired business journalist, recently faxed me a copy of a letter he sent to Gerald Goldberg, executive officer of the California Franchise Tax Board, describing a long-term relationship he had with the board’s so-called FAST phone service.

FAST stands for Fast Answers About State Taxes. The tax man has always been known for a sardonic sense of humor.

Here is an edited version of Watkins’ letter:

Dear Mr. Goldberg,

I am still attempting to recover my equilibrium after several frustrating encounters with your FAST phone service and the other one that I was referred to by FAST. I can’t recall the events with total precision, but will try to give you the general flow of the beating down that your phone services dished out.

First FAST. . . . I followed instructions, punching in the numbers in my street address, my Social Security number and the ZIP Code. The Voice then told me to wait while the information was entered, and then The Voice came back on to tell me that it would be necessary for me to talk to an operator in order to complete my request. I then repeated the FAST experience twice more, just to make sure that I hadn’t entered the wrong information and to check to see if the system had suffered a random glitch. . . .

All Watkins wanted was the Estimated Tax Form. When Watkins called another 800 number at FAST’s behest, he encountered one of those advanced systems that supposedly understands a bit of spoken English. Instead of punching numbers on his touch-tone phone, Watkins was instructed to speak.

“Two,” Watkins said, for that was the option he preferred.

“Zero is not an option,” the machine replied.

“Two,” Watkins repeated.

“Zero is not an option,” the machine replied.

This struck Watkins as rude. In his letter, he continues:

Another effort at “two” got me through to the next step of the inquisition. Next I recall being asked for my Social Security number. I started speaking this slowly into the phone, but in three of four attempts got no further than four or five numbers, and was given a tongue lashing each time about something I was doing wrong--according to The Voice. I told The Voice what I thought about him and hung up.

Quite a challenge to get that simple form! Next I thought I’d go back to FAST and fool it by choosing the number “If you have moved or want the form mailed to a different address.” I did this and shortly, “Voila,” I got a human. He had no idea why the system wouldn’t accept my address, etc., but took down the information and said the estimated tax form would be mailed to me.

Why try all this technology . . . if you can’t make it work? Does it give you and your bosses a warm glow to have you report on all the advances you’ve made that wipe people out of the system? What my upsetting experience (and it must be shared by thousands of others) does do is to reinforce the ubiquitous impression that government bureaucrats are big fumblers and wasters of resources and other people’s time. I’m sure that that reputation is undeserved and counter to what the public should believe about the efforts that you and your colleagues make on our behalf. But that’s the way someone is bound to feel after that kind of experience. . . .

There is no justification in making an inherently unpleasant task--doing one’s income taxes--more painful by building in all these frustrations.

A few days later, Watkins told me, he received the form he wanted. Once he spoke to a human, Watkins said, service was fine.

When I spoke to Watkins, we commiserated about the obnoxiousness of it all--and how when you finally do speak to a person, you’re so frustrated that you take it out on the poor stiff.

Watkins and others have told me that, in most systems, the quickest way to reach a human is to pretend you’re using an old-fashioned rotary phone. Press nothing and chances are you’ll hear a friendly greeting.

Just as there’s no justification for technology to make paying taxes more of a pain, there’s no reason for it to infringe on our pleasures.

A couple of weeks ago, I arranged a social outing on a Los Angeles city golf course by calling in and speaking to the keeper of all tee times. It was simple and friendly and it worked.

The other day I dropped by City Hall East and forked over 25 bucks for a new golf reservation card. I was handed a brochure explaining the new automated reservation system being installed. “This reservation system,” it cheerfully says, “will offer a quick and easy way to reserve, confirm or cancel your tee time . . .”

Yes, just 14 quick and easy steps. If my arithmetic is correct, the system will require 21 separate presses of the buttons--and that’s not counting the initial 11-digit phone number (or seven within the 213 area code.) The system will ask for your Social Security number, but someday, I’ve been informed, it might settle for the five-digit golf card number. And if you pretend you’re not using a touch-tone phone, well, then you can’t make a reservation.

The 14 steps include one for selecting the course, another for the day of the week, another for time of day, with * for a.m. and a # for p.m. “Example for 6:15 a.m., press 0-6-1-5-*.”

Bold capital letters are a sign of trouble to come. Step No. 4 begins, “WAIT FOR CLEARANCE.” Step No. 14 warns, “DO NOT HANG UP. . . . Please wait to hear, ‘Thank you for using our automated tee time reservation service.’ YOU MUST CONFIRM your reservation by pressing 1 after the confirmation prompt.”

So do we press 1 after the machine says thank you? Is pressing 1 like saying, “You’re welcome,” or more like saying, “No, no, thank you, you’re much too kind”?

And in case you’re wondering, there is no option for golfing with O.J.