Working as a census stoolie is the first serious job I’ve chased since I was employed many years ago as a daily newspaper reporter. I left my full-time job in 2004, sold some real estate, got a little inheritance and have lived on $120,000 for more than five years, in a variety of places with a variety of people, as well as alone, which is my preference. The pile of money officially vanished last month, so I moved in with my mom, not my preference, although I’m happy to have a place to stay, for sure. Still, having one's funds run out and having moved in with one's mom will light the proverbial fire under one's ass. When my family recently celebrated my little nephew's birthday at Chuck E. Cheese, I inquired about employment. I am not too proud to work at Chuck E. Cheese. And I might just work there if my census stoolie aspirations aren’t fulfilled.
The first step in the fulfillment process was passing the 28-question standardized application test. I arrived early at the local recreation center with a downloaded application already fill-out. I waited in line to get my materials from the moderator and showed her what a good student I was by displaying my completed application. I ended up filling out another application and re-writing the explanation of my piddly conviction for something resembling civil disobedience a few years ago. And then I showed the moderator my changes to see if she thought I did a good job and she did and I was very happy. And all this was well and good because I was finding any distraction I could in order to not stress about the ensuing standardized test that might be the difference between seventeen-bucks-an- hour and working at Chuck E. Cheese for minimum wage.