Wednesday, May 5, 2010

La Cucaracha

Last night would have marked the first time I ever purposefully punched a guy in the face. WOULD being the key word.

Last night we were visited by the census fairy. He didn't bring money or candy, which already put him on my "Be Gone" list*, and instead brought us a million and one questions we had no answers to. My housemate Amanda and I did our best to field the questions he asked about us and our 4 other housemates. Things didn't fare to well from my perspective.

First he asked for all of our names. Then he asked how to spell Martinez, which I thought was pretty much a given since

1. He was hispanic, and

2. I've never met anyone whose last name was Marteenis. I know, I know, they're out there somewhere . . . and when I find them, I'm referring them to the census guy.

As the census guy sat on the couch with the other Amanda, and I sat eating dinner in the adjacent dining area, we went back and forth answering questions . . . lots of them. And for the most part, we didn't know the answers he was looking for. Not only did we NOT know the Date of Birth for our other housemates, we also could neither confirm nor deny that any of them had at any point in their lives known/had a foster child or where their previous residence was. But the real kicker came when he asked about our cultural history. FIrst of all, he asked the other Amanda what nationality I was. Did I mention I was there in the same vicinity and had been calling out answers during the preliminary interrogation? Cause I was. After getting over the frustration that the guy was totally ignoring the fact that I was in the room and thus, he could PERSONALLY ask me questions (instead of asking my housemate) our conversation went like so.

Census: Are you Hispanic, Latina, Chicana, Mexican, or Mexican American, or other?

Me: Wow. So many to choose from. Um. You tell me. My dad is Mexican and my mom is Spanish, but I've never been to Mexico OR Spain, and in fact, I was born in Germany. But I've lived in America since I was a baby.

Census: So should I put you down as Mexican?

Me: Um. No. Mexican American. Thank you.

Census: Okay so, are you Samoan or Peruvian or . . .

Me: What? No. I just told you. Mexican American.

Census: Well you have to choose one from this list. (hands me a list with other nationalities)

Me: Ah. Here, OTHER. I choose Other.

Census: And what is that other?

Me: Mexican American.

I'm not sure what frustrated me more, the fact that he obviously wasn't listening to me, or that he was insistent on sticking to his little format instead of noticing what was going on during our conversation. Either way, it happened and I left shortly after to go watch LOST with some wonderful people, which totally made my night MUCH better.

* I don't really have a "Be Gone" list and I realize he can't have known that I would request such loot upon entering our house.


Heather said...

The only thing they are legally well constitutionally supposed to ask you is your address and number of occupants, your nationality or ANYTHING else is not required...

I'm not too clever with names said...

haha! How is it that your life is always so entertaining!

serrriously though, guy gotta listen up here! ridiculous...
-Sarah B

p.s. I have so much I need to figure out about this blog stuff!!

amo (amanda) said...

hahaha! no lie dude. this stuff ALWAYS happens. In fact, the other day I had a run-in with a FedEx lady that was just SO ridiculous. I'll blog about it soon :)