Count Me In!

"The new phone books are here! The new phone books are here! This is the kind of spontaneous publicity that makes people!" - Navin Johnson, "The Jerk"
I know how Navin must have felt, lo those many moons ago. Today we got our Census form in the afternoon mail: our chance to participate, our chance to connect, our chance to belong. Ten years ago I was so caught up in the turn of the century that I probably didn't pay the kind of attention to my civic responsibilities as I probably should have. I was still digging out from all that duct tape and sheets of plastic, I don't even remember filling out my form. Ten years before that? I was back in Colorado, where I'm pretty sure they still use airplanes flying overhead to count folks up like wandering cattle. At least that's what I remember.
But not this year. I'm going to give my all, and make sure that I do everything I can to help my government get a handle on who we are, numerically speaking. Question number one seems simple enough: How many people were living or staying in this house, apartment or mobile home on April 1, 2010? Well, since that excludes the stranger whom I believe may have taken up residence in my garage, I think I'll get past that one pretty quick, but just to be sure I think I'll wait until the first of April to make sure no one else shows up or disappears.
Then question number two asks about any additional people not mentioned in question number one. Does my government expect me to lie? Okay, okay, I confess! I have a family of Belgian immigrants living in my attic that I forgot all about until you asked me that followup. Now I see how airtight this system really is.
Question number three wants to know who owns the place where I live. There are only check boxes, so I suppose the essay I had planned to write about who really owns anything may be superfluous. Maybe there's another page for that kind of feedback.
Number five asks for my phone number. They say that it's just in case they don't understand one of my answers, but I think it's really an elaborate ruse on the part of that creepy girl I ignored in junior high school who is still stalking me.
Number six is about sex. Okay, it's really about gender, but that's still pretty tawdry for a government survey, don't you think?
It starts getting interesting again on question seven, where they ask about my age and birthday. I think maybe the government is planning on sending me a nice gift. How about a red, white and blue Snuggie. It's the blanket with sleeves.
Question numero ocho would like me to relate any Latino or Hispanic origin on my part. I'm not certain about origins, but I think that's where I would like to end up.
Coming down the home stretch, number nine wants to know my race. Since I don't see ten-kilometer running, or even the Indianapolis 500, I suspect they would prefer a less tongue in cheek response.
The tenth and final question asks if the person filling out the form sometimes lives or stays someplace else. This makes me nervous, since it makes me wonder what these census takers are trying to tell me. Should I be looking for another place to stay? What is person number two on the form saying about me?
Maybe I should let my wife fill it out.