Count me in
Classify me as bewildered. Up in the wildfire zone, there are people who refuse to leave. When the premier of your province announces that “you aren’t supposed to be there”, due to a general evacuation, the proper protocol seems clear. Get on a bus, or find a pickup truck with an empty back; get out of town. No, you aren’t doing something extraordinary and wonderful by hanging around in the danger zone. Rant mode off.
Meanwhile, down here where the only environmental danger is from fog (yes, you can’t see the shore and no, it doesn’t really matter), life goes on.
We were “counted in” today. Our local census officer dropped by in mid-afternoon, checked to see that we had a telephone in case we failed to file, and left the envelope with serious questions. Short questions; this is the short form. And unlike every other time in the past century and whatever, we had an alternative: online completion.
Really! Summon the web page, enter our ID number (thoughtfully printed on the header of the paper form) and then complete those oh-so-personal questions that caused mental anguish for the last government. I am completely at ease revealing my name and date of birth. Ditto for marital status, and mother tongue (no, the question didn’t confuse our polyglot household). And with a click of a virtual button, the job was done. No more queries for another decade.
I guess there are people with a different mindset. The kind that will stay in a raging forest fire, or refuse to supply baseline data to the government. Please, crazy people, don’t count me in.
