I'm in training this week for the 2010 Census.  Some of you may recall I met a recruiter at First Friday in the South End, and decided, since it's mainly an evening and weekend gig, and pays around twenty-four bucks an hour, to give it a whirl.  Unlike the Mass. DMV's written exam, I passed the census exam, and a couple months later, here I am.



Yesterday I took the oath, and I am sworn to secrecy, so don't expect me to share the details of my hot, steamy enumeration sessions with you here.  I'm not even supposed to report illegal activities I may witness during my travels for the Census.  That's how serious we are about getting this information.  You can be torturing kittens when I knock on the door.  I don't care, just give me your fucking form. 

But I probably won't actually be coming to your door, unless you're a hot college jock; a hardened, tattooed convict; or a horny sailor. You see, I'll be working on Group Quarters and Service Based Enumeration, which means counting residents of college dorms, correctional facilities, Military barracks, and Maritime and Merchant Vessels.  Oh yes, that's right.  I'm working on the Gay Porn portion of the 2010 Census.

Less gayly, but more intriguingly, perhaps, next week, my crew fans out over Back Bay and the Fenway in the wee, small hours to visit what in Censuspeak are known as TNSOLs — pronounced "tensols" — "Targeted Nonsheltered Outdoor Locations", where we'll be counting Boston's homeless population. 

Training has been brutal.  This is some real cloak and dagger stuff we're doing here.  We are sworn to secrecy — with an oath of office and strict penalties and fines for violating it — and have all sorts of secret maps and decoder rings, and  we speak almost entirely in acronyms. 

Thank goodness for the the Census handbook!  A treasure trove of bureaucratic euphemisms, chock full of useful information and good advice.  For example, at 5-3.2, the handbook advises: "Wear comfortable shoes.  These shoes may come in handy should there be a need to run."

That's not just good Census, that's good sense.

But I don't anticipate any trouble. Our crew is adorable.  I was hoping there'd be some hotties along the way, and training did not disappoint.  The crew is mostly twentysomethings, at least half them musicians, from a classical cellist to a baby-faced busker with bulging biceps.  There has been talk of forming a band.  The Enumerators (too obvious for my taste).  Maybe the Title 13s.

Whatever the case, even without the serenade, if we show up at your barracks or below deck on your battleship, we'll ask, and trust me, you'll tell. 

You'll beg to be enumerated.