Here’s the cool thing about being a census taker.
I took the same oath of office - give or take a word - that President Obama swore to at his inauguration.
Of course his government gig comes with a big fancy house and a jet that flies him anywhere.
My job comes with an armful of government forms that I have to carry blocks and blocks across the street grid of Manhattan - extra weight I don’t appreciate as I climb five flights of stairs in elevator-free apartment buildings.
All that for $18.75 per hour. And I promise you we enumerators - yes that’s our official title, enumerators - earn our money.
Because it’s not easy to stay calm and professional when naked people answer the door. (”I can wait a moment, sir, if you’d like to put some clothes on.” “No, let’s just get this over with.”)
Because it takes effort to keep a straight face when people yank our chains. (”What is your race?” “I am a Klingon.” And per Census rules: they say it - we write it down. Enumerators are not permitted to question anyone’s answers.)
So if someone who appears to be 99 years of age insists they were born yesterday…well, okay. I’ll smile inwardly and consider them charmingly eccentric. Or senile. It doesn’t matter. Washington does not ask us to differentiate.
Better an eccentric than the man who threatened to shoot me because I banged too loudly on his door. Or the New Yorkers who yell because they hate the government, and I happen to be a representative of the government. (Hey, I refuse to take the blame for any federal policies. I’m just a part-timer with no benefits whose job disappears in September.)
And moving on from tenements to million dollar condo buildings did not make my job any easier. As one doorman remarked, “These people don’t live on the same planet as we do”. Perhaps that’s why one uncooperative lady threatened to call her “good friend, the U.S. Commerce Secretary” to demand he make the census disappear. (Hopefully he’ll inform her that decennial census are mandated by the Constitution.)
I guess I should thank these people for giving me anecdotes to tell when I go bar hopping. (Shout out to Tina Fey: call me if you want material for another Saturday Night Live census sketch.)
And in telling stories, I saved the best for last. The one about the older gentleman who asked one of my colleagues:
“You know why I did not fill out a census form?”
“No. I have no idea. Why not?
“Because I wanted to create jobs for census takers like you.”
God bless America. God bless Americans.
