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Lynn Leach, Fargo, Published July 24 2013

Letter: Working class takes the tax hit because politicians have no clue

Once in a while, we aged widows need a forum. Today, it’s taxes.

“Taxes!” you exclaim. “Why we’re oil rich in North Dakota, how can this present a problem?”

Well, as I prepared to give my old vehicle to a young granddaughter, I, being a person who likes to be prepared, called the DMV to inquire regarding costs. Well, the first charge wasn’t bad nor was the second, however, the tax question on my elderly car raised my ire. I pay for my car license, I pay for my driver’s license, I pay for my insurance and make sure it covers whomever I might sideswipe. But taxes – good grief, those were paid when I bought the vehicle. Well, yes, but if one sells/gives the vehicle, then it seems there are more taxes to be paid.

I relate to the Minnesota folks upset over cigarette taxes going up again. Not good for a person, so they should pay. Ha. With that in mind, the cost of taxes on brownie mixes ought to be astronomical because we all know that flab is bad. I feel that smokers should all have gardens and grow a little “baccy” (the legal variety) and roll their own.

We seem to be a country with major debts – mismanagement of funds perhaps? A little “pork” to keep various segments of voters happy regardless of the senselessness of the cost. We go to war and we pay bundles to re-establish the nations where we won the war while our own goes to pot.

We are rapidly becoming a nation where we’re encouraged not to express our viewpoints because no matter how innocent, “Big Brother” can indeed be watching (something that is probably causing some paranoia in the masses). So with major debts, what do we do? We either get taxes or priced to the breaking point.

I grant you some politicians seem rather out of touch with the reality of the working classes. I don’t find comments of candidates at rallies in strong jobless areas to the tune of being “the same as” the folks at a rally who were struggling with joblessness, since the politico was at the moment on the road drumming up votes rather than raking in the dough.

As I poured out my laments to my friend Sue, she, the eternal realist, said, “It could and probably will get worse.”

“Hey, I’m already hitting the thrift shops,” I said.

“Do you pay taxes there?” she inquired.

“Actually, I’m not sure,” I replied.

“Well, just think, you buy stuff that has already been around the block. You give the stuff to the shop to go around the block again …boy … now there’s taxes,” she said.

“And then there are my ’70s made-of-steel, tan polyester pants,” I enthused. “They can be recycled forever. Of course, they’ve been around so long, it wouldn’t be wise to stand in strong sunlight; the rear is so shiny they could burst into flame at any time.”

Well, I’ll happily give up those forever pants if they’d just stop taxing me while I’m trying to give a gift to my grandbaby. It gets so irritating.