It was census night last Tuesday. They ask you all sorts of questions, like what colour undies you were wearing on this date three years ago, and what religion you are. I always tick 'no religion'. I believe people's spiritual leanings are their own concern and not the government's. What is this, China? The year that everyone wrote Jedi as a joke, I wanted to as well, but I couldn't bring myself to. My inbuilt privacy barometer is set too high, even for census-kerflummoxing hilarity. They say they remove all the personal identifying info before the stats-geeks get their hands on it, but it vexes me, the thought of bureaucrats accessing private details.
A few days later the census-collecting lady came and knocked on my door to pick it up, but I'd already posted it as instructed. I didn't appreciate being checked up on so I stayed in bed, let her knock, and felt satisfied at this small stance of rebellion.
On the radio they said there were problems with people intent on committing ID theft pretending to be census officials, knocking on doors and collecting people's forms. The census bloke said reassuringly: Don't worry, just make sure it's a proper person, they'll be wearing a photo ID tag and carrying a yellow satchel. What planet is he on? Planet Baby Boomer - they never realise how easy this stuff is in the digital age. Anyone can make a photographic ID tag on their home computer in 5 minutes, and as for yellow satchels, I'm sure Kmart have plenty.
The census makes me shirty, all that privacy invading, and it makes me feel dejected, which I express by getting more shirty as the questions keep coming. There are questions pertaining to one's occupation, which I do not have. There are questions concerning one's level of education. I tick the appropriate boxes irately. Yes I went to high-school 'til grade 12, yes that is the highest level of education I've completed, if you bloody well must ask. I have to skip all the questions where my friends merrily fill in their tertiary degrees. I was in my first year of uni when I got sick. Assuming I'd be back in no time, I applied for a leave-of-absence. I was permitted a leave-of-absence for several years. The Faculty of Law sent me annual letters on glossy paper to see if I was coming back. Then I'd been deferred for too long and the letters stopped coming.
Thanks for the reminder, government nimrods.
1 comments:
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