Well, reluctantly (Oh, god, this is gonna take a long time), I opened up the Census envelope and took out the form. Oh, hell, its six or eight pages long! I filled out the first part -- my name, age (why do they ask both my age and my date of birth?), sex (I thought of putting Yes, Please), and race (for which I always want to put 440 meter or something equally helpful). Guess that's why it's a checkbox question, and not fill-in-the-blank.
Then I did it again for my wife, and then for my daughter.
And that was it.
That was IT ???
I feel lost. Trivialized. Ignored by my government. A once-in-ten-years survey, and they can't find anything else to ask? Okay, okay, I know, only a few get the three inch thick Manhattan Unabridged Phone Book Version, and I wasn't one of them. But still -- I feel cheated. Where's the detail? The drama? The Subsection Four Paragraph Two Options One, Two and Four? The listing of pets? The sense upon completion of a Job Well Done?
Fortunately, I have the hypercomplex tax forms to give me solace. Because I know that the IRS cares so much, if I don't do it all, and do it right, they'll put me in jail. Now that's caring.
The census guys? Piffle.
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