On my doorstep

When I heard the knock on my door on Saturday night at 7 PM, I assumed it was Mike, who I was expecting, ready to go to dinner.

However, when I answered the door it was not Mike, but a middle-aged blond woman holding her badge in my face. And I knew immediately who it was . . . the census bureau woman who I had chatty phone convos with last spring, and who has been trying to reach me by phone for the last week. I never returned her calls; the timing was always bad, and I didn't think it mattered that much.

But apparently my statistics matter enough for her to show up at my house at 7 PM on a Saturday to ask me a few questions.

Since Mike wasn't there yet, I had no excuse not to let her in. She sat herself down on my couch, opened her laptop, and proceeded to start asking me questions about my job, my income, and if anyone else lived with me.

Then Mike showed up, and we both stood there kind of awkwardly while she asked me my opinions about indoor vs. outdoor smoking.

Somehow I got chosen for these interviews every few months, which is weird, because I never get chosen for anything. And these people are clearly determined that I'll answer their questions.

Don't mess with the census bureau.