by Pa Rock
Retiree
Last winter I applied for a job with the upcoming 2020 U.S. Census. It was a job that I really wanted because as someone who does lots of work with family history (genealogy) I have an understanding of, and respect for, the census, and I wanted to do my part to help insure that the upcoming census was the best ever.
Also, it is getting about time for me to buy a car, and I am an old-fashioned consumer who, when he buys something, prefers to pay for it at the time of purchase. More than a year ago I started a special savings account to buy a better car, and the census job, which pays well, would have put me over the top.
And then this pandemic mess hit the fan and the world changed.
The folks at the Census phoned nearly two months ago just to see if I was still interested. I said that while I had some qualms about going door-to-door to collect census information, I would like for them to keep my name on the list.
And then I waited, and waited . . .
I have an old 3G cellphone - one with a hand crank - and it doesn't always get my messages to me in a timely manner. Yesterday a message popped up from the regional office of the Census that had been drifting around the ethernet for at least a day. I called them back this morning. The nice lady said that their office had been closed due to the pandemic, but that they were open now and needed an answer as to whether I was still interested in working on the census or not. I asked when training would begin - because I am one of those pesky individuals who believe that a second wave is coming - and that it will hit hard. The lady told me that they did not know the dates yet for training.
And then I thought, and thought . . . and finally coughed up an answer.
I told the lady that I am seventy-two and that I felt the need to be extra-cautious regarding decisions that could impact my health. I said that everything I have been hearing from our federal government sounded dubious, and that I was losing faith in the government's ability or commitment to keeping me (and others) safe.
So I said, "No thank you."
And she thanked me for my time.
Retiree
Last winter I applied for a job with the upcoming 2020 U.S. Census. It was a job that I really wanted because as someone who does lots of work with family history (genealogy) I have an understanding of, and respect for, the census, and I wanted to do my part to help insure that the upcoming census was the best ever.
Also, it is getting about time for me to buy a car, and I am an old-fashioned consumer who, when he buys something, prefers to pay for it at the time of purchase. More than a year ago I started a special savings account to buy a better car, and the census job, which pays well, would have put me over the top.
And then this pandemic mess hit the fan and the world changed.
The folks at the Census phoned nearly two months ago just to see if I was still interested. I said that while I had some qualms about going door-to-door to collect census information, I would like for them to keep my name on the list.
And then I waited, and waited . . .
I have an old 3G cellphone - one with a hand crank - and it doesn't always get my messages to me in a timely manner. Yesterday a message popped up from the regional office of the Census that had been drifting around the ethernet for at least a day. I called them back this morning. The nice lady said that their office had been closed due to the pandemic, but that they were open now and needed an answer as to whether I was still interested in working on the census or not. I asked when training would begin - because I am one of those pesky individuals who believe that a second wave is coming - and that it will hit hard. The lady told me that they did not know the dates yet for training.
And then I thought, and thought . . . and finally coughed up an answer.
I told the lady that I am seventy-two and that I felt the need to be extra-cautious regarding decisions that could impact my health. I said that everything I have been hearing from our federal government sounded dubious, and that I was losing faith in the government's ability or commitment to keeping me (and others) safe.
So I said, "No thank you."
And she thanked me for my time.
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