Census worker: I have job to do

Hello, it’s me. I’m your local census enumerator. Yes, I left that little note that I had been by, trying to reach you. My job is simply to make sure that you and your household have been counted in the 2010 Census.

I understand that you have a busy life. Maybe you don’t have time for me to intrude when you have had a long day, need to cook dinner and pick up your children from the assortment of things they are involved in. But give me 5 or 10 minutes to make sure that your paperwork wasn’t lost in the shuffle of life. Be it the mail, the government, whatever, your address is on my list.

I am being paid to locate you and make sure that you and your family are counted. That’s my job. It’s nothing more, nothing less, just counting people.

It is also helpful if I know your age, race and gender. If you are counted, the government can’t deny that you exist, live in a certain community or that you have needs.

Why do I ask such intrusive questions? Well, do you want funding to go toward a neighborhood senior citizens center if you and most the people living around you are struggling to find day care for your growing family?

What if you need funding for roads in your community and I came by and you refused to answer my question? If your neighbors have the same attitude that you have, guess what? You don’t exist and neither do they, therefore there is no reason to pave or repair your road. Don’t call your local representative.

You, along with everyone else in your neighborhood who refused to be counted, simply don’t exist. I urge you to understand the significance in being counted. We should all say “I’m here; I matter; I’m part of my community; count me.”

Otherwise, stop moaning about the recent news about 100 teachers cut in our community. We all have a responsibility to say, “I’m here; don’t forget me; I matter.”

On a more personal note: To the gentleman who told me that he “didn’t see my census badge through the scope of his rifle and I was lucky to be alive,” and to the lady who called me three times in less than 30 minutes and left no message, only to tell me on a return call that you had “filled yours out and didn’t think that you should have to do it again,” I’m sorry. I am your neighbor, who has been hired to do a job.

Most people are cooperative. Probably 98 percent of the people I deal with have been wonderful. It’s the 2 percent that is very disturbing.

I am just another human being, hired by the government, to count you. I wish you nothing but the best.

I will not walk away from what I consider to be an important job that I believe in. One that also provides money for food and shelter for my family simply because you exist and don’t trust the government.

Patty Wrobel

Lancaster