CENSUS ENUMERATORS COUNT ON HARD WORK.

Byline: Jenifer B. McCrea

I am your friendly neighborhood enumerator. It isn't an easy job, I'll tell you that. I have had arguments with my friends, neighbors and family as to why the census is necessary. I have had to take my truck off-roading to count some people. I have had doors slammed in my face, been cursed at and I even walked up to one residence where the door was wide open and the residents were busy doing illegal drugs.

It has been quite an experience.

When I took the initial test, the trainer told us that Santa Clarita had been undercounted by so much in the last census that they had missed out on enough money to build eight schools in 10 years. No wonder the city has put up an extra $150,000 to make sure every person in Santa Clarita is counted this time around.

All across the country people sat in classes just like mine. Why did they come?

The reasons were as varied as the people who were in my class. Hudson was there to make his wife happy; Charlie to pay off some credit cards; Katherine really wants to get a government job; and Brandon was trying to save enough money so that next semester, his last at junior college, he wouldn't have to work. Me? I was there to supplement our income since my husband has a horrible boss who won't give him the raise he deserves.

Enumerator training supposedly prepared us for just about everything an employee of the Commerce Department should know. They trained us how to fill out forms and how to calculate mileage. They trained us how to handle refusals, and they even trained us on sexual assault, specifically on how to avoid it.

My crew leader was required to teach us verbatim from a book. I am assuming that even though he has a good sense of humor he also read the following from that same book: ``Stay away from groups of men. Do not enter a residence where there are groups of men. If approached by an unmarked police car, even if the driver is in uniform, do not stop. Turn your hazard lights on, drive slowly and drive to a bar or gas station.''

A bar as a safe haven? Does anyone else find this odd?

Also in the book: ``If you are in a house and feel uncomfortable, leave, but get a phone number.''

Now there's advice. I feel safer with that kind of training at my fingertips.

The census is required by the Constitution. Every 10 years every man, woman and child has to be counted, ostensibly to determine each state's representation in the House of Representatives and to help determine taxation.

At least that was the initial intention. Now the census is used for determining everything from federal spending for schools and social programs to deciding on private business marketing strategies. According to what we are told, the Department of Commerce can't release any specifics of the information for 72 years, but the statistics are available for use by just about anybody. Fear not all you conspiracy theorists, nobody will know your name.

(A quick note to my neighbor as to why they just can't use FBI files, IRS files or anybody else's files up in Washington: The count has to be unilateral and ``unbiased.'' Other government entities would have a vested interest in swaying the count. If you start talking to me again I can go into more detail.)

I go out there each day and try to catch people at home. If the enumerator comes knocking at your door, there are some things that you should know. First, if I am at your door it means that even though you sent it in, they don't have it. Either it's lost in the mail or it came in after the April 1 cutoff. Second, it's not my fault. Third, believe me, if I could leave the form with you I would, but I can't. What I will do is attempt to get through it as fast as possible, especially the long form.

I feel like an idiot asking you if you have hot and cold running water, but it's there and I have to ask it. Fourth, it's not my fault.

Finally, if you really feel that strongly and don't want to answer my questions, that's fine with me. Please just say that you're opposed to the invasive questions, tell me how many people lived there on April 1 and gently close the door. After all, it's really not my fault.

I am your friendly neighborhood enumerator. You will see me in the grocery store, the park, walking in the neighborhood. If you curse at me and slam the door, chances are I'll remember you. If you are nice and answer my questions, I guarantee that I won't remember how much you make, how old you are or when your birthday is. I won't remember because in the last two weeks, I have filled out more than 40 of these forms, usually with three or more people on each one, and because frankly I don't really care.

All I really care about is getting that money for our schools, our elderly and adequate representation in Washington. So please be nice to me - I've had a hard day too.