Census

I don’t want to freak out my Canada Post delivery carrier, (who is lovely, by the way), but you’ve never seen anyone more eager for mail than me the day they announced the Canadian Census was in the mail. Seriously. When that thin, yellow envelope arrived on Tuesday, I snatched it up and squealed with excitement. “Yay, I love the Census. I hope we get the longform,” I exclaimed, tearing off the white strip to reveal the letter.

“Said no Canadian ever,” the Carpenter remarked, sarcastically. 

This explains why the Census automatically falls into the Kelly’s Responsibilities file, along with basically any and all communications with any person, organization, business, or government institution who doesn’t live in this house. If someone needs to be spoken to, questions need clarification, appointments booked or followed-up with, it’s my job.

I’m a keener. Customer service surveys filled out? Yep. Always. I love to offer feedback. Service questionnaires? Consider it done. Product reviews? Absolutely. Census? Bring it.

I headed up to my home office with a cup of tea and snacks. Put on some mood lighting. Set up my background indie playlist. Logged in to the online website and typed in my special code as I whispered a little prayer, “please let this be the long form.” 

What’s meant to be will be. To my great disappointment, I got the short form version. I didn’t know, of course, until about 4 minutes into the Census questions, when I arrived at the final page and got the kiss-off note thanking me for my time. It was over. Just like that. Totally deflated. 

I sat there pouting at the screen, shoulders slumped, a quick sigh escaped my lips pushing the sorrow straight from my diaphragm in a gush of disappointment that sent my bangs flying upward. 

I had so much more to say. I’m more than just my housemates, marital status and gender. I’m more than a tick box next to my birthdate. I could offer exciting statistical data if they’d just given me a chance. Just ask me. Please don’t ask the Carpenter, though, because you don’t have a form long enough for him to wax poetically about the quirks of life lived with his housemate and marital status guarantor. 

I think I should write the next Census. I would hit all the necessary questions that will help the government make key decisions about essential services, community supports, growth, the locations of chip trucks in my area, etc. But then, I’d dig deeper. I would create a Curiosity Census to learn how other people function in their daily lives. 

I’d pose innocuous questions, like, select one of the following:  back in or find a pull-through. Atwood or Mowat. Grover or Elmo. Domestic or imported. Fish and chips or chips and dip. Indigo or Coquelicot?  Vinyl or digital. Captain and Tenille or Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers. Indy or Nascar. Hike or bike. Couch or sofa. Coniferous or deciduous? Ketchup on French fries with gravy or are you sane? 

Think about it. These simple questions tell you all you need to know about your neighbours, like if you should move or if they should move. Either way, knowledge is power.

If you are one of the lucky longform Census winners, make me proud. Take your time and enjoy every question, and know this keener envies your good fortune. It matters.