Is That Your Final Answer?

‘Hello, I’m from the Census Bureau. Is this 123 Evasive Lane, unit #1?”

SLAM.

Yes, I’ve been knocking on your door, ringing your bell, leaving notices, calling, leaving phone messages (but only if I was detective enough to get your number). Yes, I kept coming back, and, yes, I will keep coming back UNTIL YOU ANSWER A FEW QUESTIONS.

What do you think? That I’ll go away? I might. Then someone else will come in my place. What do you think? That the Census isn’t important? Fine. Think that, I don’t really care. But first tell me, “How many people were living or staying in this house/apartment/mobile home on April 1, 2000?”

Obnoxious? I can be. Rude? If I am, and if you call the main office, I’m fired. So, no, not rude, not me. Too serious about my job? Nah. I took the job as an enumerator for some extra income.

Actually, enumerating has renewed my faith in humankind, especially here in Long Beach. I’ve taken an oath of confidentiality, so I am not free to tell any stories. But, for the most part, you’re a fine group of people, willing to cooperate--even if you’re just getting home from putting in 12 hours at the office, and there is someone with a government badge waiting at your door. From here on, I’m not addressing the majority of you kind souls. You can stop reading if you have turned in your Census 2000 or were cooperative with an enumerator.

I direct this to a minority who ignore their door being knocked on, or their doorbell being rung, or their phone messages, or the “Notice of Visit” slips left at their door. I’m talking to managers who don’t buzz me in because tenants have complained that enumerators are bothering them. I’m talking to guards who will not open the gate to private communities that forbid soliciting.

Let’s see, did I miss anyone? Oh, I’m talking to people who say, “Can you come back? I’m busy.”

I say, “Sure, when is a good time?”

You say, “Tuesday at 7:30.”

I leave my son’s baseball game early, and you’re not there. Not on Tuesday, or when I go back on Thursday, or the next Saturday afternoon. OK, I think I got everyone. I have this to say to you:

I’m not a solicitor; I’m not selling anything. I don’t make a commission on how many forms I get filled out. I understand you’re busy; so am I. I understand I’m on your property. I know some of you have been disappointed by, hurt by, humiliated by, scorned by, neglected by, harassed by the government. I empathize. I am not the government. It’s my job to count you. The Census is old, older than the war you served in, older than your bankruptcy, older than your ancestors’ struggle in coming to the United States, older than your grudge.

So keep in mind that I’m coming back. My feet hurt from walking door to door, and my shoulder hurts from carrying a Census bag. Don’t tell me you’ve already filled your form out and sent it in--unless you did. Don’t tell me the Census is a waste of government money--I did not create the Census.

In the time it takes you to tell me you’re too busy, you’re just going out the door, you have too many problems, I should come back at 7:30, we could have finished the form. Well, the short form.

If you make arrangements with me to fill out the long form, be there. I’ve taken your paperwork out of my pile, marked my calendar and am making a special trip to see you.

Don’t tell me you don’t want any, I’m not giving you anything. If your tenants complain that I’m bothering them by leaving forms, three, four, five times a week, tell them if they would just fill out the form with me, I’d go away. Tell them I’m not bothersome, that I’ve been trained not to be. Persistent, yes; bothersome, no.

To be honest, I don’t care if you don’t want to fill out the form. Each time I come back to your door, I get paid. I got paid for keeping track of how many notices I leave, how many phone calls I make, of your response and your lack of response.

But if you really refuse to fill out the form--and do not want me to come back--open your door and say, “I refuse to fill out the form.” Then give me your name and phone number, so your refusal can be verified. Refuse with some guts. Stop being passive-aggressive. And make sure you are refusing for everyone who lived in your home on April 1, 2000, since they will not be counted either.

Then, when the Census is complete, and the figures are released on how many people there are in the United States, you can take pride in the fact that you helped throw that figure off just a little. You can smile when our state doesn’t have enough representation. You can say, “See, the government doesn’t help anyone” when the schools do not get required funding or the elderly do not get meals.

Go ahead, complain about the country’s problems. Then look in the mirror and realize you are one of them. *