she censed me from a mile away

The US Census came to my house today (I'm taking a vacation to home where I can retreat from the short twin bed and dusty bookshelves of my dorm room).

Toni, The Census Lady, came bouncing down the street towards me. I was just getting out of my car, which now must park on the street because it is having touble controlling it's oil lately and having accidents on dad's driveway. Barely out of the door, I hear Toni say "OOOOOHHHHHHH a BIKE! [I had my bike on my roof rack] That's GREAT! Isn't it lovely out today...I hear it is going to be just a splendid weekend. Are you going to ride?" I looked down at her badge, and at this point noticed that she was a Census Lady, and was curious as to exactly what that had to do with my household income and occupants. But I also realized that people probably hate her and her job, and this was her way of breaking the ice with me.

The questionnaire was quite simple:
Yes, I'm over 18.
No, I don't live here.
Yes, my dad does.
No, he's not an illegal immigrant.
Yes, he owns this house.
No, you can't call me or him for follow up questions.

Then, I got to hear a great story about another "censed" person who forgot about one of his kids when he was filling out the census. Poor kid. I'm sure his/her homelife is charmingly unorganized. I hope the dad remembers the kid at supper time.

So, Toni The Census Lady bounced off down the street and out of my life, just like she bounced in. Before she went she needed to give me the confidentiality statement, but couldn't find it on her clipboard. I wanted to say I trusted her, but realized that she was only a pawn in the system, and that actually, I didn't trust the government she represented. I would need that half piece of paper telling me (and my household) that all information (which I typed out above) would be kept under lock and key, at least until it was needed to hunt me (and my household) and wiretap our house. Who knows what the government would do with the information that my dad is not Mexican! In her search for my half piece of freedom paper, a gust of wind "let fly" all of the censuses (censi?). It was a pretty, beige whirlwind of scantrons. There she went, bouncing off and collecting her paperwork.

I'm glad my dad has never forgotten me.