testing, testing. one. two.

I decided, a good while ago, that maybe being a US Census worker might make for an interesting summer. In the meantime, I haven't done much to make this dream a reality; time's gone by, every once in a while I think I should look into a bit more, and then it rolls off the list of things to do.

Until last week, when I called the regional office in Cheyenne to see if I'd missed my big chance to count heads. Turns out, I could take a test right here in Laramie, on Tuesday the 19th. So I signed up, put it on my calendar, and took a quick look at the practice test online. Here's a very quick sample of the type of question I might have expected on the Test:

Sample question 13.

Select the correct answer from the given

choices.

.41 + 21.4 + 6.3 + 280 =

a) 48.49

b) 59.8

c) 308.11

4) 450

Yeah, I agree: not exactly rocket science. Still, the prospect of being sent out to rural Albany County to query some crazy independent survivalist with a pack of half-wild dogs and a .357 is enough to convince me to submit myself to the Test.

So, anyway, on Monday I got a call from my regional Census Jobs office, reminding me that I was registered to take the important Test on Tuesday, Jan. 19th, in the Will Room of the Cheyenne Public Library.

Wait a second. I thought I was signed up to take the Test in Laramie....

A call to my regional Census Jobs office confirms that, in fact, I am signed up to take the Test in Laramie. Small misunderstanding, thanks for checking, etc. etc., we'll see you at the Laramie test site tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Fisher.

Great.

So, on Tuesday I headed down to take the big Test.

After a painfully slow half-hour of filling out paperwork (paperwork which took all of three minutes to complete), we began the Test. One-half hour, clear your desks of everything except the test, your answer key, a piece of government-provided, ruled scratch paper, and your writing utensil.

At the 16-minute point, I'd made my first pass through the Test. At the 24-minute mark, I'd completed my second pass through the Test, double-checking all the answers.

I changed one answer, my answer to the sole open-ended question on the Test, a question designed to measure my willingness to bend to the unpredictability of human nature rather than blindly stick to some inflexible governmental script. I'm sure that the right answer was to blindly stick with the script, but I changed my answer from the right answer to the answer that more accurately reflects my own sense of ethical interaction with others.

If I was betting on my score, I'd bet good money I got a 25 or better (out of 28). I actually believe I got a 27, but I coulda made at least a couple of stupid mistakes.

After the test, fearless Test proctor Jim said that 10 right (out of 28) places you in the 70th percentile. [I think that's what he meant, anyway. He actually said that a 10 of 28 works out to be a 70%, but I think he was talking about curving based on national response patterns, which is more or less a percentile score.]

If I don't get the census job, I'll find something else to do. I want the job because I think it sounds interesting, and I do believe that the census is relatively important for providing an overall view of the country's demographic changes over time. But I don't need the job. At least, I don't need the job in the way that some people taking the Test with me seemed to need it. A couple of fellow Test-takers wanted reassurance that they could take the Test as many times as they needed, and that only their top score would be counted in determining their aptitude for the job.

Seriously? I can't imagine sitting through that test again.

Which is why it was kind of funny when I got a voicemail today, from my regional Census Jobs office, letting me know that they were disappointed I hadn't shown up on Tuesday to take the Test and wondering whether I wanted to reschedule. A quick call to let them know that I had in fact taken the Test prompted reassurance that their record sheet was probably wrong and that they were sure that they would come across forms from our group and so I didn't need to worry but they'd give me a call back and let me know the status of my application later.

So these are the people we trust with keeping track of 308 million people living in the United States? Oh, no.