On Saturday morning a U.S. Census interviewer knocked on my door to collect information for a "Survey of Income and Program Participation" they were doing. It wasn't a complete surprise, as I'd received a "Dear Resident" letter a week before saying I'd been picked to be interviewed and I would be hearing from them.
So I sat down with the fellow, who asked about everything from whether I received assistance from any government programs, to my investments and income, to how often I visited the dentist.
I declined to answer quite a few of the questions (it's none of the government's business whether I own a boat or how much money is in my checking account), but I was delighted to share with the government all the information I could about the outrageously high health-insurance premiums that I pay as a self-employed person.
The final part of the half-hour interview dealt with domestic issues like whether I have a working hot-water heater and whether I feel safe in my neighborhood (yes to both).
I told him that I really didn't think I was very representative of most Americans, but he said that everyone, no matter how much of an outlier, is still part of the population.
During the interview we were sitting on my deck, with Clarence the cat snoozing on my lap, the breeze blowing through the trees and the pasture, and the goldfinches flying around and chirping merrily.
"Are you bothered by street noise?" the interviewer asked. "Umm, I'm guessing I don't have to ask that."
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