Enumerator. Not Prostitute.

For the past month, my nights and weekends have been busy doing Census work for the Government. I have learned more about my town and the poeple in it during the past month's work than I have in 15 years of living here. Driving by someone's house is different then talking to them, seeing them, learning about them.

I have met some really wonderful, kind people from every corner of our town. Some amazinglly wealthy, some poorer than I could imagine. Some of them were kind, some were very, very rude. (Oh yes, Little Miss Half-Million house, it'll all come back to you when we meet up at a PTO meeting and you're not feeling so socially superior)

Tonight, even after all these many, many houses and interviews, I encountered something completely new.

A drunk, fifty-something year old guy offered me $100.00 to have sex with him.

"No, thank you. I'm only On Call for the Feds."

"You're very (hic) cute"

"Mmmm mmmm. How many people were living at this residence on April 1st?"

"I have cash."

"Goodbye."