The 2010 Senseless

Here's the good news. Every ten years, we get to remind the government that we're still out here.

And here's the bad news. Every ten years, we remind the government that we're still out here.

If you're like me, you recently received your 2010 Census form. Well, that's not exactly accurate. Before you actually received your Census form, you probably received a massively expensive mailed piece warning you that were about to receive your 2010 Census form.

I used to have a friend like that. This friend would call me to say he wanted to drive over. Okay. Then he would call again to say he was preparing to drive over, and then call yet again to tell me he was actually in the process of driving over. Occasionally, he would call me once more, from my own driveway, to tell me that he had managed to successfully drive over. This alert, apparently, was initiated so that I would have time to leap to the Sisyphean challenge of opening my front door, so he could stand inside my house and call me to let me know that he was standing inside my house.

I have a new set of friends now.

Our government is like that: you can't avoid their visit, they arrive and proceed to putz up your life and lifestyle, and then you can't get 'em to leave.

But shortly, as promised, the actual Census form arrived. Well, that's not exactly accurate. The crackerjack staff at the Census Bureau (Economic and Statistics Administration) sent me two identical Census forms.

Two. They can't even count to one. And these are the people who intend to manage my medication and my body parts.

The Census form itself was delivered in a fat envelope bearing the big, bold warning that "YOUR RESPONSE IS REQUIRED BY LAW," which is always my preferred tactful tactic when I plan to ask people invasively personal questions about their private lives. Additionally, the envelope warned that there would be a $300 penalty if I attempted to use the useless thing for "private use." What "private use" would that be, exactly?

[Me] "Hey, Bill! Joey, across the street, checked 'Male' on his 2010 census!"

[Bill] "Thanks for the breaking news, Sherlock."

Inside the envelope, you're presented with a message from the Census Bureau Director, comfortingly assuring that your information cannot be used by the IRS, or any other highly-qualified health care entity. However, you're warned that census data becomes public after 72 years, which means that after you're dead, people can find out that, 72 years earlier, you checked 'Male.' More importantly, the IRS may then immediately audit you for 72 years of pre-dead income, and require you to show up for a health audit, wearing nothing but an open-backed hospital gown and your checkbook.

After you've reviewed the cover letter and laid to rest your privacy concerns, it's time to deal with the Census form itself, which helpfully points out, at the top left of page one, that you should "Start here," in case you've never seen a form before, or you're a member of Congress.

You're then directed to count all people, including babies, who live and sleep at your address "most of the time," which puts old college roommates in a serious Census gray area, which, as I recall, is exactly where my old college roommates spent most of their time. Maybe that's who the "Start here" directive is for.

The multi-page Census form allows for data entry to let you list up to 12 people. Person 1 (that's you, Congressman) is asked to answer 10 questions. Persons 2 through 6 have just seven, and persons 7 through 12 have only five. If you have more than 12 persons living in your home, then you qualify for immediate reclassification as an idiot, unless you're Catholic or you're running a brothel (see ACORN addendum).

For each person, you must provide both their Age and their Date Of Birth, because the Economics and Statistics Administration apparently forgot to hire any actual math majors. Each residing person is instructed to indicate their sex, and specifically instructed to only mark one box, which would boomerang me back to a discussion of my old college roommates, if I weren't busy filling out the Census form.

By the way, resident babies who are less than 1 year old are to be marked as age 0. As if it wasn't hard enough already to be an infant living in a brothel full of old college roommates. Which reminds me - you're not supposed to count people who are in jail, or prison, or college, or were sent to prison directly from college, and isn't it odd how my old college roommates keep showing up in this story?

One Census form topic I found overly interesting was "race." Among the available options are Black, White, Attorney, several flavors of Hispanic, Brothel, Unindicted College Roommate, Samoan, Hmong, Wall Street Broker, Tongan and Chamorro. I think they should've included Quaker.

Really. Quaker. Stay with me here.

Recently, Quaker Oats redesigned the packaging for their "Chewy" breakfast bars, and by their own admission, the Chewy bars are now "exploding with goodness." I think it's important that you, as a duly counted American citizen, know about this. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, unless it kills you. Nobody needs that much nutritional importance.

Ultimately, Team Census estimates that the average household will be able to complete the Census form in about 10 minutes, unless your household includes Wall Street Brokers or 0-year-old non-Male Samoans who sometimes sleep in Catholic prisons. And if you have any problems with this "burden estimate," you should scribble up a bunch of complaints and mail your paperwork to - ready? - the Paperwork Reduction Project.

Brilliant.

One more thing. Unlike you and me (remember: YOUR RESPONSE IS REQUIRED BY LAW), the staff at the Paperwork Reduction Project are not required to respond.

Well, not for 72 years.