Cup of Cha
This is China

The Chinese tax system has driven me to resemble a bag women, grabbing at scraps, just to save a few kuai here and there. You’ve surely seen this epidemic, and maybe are ever part of it. The government allows companies to provide up to 40% of income to employees as living/housing stipends , which is great because you don’t have to pay tax on that portion, but irritating because you need to show that you spent that much income on specific items.

Now, I’m hardly a tax expert, but as I understand it you can deduct rent, but then your landlord has to pay 5% more since they cannot avoid tax on the income if you report it. Usually that means they’ll ask for at least 10% more, but you should be able to convince them that you know exactly how much they’re paying. You can deduct for meals at restaurants, but not for food from the grocery store. Dry cleaning is a living expense, but not taxis or the subway.

What this means is that when large groups go out, people start eying the bill, just hoping they can be the one who walks away with the prized fapiao (receipt). Then you have to worry that someone unfamiliar with the system might think you’re company is actually reimbursing you for the full value rather than just counting it against your taxes (by the way, if you have never gotten a paycheck in China, the government just takes money, all that you owe, since they don’t trust people to file each year, and with good reason).

So few businesses were reporting their income a few years ago that the government had to put a scratch lottery on official receipts to encourage people to ask for them (which stores and restaurants have to buy from the government at the appropriate tax rate). If you win, the business will tear at the perforated line on the receipt and hand you back the remaining piece, along with a small bit of money. One little restaurant in my neighborhood always gives me receipts with the lottery section already removed, I assume an indication that they tear the lottery section off each when they buy them, like a little child unable to control himself. I always give them a dirty look, but the fact that they scratch all of their receipts in case they might win 5 kuai is so ludicrous that I can’t stay mad too long.

Each month people show  up at their offices with a little baggy of receipts, hoping that all of them are acceptable, and that they have not violated some Chinese law, new, or just invented. It’s a ridiculous ritual, but one that people all across China undergo. Misery loves company, and I’ve got a full boat of friends.

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