And this one time, at Tax Camp …

No, I did not put a whole financial calculator up my backside.

As some of you may be aware, I recently joined the ranks of a top-tier accountancy firm as an associate in tax. On my very first day, I received a ticket to Victoria for the purpose of: (a) being inducted into the firm’s culture, values and worth ethic; and (b) attending a week long retreat to study a variety of introductory tax topics.

With respect to Point (a), I walked into the induction with more than a hint of trepidation. Although this may sound exaggerated, I held grave concerns about being frog-marched down a dimly lit hallway, only to end up in a senior partner’s office to have my buttocks paddled with an oversized financial calculator. Rather thankfully, such activity was quite thoughtfully left out of the three-day induction program. Instead, the whole affair proved to be nothing short of delightful with the firm having expended an inordinate amount of money on travel expenses, accommodation, food, drinks and entertainment. If asked to detail the key highlight, it would have to be the ample opportunity provided to .. err .. fraternise with fellow colleagues in an informal setting.

Following the above induction, I was placed on a bus to a country town in Victoria for the purpose of attending Tax Camp. Yes, you read correctly … Tax Camp.

Upon hearing of Tax Camp, I immediately pictured a bland and claustrophobic office setting characterised by dorky men and women with pocket protectors, calculators aplenty and a laboratory dedicated to allergy medication. However, the reality was much, much different. Suffice it to say that the firm’s ‘responsible social drinking’ policy was done away with almost in its entirety.

There were plenty of characters at tax camp, but I became something of an office legend owing to one episode alone. It started with drinking, and then with me ending up in a ditch. Oh yes, some of you are undoubtedly expressing surprise and maybe some disgust. However, what do you expect? It’s one of life’s most natural progressions, comparable to an infant taking its first steps. However, excessive drinking leads to something of a reverse chronology of events. Get pissed, end up on all fours in a ditch. What’s the surprise?

I’m not normally one associated with excesses in behaviour. Indeed, I look like a tax lawyer. Sharp pinstriped suits, cleanly pressed shirts, immaculately polished shoes, colour coded tie, wristwatch with advanced timing functions to measure billable hours etc. How could I, of all people, end up in a ditch in the midst of a corporate event?

Hmm, not sure whether you lot were paying attention but did I mention that I was at TAX CAMP? Imagine spending several hours a day learning about assessable income, deductions, treatment of losses for tax purposes, capital gains tax, goods and services tax, fringe benefits tax, corporate tax etc. Following these particular sessions, each of which excel in tormenting both the soul and mind, how could you not resort to drinking as a means of easing your misery?

The morning following my rendezvous with a ditch, I struggled into the bathroom to find a small pile of dirt, pebbles, twigs and leaves accompanying both my shoes and trousers. I had no real recollection of the events of the previous evening, although I could vaguely recall having clawed my way through shrubs, bushes and trees in a valiant effort to reach the sanctity of my bedroom. The sudden onset of embarrassment, upon having realised that someone might actually have seen me, was further compounded by the sight of my dirt-stained trousers the next morning. Apologies for being crass, but it appeared as if King Kong had used them as toilet paper following a rather volatile bowel movement. And just to make things crystal clear, I did not defecate in my pants whilst in a drunken stupor, the stains in question were nothing else aside from dried mud.

My entry into class that morning was accompanied by a light smattering of applause, a thinly veiled celebration of a man whose apparent ‘partying ability’ had taken everyone by surprise, and would provide much fodder for mid-afternoon discussions at the water cooler or kitchenette area. Speaking candidly now, I seriously believed that the previous night’s events would see me either disciplined or fired. After all, had I not violated the firm’s policy on ‘social drinking’ explicitly prohibiting intoxication to the point of self-harm? Apparently not, a dark shirt can work wonders in keeping hidden the telltale sign of potentially fractured ribs.

Tax Camp, although representative of a very brief period in my life, will always remain a much-cherished memory. Over the course of several days, I was boozed and fed to my heart’s content. Oh yes, I did some work too of course … but my academic achievements are secondary to the pleasures of drinking with friends, drinking alone, drinking at lunch between classes, drinking in bed, drinking in the midst of a hotel garden area at 3am, falling into a ditch due to excessive drinking at approximately 3:15am, drinking in bed at 3:30am to try and relieve physical pain associated with falling into a ditch, drinking the following day to forget the ditch episode etc.

Difficult as this may be to believe, I would give just about anything to spend a week in Tax Camp once more ….