The City of Phoenix, strapped to the point of having to lay off firefighters and police officers, has decided to institute a sales tax on food sold in grocery stores, which we’ve never had before. The new bite will be 2 percent, added on top of the existing 8.3 percent tax we pay on every other retail item.
This will raise our retail tax, effectively, to 10.3 percent.
Doesn’t stop there, though: the state is about to float a referendum asking taxpayers to approve a “temporary” (har har!) 3 percent sales tax. This would raise our extra gouge in the grocery store to 15.3 percent!!!!
It could pose a bit of a problem for me. Depending on how you look at the post-canning finances, over the course of a year, either I have almost no wriggle room or I have a fair amount of budgetary play. Because I don’t know which and will not know until a year passes and I see what happens, the only responsible tack I can take is to assume the worst: a very tight budget, indeed. In that case, an abrupt jump in costs for food and daily necessities could be a headache of marathon migraine proportions.
The only way for me to cope with an increase like that will be to ask SDXB to buy my food and household goods at the commissary and base exchange, where he pays no taxes.
This will be extremely inconvenient, because it will mean a) I will have to wait on his convenience, and he only shops about once a month; and b) I’ll have to drive way to Hell and gone out to Sun City to pick up my groceries. There’s also the issue that SDXB, being the extremely manly sort, doesn’t pay any excess of attention to what the Little Woman wants. I can ask him to get X and only X, and I’ll end up with Y because he decides to substitute something he thinks is just as good or to buy me something that I explicitly say I don’t want. He doesn’t see any reason, for example, why anyone needs soft toilet paper and absorbent paper towels, and so when I ask for Charmin’ and Viva I get cheap TP in short rolls with the texture of newsprint and cheap paper towels perforated every six inches that are about as absorbent as wax paper.
While he can get me into the BX if he’s not dragging New Girlfriend around, he can only take a certifiable wife into the commissary. Fortunately, NG has a place in Colorado and so is gone a lot. Also, these serial girlfriends never last very long, so I don’t expect she’ll be barring the door to the BX forever. In theory, I could go out to the base with him and buy household goods in the BX and then send him to the commissary to pick up food.
But what a pain in the tuchus!