Perhaps you are a typical Northeast Oregon person good looking, above average in intelligence and having the ability to bugle for bull elk.

You go to church most Sundays, pay your bills on time and love your dentist.

If so, you have probably never called the IRS.

The other day at 3:20 p.m. I called. Nobody was home except Beethoven and a sweet-talking woman who said, "Please continue to hold. The next available representative will assist you as soon as he gets back from the Iraq War."

No, Sweetness actually said an IRS representative would be with me as soon as possible.

"Soon" in IRS Land, I learned, is not the same as soon to you and me.

Then more Beethoven soothed me just enough to keep the top from blowing off my head.

Next a voice inquired, "Did you know you can pay the IRS by credit card?"

More Beethoven.

"Did you know you can get payments automatically deducted from your bank account?"

More Beethoven.

"Did you know that you will soon be poorer than dirt?"

Well, actually, what I got was more Beethoven.

By now 20 minutes had elapsed. It was 3:40 p.m.

Sweetness returned with a new, oft-repeated message.

"We appreciate your patience."

I was about as patient as a University of Michigan football fan asking for coach Lloyd Carr’s resignation after the loss to the University of Oregon Fighting Ducks.

"Please do not hang up," Sweetness continued, unaware of my rise in blood pressure. "This may increase your wait. Calls are handled in the order they are received. Please continue to hold."

More Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Smith and Jones.

"Please do not hang up," Sweetness pleaded again.

By now I had invested a half hour on hold, waiting for the Iraq War to end. Soldiers could work IRS call centers and give timely customer service to true red, white and blue patriotic, tax-dodging citizens.

I was in a foul mood.

"The next available representative will assist you as soon as possible," Sweetness promised.

More Beethoven.

By now I yearned for country music. "My Dog Oops Ate My Tax Return" Symphonies 2 and 7. Or "If You Die Before the IRS Answers the Phone" Symphonies 3 and 6, otherwise known as "The Feds Need Your Money to Fill a Giant Sinkhole in Florida."

But what did I get? More Beethoven.

I was about to say something crude about the Infernal Revenue Service. I was about to "go off" on other government agencies such as the Forest Circus, the Department of Sugar Payments and the Defense Department for "Not Gay" Republican Senators.

But I kept my cool.

Finally at 4 p.m., 40 minutes into the call, I got a real IRS person on the line. She said I owed a lot of money, but she couldn’t arrange transactions. Still, it was important that I pay immediately, before more interest charges were tacked on.

To pay I had to call another number in IRS Land.

Feeling a sense of urgency, knowing daylight was fading fast, I called that number. A gruff computer voice answered. Sourpuss gave me a series of tasks that I successfully completed over several minutes. Then Sourpuss, who had been speaking at a normal pace, asked something really fast that sounded like, "WhatIsYourFark?"

I didn’t know.

Silence.

A minute later, Sourpuss demanded again, "WhatIsYourFark?"

I was dumfounded. I never knew I had a fark.

I listened harder the third time, with every cell in my body, but all I heard was, "WhatIsYourFark?"

Finally I hung up and resigned myself to going on the Internet, hoping my identity remained intact while I completed my transaction to make the world safe for subprime lenders.

There was some consolation. At least at IRS Land headquarters on the Internet, glory be, there was no Beethoven.

Reach the author at jpetersen@lagrandeobserver.com.