Censury Calm
When the Census push was going on earlier this year the government hired some guy to come sit in the lobby of our building to help people who had questions on their census forms. I thought it was a ridiculous waste of money because (1) most the people around here are not full time residents, therefore were sent the form to their permanent address located somewhere far away from here where I'm sure they obediently filled it out and, (2) there were only ten questions. A couple people were sent the "long form" but that was because their life sucked and the government obviously hated them and screw the government, they don't need to know anything about the people who live here. Ever. (Not necessarily my thoughts, but heard nonetheless.) (Isn't that a great word: nonetheless? I love it and vow to use it much more frequently. "I realize you don't want to take a bath, nonetheless, I am your mother and I told you so." I can so make that work.)
Anyway, Government Guy would come into our lobby and set up shop. This included laying a couple official census questionnaires on the table and sitting on a chair. And he sat. And sat. Doing nothing. Day after blasted day. He would sit straight up in his chair, looking pleasantly in the direction of the lobby doors. And he would sit that way all day long. Always with a smile on his face. Always.
He never spoke. (No one ever came in to ask him for help.) He never looked bored. He'd never read a book, or draw fake prison tattoos on his knuckles, or make crane oragami with the census survey. He just sat there happily enjoying our lobby as if sitting in that uncomfortable chair for eight hours a day was the best thing he had ever done in his life.
A couple times I'd run past him on the way to the bathroom and see him sitting there so obviously content. Looking at the doors. Smile on his face. Not saying a word. And I'd think to myself see how pleasant the world could be with an unending supply of valium...
Anyway, Government Guy would come into our lobby and set up shop. This included laying a couple official census questionnaires on the table and sitting on a chair. And he sat. And sat. Doing nothing. Day after blasted day. He would sit straight up in his chair, looking pleasantly in the direction of the lobby doors. And he would sit that way all day long. Always with a smile on his face. Always.
He never spoke. (No one ever came in to ask him for help.) He never looked bored. He'd never read a book, or draw fake prison tattoos on his knuckles, or make crane oragami with the census survey. He just sat there happily enjoying our lobby as if sitting in that uncomfortable chair for eight hours a day was the best thing he had ever done in his life.
A couple times I'd run past him on the way to the bathroom and see him sitting there so obviously content. Looking at the doors. Smile on his face. Not saying a word. And I'd think to myself see how pleasant the world could be with an unending supply of valium...
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