Do you know you can be fined if you don't want to spill your guts to the census taker?
A few weeks ago, as I returned home from work, a man called out from my neighbor's yard. I was busy unwrenching a card stuck in the front door from the U.S. Census.
"Oh, you're home," he said as I tossed the card into the recycle bin. I called out that I was only home for a minute. He told me he was the census-taker and he tried to convince me that the survey would only take three minutes. I told him that I didn't want to divulge information to the government.
As I unlocked the door, he said he had to make six attempts. As I went inside, I told him I work nights, so don't come in the day.
A minute later, there was a sharp rap. "It's me again," he chirped in a German-tinted accent. I opened the door. "Well, four more times to go."
He asked if I was sure I didn't want to participate— and he told me that, if I refused, it would be a $1,000 fine for failing to cooperate with the government. I told him that I didn't want to participate.
The next night I had my door wide open because it was so hot. I was reading on the couch when I heard a loud knock, "I'm back!" clipped the now familiar Shwartzanegger voice. I said I was busy and went back to my book. When Hans refused to leave my doorway, I got up and slammed the door in his face. According to the Libertarian Party's press secretary, that's an all-American thing to do when the busybody government asks questions you don't want to answer.
Hans said through the door that he would be back.
I tried to go back to my book, but I was riled. I went outside and saw him on the sidewalk. I asked why he was harassing me, that I had rights. He shook his finger at me saying he spoke to his supervisor about me and they said to keep making attempts.
I followed him around the corner. "Vat?" he asked, "Are you going to call the police?" He smiled maliciously. No, I was just going to follow him around since he was bothering me in my house.
He headed for his car, which by the way, had a Nuremburg sticker on the back window. I told him I was glad because now I had his license plate number, and maybe I'd come over to his house.
I walked over to the driver's side and asked why he was threatening and harassing me. "Threatening?" he repeated slowly, then he turned his head and venomously yelled, "Fuck you, bitch!"
I pointed at him and said I was telling his supervisor he said that. Hans drove off in a cloud of dust (not hard to do in Key West these days.)
When I got home, I pulled the card out of the blue bin that he had left with his phone number and name. I called the number and found out that, not only was it his home phone, but the voice on the answering machine announced the name of the business he runs out of his home. A simple perusal of the Yellow Pages and I had Hans' address.
Believe me, I was tempted to stand outside his house at three in the morning with an airhorn but I restrained myself. Later, I left a message for my uncle, a professor of criminology, asking him what my rights were.
My plan the next morning was to call Hans' supervisor. Do you think it's easy for a regular Joe to call the Census Bureau? They are not listed in the phone book. Luckily I knew a laundromat where there was a flyer recruiting census takers.
It took three attempts of being transferred and put on hold before I finally found someone to speak to. The supervisor kindly told me I did have to answer the questions, but nobody had the right to treat me like that— and the fine was $100 not $1,000. Believe I'd pay it on principle but I can't afford such liberties.
I made arrangements for a phone interview, gave the man Hans' phone number and hung up.
Later, my uncle confirmed that the government can fine you $100 for refusing to cooperate with a census-taker. But he said that it was unlikely that the government would spend the time and money to levy and collect such a fine.
With my luck, however, the Census Bureau would probably decide to make an example of me and I would end up being the first person in history ever to go to jail for refusing to participate in the census.
The good news: Hans never came back.