Making Census of It All

Blog soundtrack:

In addition to volunteering and cycling, I figured that my life was missing something else; yes, it was a paying job. I knew it had to be one that financially kept me within unemployment benefit limits. But after my rejection by Macy’s, I was a bit hesitant; however, like they say (sort of) , when a window closes, your front door opens and in walks your neighbor with your next part-time job opportunity!

About a week and a half ago, my neighbor, Ellen, came by to either pick up a child, borrow something, or just say “Hi.” We do one or more of these activities between the two of us so often that I lose track of what's going on when exactly. That afternoon, she was waving some white papers when she entered.

She asked, “Are you still looking for some part-time work?” I said that I was. She then handed me the white papers and said, “We were thinking this would be a good job for Zach, but it will conflict with his other job.” I looked at the top sheet that said, “CENSUS JOBS $18.50/ hr. Take the Basic Skills Test.”

A test?! I had flashbacks to my Macy’s “questionnaire,” which was really a psychological test masquerading as a questionnaire. I then had a flashback to the SATs. At that moment, I thought, “I should really start that dog walking business. Its only test was being able to survive picking up dog droppings, and I already had mastered that!”

I thanked Ellen for the information. She said, “It’d be good for you; you like walking around and talking to people.” She was right; that was me, always moving and always talking.

She mentioned that a test was being held that night; unfortunately, I couldn’t attend. (And most importantly, I hadn’t taken Stanley Kaplan Census Test Prep Class yet!) There was another test being offered on the 22nd.

I told myself I might go then. It was “might,” because I’m always optimistic that soon I will have a “real” job. This will be a job that does not require an intimidating psychological or basic skills test!

When today came around, there was no “real” job in sight. I thought $18.50 an hour was pretty good pay for walking and talking; I walk and talk most days for free, so why not get paid for it. And, Macy’s and Sephora weren’t paying that much nor had they shown great interest in employing me so far!

This afternoon, I took out the practice “field test.” I got nauseated as visions of number 2 pencils danced in my gut. I sat up straight and looked around for the proctor; the only nearby life form was Liam, who was alternately chewing on and then licking his front right paw. I thought, “I sure hope he’s not getting paid $18.50 an hour for this!”

I read the general instructions. I was supposed to time myself (30 minutes), make sure I understood all the instructions and try to answer every item. I was told I could do any “figuring” in the booklet and all my answers should be dark and stay within the circle. The number 2 pencils were now kicking me in my gut.

I looked at the two sample items. I successfully multiplied 1.5 and 6.3. The second sample question was no problem. But, it did prove to me that what you learn on Sesame Street stays with you for life.

It was a “one of these numbers does not belong with the others” (e.g., 40, 140, 239, 340) type of questions. I scanned A, B, C, and D looking for the answer. When I couldn’t find “Me want cookie!” I knew the answer must be C, which was 239 and after all “C” is for cookie!

After the sample items, I read “DO NOT OPEN THIS BOOKLET UNTIL YOU ARE READY TO SET YOUR TIMER.” I opened the booklet. Amazingly, a loud buzzer didn’t go off.

Also, I was not struck by a lightning nor was I subjected to Charlie Brown’s teacher saying “Wah-wah-who-wah-wah didn’t wah-wah-who-wah-wah turn wah-wah-who-wah-wah on the wah-wah-who-wah-wah timer!” I didn’t need the stress of a timer; and this is why I’ll probably always be a rebel without a government job.

I breezed through clerical skills, reading, and number skills. I was able to interpret information and evaluate alternatives, and it appeared I had organizational skills. But, I seemed to have a problem with “boundaries” or understanding what they were anyway.

When you become a census taker (an "enumerator"), you are assigned an area in which to enumerate. It is marked by boundaries. This is your census turf; you mark it by hanging your number 2 pencils from the telephone pole lines. In my census taking world, I pictured myself roaming around my turf wearing a black leather jacket that said “Enumerators” on it in red letters.

Anyway, I didn’t do well on the three questions about boundaries. How many houses would I visit on Decatur Avenue in block 3? I had the wrong number of houses, because I was a tad confused by “Where the boundary is the road, the boundary line runs down the center of it.”

I was going to visit eight houses when only five were in my turf. So, I’d make some new friends along the way. And, where was the harm in that I ask you?!

After reviewing the directions a few more times, I finally understood why I would only be visiting five houses instead of eight. Happily, I came to the conclusion that I wasn’t confused. The directions were confusing!

At 5:15, I headed off to the Town Hall. I entered and saw the sign that stated “2010 Census Testing, Grand Room” on the door. I climbed the stairs, and when I walked into the Grand Room, a lone man greeted me by asking “Census?”

I said, “Yes.” He looked excited to see me, as if he had been thinking “No one’s coming!” the entire 15-minutes prior to my entrance into the Grand Room. He told me to sign in and “Go behind there” as he pointed to a partitioned area to the left.

As I turned to enter the partitioned area, I saw an elderly man outside the Grand Room. Dressed in a L.L. Bean windbreaker, black sweatpants that were a bit too short, and black sneakers with Velcro straps, he entered. The man asked, “Census?” to which the elderly man responded, “Yes.” I knew I had found my job, as it appeared this was the occupation of the elderly and retired folk, my current tribe.

I walked in, sat down at a table, and the census guy came in and handed me some paperwork I had to fill out. He asked to see my ID in order to fill out my proof of citizenship form. When completed, he said the test would start at 6pm.

I said, “I feel like I’m taking the SATs again. Do you think I’ll get into Harvard?” He said, “Well, it is the town next door.” He was right; theoretically, I could get into Harvard anytime I wanted to!

A few more people wandered in, were handed folders, and sat down at the table to fill them out. One woman said, “I brought my resume.” The census guy said, “Oh. Well, you can put that in your folder.” I thought, “Unemployed brown noser!”

When it was 6pm, he handed out the tests and the number 2 pencils. He asked everyone to put their pencils down if they hadn’t already. I was now having flashbacks to third grade and those Iowa tests. He read the test directions to us, and then he said, “Pick up your pencils and begin.”

I opened my test, and I stared at it. Read…think…think…read…read…think…my mind was trying to do both of those things but apparently not simultaneously. I sat there for a minute totally flatlined being unable to either read, think, or both.

Thank goodness I talk to myself when I’m home and only the animals are around. Because just then, I had to talk to myself, but it was not out loud to any small furry creatures. I said, “Take a deep breath. Relax. You can do this.”

Suddenly, my eyes started to focus on the black and white print. I got a good grip on my pencil. I started to read the first question and actually heard my brain turning round, though there were a few squeaks. Note to Self: Indulge in tests more often and always self-medicate brain with WD-40 before!

“Fifteen minutes left” said the proctor. It would have been funny if his name was Liam and he clipped his nails while we took the test; however, his name was David, and he just sat there rifling through papers while we took the test. I got flustered by two questions, and when I heard “Five minutes left,” I went back to reread them.

“Put your pencils down now,” said David. Most had already done so. David collected the tests, and then he had to give us the “What Will Happen Next” speech, which really ended up being more of a disclaimer.

We were told that we could stay and get our test grade or call the Census office in two days and get it then. Regardless of our test grade, we might not be chosen based on the need of census takers in the area; we’d be notified by May if we were going to be employed. Finally, census takers were most often needed in the evening and on the weekends; this made me doubtful, because I knew I didn’t really want to work then.

After his disclaimer, most people left opting not to get their test scores. I decided to go, too. I felt like Goldilocks; this job is just not right.

This last year, I had been trying to make sense of my life. Everything I had taken from it so far had made a lot of sense to me. And today, it seemed that my life wouldn’t be about taking the census.

If anything, this sense made for a good story. In my book, that was all that really mattered. And, it made census, even if I would not in May. ♥