Well.  Not exactly.

So.  We finally got our census form delivered rather unceremoniously in a plastic bag thrown on our front porch.  I would think the better place for it would have been hung on the door knob, but okay, the important thing is we got it.

I brought the envelope inside and opened it up.  It was addressed to the resident(s) of 509 Starke Blvd. 

The problem is, I don’t live at 509 Starke Blvd.  That address is about two miles away from where we live.  Sigh.  I guess this means a call into the Census Bureau Help Desk.  So, Monday morning, I made the call.  After wading through the mire of automated voice messages (both in English and para Espanola) I finally get to a human.  The conversation went something like this:

“Hello, and welcome to the United States 2010 Census Bureau Help Desk.  My name is Andre`.  How can I help you today?”

“Hey, Andre`.  My name is Curtis.  How are you doing today?”

“Uhh.  I’m fine. Welcome to the United States 2010 Census Bureau Help Desk.  How can I help you today?”

“Well, Andre`, I received our Census packet this weekend, only there seems to be a small problem.  The packet I received is actually addressed to a different residence, so I’m calling to ask what I should do about that.  Can you help me with this?”

“Please hold while I look up the correct answer to your question.”

“Okay.”

Holding and thinking that Andre` must be new if he needs to look up the answer, but that’s alright.  I appreciate his diligence in trying to get it right.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Andre`”

“Thank you for holding the line of the United States 2010 Census Bureau Help Desk.  I have the answer you requested.”

“Okay, thanks.”

It is apparent at this point that Andre` is reading from a script “If you have received the incorrect United States 2010 Census Bureau form and have completed the form . . .”

“Hey Andre`, let me just stop you right there.  I haven’t filled out the form, I just opened it.”

“Oh.  Please hold while I look up the correct answer to your question.”

Holding and thinking that this might turn into something tedious.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Andre`”

“Thank you for holding the line of the United States 2010 Census Bureau Help Desk.  I have the answer you requested.”

“Okay, thanks.”

It is apparent at this point that Andre` is again reading from a script  “If you have received the incorrect United States 2010 Census Bureau form and have NOT completed the form, please return the form to the United States 2010 Census Bureau and write ‘wrong address’ on the outside of the envelope.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

“Okay, Sir, thank you for calling the United States 2010 Census Bureau Help Desk.  Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

“Well, yes there is, Andre`.  Can you tell me how to then get my correct Census form?”

“Oh.  Please hold while I look up the correct answer to your question.”

Holding and thinking that this IS turning into something tedious.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Andre`”

“Thank you for holding the line of the United States 2010 Census Bureau Help Desk.  I have the answer you requested.”

“Okay, thanks.”

It is apparent at this point that Andre` is back to his script “In order to answer your question, I will need your United States 2010 Census Bureau Identification Number.”

“Uhhmm.  I don’t have that.  How can I find out what that is?”

“Sir, your United States 2010 Census Bureau Identification Number is located on the front of your United States 2010 Census Form.”

“I don’t have my form.  That’s why I’m calling.”

“Sir, in order to answer your question, I will need your United States 2010 Census Bureau Identification Number, so since you don’t have that, I will send someone to your residence to help you fill out the form.”

“No, Andre`, please don’t do that.  I don’t really need help filling out the form, I just need the form.  I think I can handle filling out alright.”

“I’m sorry, Sir, but in order to answer your question, I will need your United States 2010 Census Bureau Identification Number which is located on the front of your United States 2010 Census Bureau form.”

Sigh.  “Andre`.  Can you see where we’re having a bit of an impasse here?  I don’t have MY form, I have someone else’s form and therefore I don’t have my identification number to give to you in order for you to send me the correct form.”

“I’m sorry, Sir, but in order to answer your question, I will need your United States 2010 Census Bureau Identification Number which is located on the front of your United States 2010 Census Bureau form.”

Sigh.  Okay.  Well here’s what I’m going to do, Andre`.  I’m going to send back the incorrect form as you have instructed and if you all want me to fill out the correct form, then you’ll need to send it to me.  Other than that, I really don’t see that there’s anything else I can do here.”

“Okay, Sir, thank you for calling the United States 2010 Census Bureau Help Desk.  Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

“No, I . . . think we’re done here today.”

“Okay, Sir, thank you for calling the United States 2010 Census Bureau Help Desk and have a nice day.”

“Yeah, so long, Andre`.  You too.”

 

 

 

 

Yesterday, whilst huddled under a tarpaulin getting absolutely drenched in the rain at a cook out / pot luck at a friend's house; a rather strange female acquaintance of ours came over to chat me up a bit.  I'm not particularly fond of her as she tends to try to be shocking in order to garner attention.  But, you know, one tries to be polite in these social situations.  

 

No pun intended, but honestly!  It's really in poor taste and definitely NOT cool to discuss, in great detail, with a casual aquaintence who happens to be gay, your distinct fondness for the art of cunnilingus.  I tried to steer the conversation to some other, less graphic topic, but she would have nothing of it.  Now, I'm definately not a prude.  I have a filthy mouth and an even filther mind, but geez.  I do know not to cross certain lines.  I mean, Lordy, I was trying to eat.  

 

Is it me or are you all sick and tired of seening this warning page pop up on what seems to be EVERY single gay blog on Blogger out there?!?

 

Oh. 

 

Wait.  

 

What does that say about the blogs I frequent??? 

 

Still.  Enough already.  

As does often happen when it slows up a bit in the laboratory, we’ll stand around and shoot the bull for a while.  I think it’s good for morale as long as all the work gets done in a timely and accurate fashion. 

Now you have to understand that out of the 10 of us on staff, 5 were raised as farm kids and each of the 5 still have some sort of ties to farming in some fashion.

One staff member in particular, however, was raised in East St. Louis and moved to our small town about 15 years ago.  This lady is in her early 5os and has been recently engaged to be married to one of the local farmers after living with him for a year or so.  Now, I have to appreciate that she is trying to learn to love farming life, but it’s quite evident to the rest of us that she doesn’t really know what she’s doing.  I think to fully appreciate what any type of agricultural life is all about; you have to be raised into it.  You have to be a farm kid not a farm kid wannabe.

This wouldn’t be quite so annoying if she didn’t like to “inform” us of what it’s like to be a farmer.  She tells us all about the work that they have to do, the animals they have to take care of, crop rotation, etc.  We pretty much roll our eyes and move along because we know exactly what it’s like living on a farm since we either did or currently do.  In particular, she talks about taking care of her pony and all the work that entails.  Problem is, she doesn’t know how to handle the thing and she’s already been hurt a few times from this horse that isn’t being properly broken in.  I shouldn’t laugh, but she’s also afraid of stuff that no proper farm kid would ever be afraid of.  In fact, she just doesn’t understand that these are animals not cute, little pets.

So, we’re gathered around chatting this afternoon and as does happen we start talking about our gardens, our animals, etc.  Soon, the farm kid wannabe jumps into the conversation and tries to fit in.  We were talking about the mean old animals we’ve encountered in the past.  Mean as piss goats, roosters, geese – we nodded in knowing agreement with each species mentioned.  One of the farm kids was describing a particular rooster that she had run ins with whilst volunteering at the humane society and said, “I hated that rooster and wanted to kick it, but it was the humane society, so, you know.  You just can’t do that kind of thing.”

Of course we all broke out in hysterical laughter knowing exactly how she felt being chased by a mean old rooster and just because the way she said it was so comical.  Except for the farm kid wannabe.  She couldn’t believe anyone would want to kick a cute little defenseless rooster.  She obviously doesn’t know what being pecked by a rooster feels like and that kicking a chicken is more like moving it out of your way with your foot.  We sort of broke up the conversation by that point, but not before she announced that she wanted to buy a couple of milk cows to have around the farm.

I fear she has some very hard lessons in the very near future.