The boss of the Impots Directs or Contributions Directes or some other such fascade called a secret meeting of its employees this Monday.
The Splice managed to gain access by adopting the guise of your average Lux Municipal Worker, ripped jeans, Hermes scarf, ketchup stained shirt and chin drool. (We tried to put our left eyes in the right socket and vice versa but it’s just not possible without lasting damage).
“We need a new model!” roared the Boss.
“To be prepared for the next tax year we need to make our labyrinth of despair four dimensional. We cannot deter the increasingly suspecting tax-payer with only unsigned emails and unanswered calls.”
“We need more creative ways of saying no. Emails don’t just have to be lost or deleted, they can be denied completely!”
“We need a front desk of people with faces that say: We’ll never be able to help you!”
“Remember, most state workers do it by habit. We do it on purpose!”
He exploded into a 30 foot flaming demon at this point.
“Once we’ve spent weeks and months breaking them down, they’ll walk into our lobbies to be delivered the knockout blow we’ve craved for so looooooong!”
There was a short Q&A session. Then he changed back to human, got in his Porsche and sped back to his airport sized house in Bridel.