Happy Hour after Work

The temporary job I've been working for the Census Bureau might wrap up this weekend. I'm glad to be finishing early.

If the job does end then, the time I work will total one week less than what they initially promised. All the same, it would feel just about right. Seven weeks of walking around town, earning a little money has been fun. But, if I continued to address canvas for another week--I know I'd get grumpy with the routine.

Conversely, had the work wrapped up sooner--say, one week ago--I would have questioned whether it was worthwhile to cut short my travels around Asia and fly back to work this job. Seven weeks of work has been just the right amount of time.

I'm still enjoying the work, appreciating nuances to this city I was never aware of. I'm surprised by not just how many neighborhoods in my hometown I'm exploring for the first time, but by how much variation there is within small areas. Down in the south end of town, walking east a few blocks along Holly Street typifies the range I've been finding:

Starting in the area around Martin Luther King Jr. Way, the rent on many of the homes in the New Holly Park compound is subsidized; the number of immigrants is high. Heading a block-or-two along up the ridge, structures then go from decrepit to solid middle class with well-kept gardens. The blocks running further up the hill, approaching the west side of Seward Park Avenue South, are nicer still.

Most of the homes along this stretch of Holly Street must have Jewish occupants. In several of the blocks I walked around in that neighborhood, I found a mezuzah tacked onto the doorframe of every single house. Then, crossing Seward Park Avenue to the east, the slope leading down to Lake Washington is where the homes turn really posh. Some of the waterfront property whose doors I knocked on was unbelievable. In the center of custom-cut slabs of stone siding, one home had an enormous wooden door carved from some sort of heavy wood. Rapping on that door was like knocking on a stone. There was no doorbell. I assume that whoever lived in that house wasn't interested in having census takers and other random people come calling.

The main point of my job is to make sure that the addresses the Census Bureau has on-record are correct. This usually means little more than comparing what's on the address list with what house numbers I see on every block. I do have to create a record of the occasional new structure or make a note of others that have fallen into an uninhabitable state: but those are the exceptions. It's easy work.

Knocking on every door is also part of the routine, but interactions with people are usually brief. I'm not eliciting any detailed information. The detailed questions come in 2010. I ask only whether there is some other place on the grounds where people might live: dwellings with mother-in-law units or separate apartments should receive multiple questionaires. At each house I also log a GPS point marking the exact location of the front door.

There have been a few extended conversations and interactions--some pleasant, some unpleasant:

• There were the people who wished they had my job. Several asked me specific details as to how they too could apply to be a census taker. I find it ironic that I'm employed at all, particularly at a time when so many people are struggling to find work.

  One woman I crossed paths with on the street told me that she too had applied for the same position. After taking the screening examination but never hearing a response back from the Census Bureau she eventually accepted a minimum-wage job at a local grocery store.

• There was the woman who first asked me if the census was some "new thing" or some "Obama thing". I'd previously encountered several other people who had never heard of the census, so had come up with a stock, diplomatic answer. "I'm not sure how far back it goes, but do know that the census has been taken every ten years for many decades."

  I never tell them that it was mandated into the U.S. Constitution some couple-hundred years ago. Perhaps I should start saying that, though. In the end, this woman declared that it must be some new "Democrat thing" and therefore could absolutely not participate--no matter how many further letters or people came to her house to elicit information.

• There was the six-year old girl with Asian features who wordlessly opened the door wide for me to enter, then walked downstairs expecting me to follow on behind.

  I tend not to be a worrier, but all sorts of safety concerns exploded through my head. Was it possible this child was alone? Why was she opening the door to anybody who came knocking, allowing some unfamilar man to step right into her house?

  I called out several times to see if some adult was at home. There was no response.

• There was the woman who knew far more than I did about the details of my job. When she opened the door she had me pegged: "Oh, you're with the Census Bureau? Then you must have just started the address canvassing operation. You're getting paid pretty well to make sure all the addresses are correct, right?"

  I was surprised how spot-on she was and told her so. It turned out that she had insider knowledge: she and both of her parents were all federal employees. The topic of our conversation drifted from minutiae of the cenus to her imminent departure to begin Peace Corps work.

  That was rare. Coherent conversation about any subject other than additional dwelling units comes as a welcome break from routine.

• There were the many people who ignored my knock, choosing to not answer the door at all. Loud conversation might carry on or a TV screen would continue to flash... but many people who were obviously at home had no interest in opening their door.

• There were the many, many signs--most of them hand-drawn--instructing visitors to please take their shoes off.

It's been interesting work, but I'll feel fine if it does come to an end this weekend. That will give me about three free weeks in Seattle to spend time with friends and family. Then, come June 20th, I'm hoping to catch a flight back to Asia and make my way back to Kyrgyzstan--to attend Jochen's wedding.