Thanks for Asking

I never get polled. I never win the lottery. and yet, last week I got lucky, in a sense. I was one of the small percentage of Americans to receive at home, by courier, the U.S. Census Bureau's notorious long form, a 38-page detailed questionnaire that quizzes recipients about everything from their commuting habits to their mortgage payments to their mental health.

Like an inquiry from the independent counsel or a Barbara Walters interview, the form includes questions that the average person wouldn't ask his best friend, let alone a stranger. Since the forms began going out last winter, hundreds of thousands of indignant citizens have flooded the bureau's Washington headquarters with messages of angry protest. In an age of computer hackers, cell-phone eavesdroppers, Internet "cookies" and surveillance satellites, much of the public lacks faith, it seems, in the bureau's guarantee of total confidentiality. Like draft-card burners from the 1960s, some privacy-loving Americans have even vowed to pay the government's $100 penalty for nonfiling rather than satisfy Uncle Sam's Big Brotherish curiosity about such matters as whether their home has a working flush toilet.

Personally, I don't like breaking the law, particularly federal law. So, rather than pay a fine or flee to Canada, I've decided to complete my form even more fully than the government wants me to, on the assumption that true privacy is impossible in the modern world and in the hope that the additional information will cause the bureau's computers to malfunction. What follows is a selection of actual questions from Census 2000, along with my replies.

--What time did this person usually leave home to go to work last week?

During the talk show that comes on after Letterman. I can't be more specific. It's all a haze. Last week my infant daughter had the croup, causing me to stay up working on my laptop with only late-night TV for company. I vaguely recall that Christina Aguilera appeared in a skimpy tank top during one program, but as I said, I can't recall the specific hour.

--What kind of work was this person doing?

Trying to book a Las Vegas-strip hotel room for an upcoming reporting assignment. Neither Caesars nor the Mirage had any vacancies. What's worse, my lowball Priceline offer for a room at either the Luxor or Treasure Island was summarily rejected.

--How did this person usually get to work last week?

Shearling slippers but sometimes bare feet, stepping lightly so as not to wake my daughter. My office is just down the hall from my bedroom, though I sometimes work in the bathroom, at the vanity, because the room is soundproof and well lit.

--Does this person speak a language other than English at home?

Occasionally, when preparing to travel abroad, my wife and I practice our French at the dinner table, pretending to be in a Left Bank brasserie ordering braised snails. Also, because my daughter is preverbal, I find myself saying "nummy-num-num" a lot as a way of encouraging her to eat her carrots.

--Do you have complete plumbing facilities in this house, apartment or mobile home; that is, 1) hot and cold running water, 2) a flush toilet and 3) a bathtub or shower?