Everyone Counts (Very Short Story) (Patreon)

 I've had this in my drafts for nearly two years, but never posted it. I also think it was just way too raw at the time and I didn't want to be insensitive. I also think because I was going to edit it, but that obviously never happened, and it's been long enough now, so why not share it? Anyway, this was from when I was incredibly depressed and working at the Census during COVID....and well, warning, this is not happy. 

Everyone Counts

Caitlin Donovan

“The strangest thing about the Census is it might be the only job you’ll ever work with no institutional memory,” someone had told her once over their lunch break. An IT guy. She couldn’t remember his name. He’d quit pretty early on. “There are no permanent employees we can talk to. Your bosses don’t know much more than you do. Even the people who worked the last one, they’ve come back ten years later to find that the technology has completely changed, the practices are totally different, and their experience is pretty much worthless. Nothing lasts here. Nobody stays.”

She wished he’d never said it. Because it never stopped buzzing in her brain after that. How unfair it was just weighed down on her. It shouldn’t just be abandoned like that, every time. Someone should remember. Someone should stay.

So she had. Long after everyone else had left, she remained, her keyboard clacks echoing in the empty office. It was really nice, the quiet. No cacophony of phones ringing. No constant shouts of “make those numbers!” 

She did her admin duties and processed the batch reports diligently each day, carefully checking over the rows and rows of zeroes. Every time there were no errors in the payroll, she felt that inexplicable rush of pride. She snuck into the boss’s office a few times. She spun around in his chair, enjoying the luxury of double monitors.  But she always ended up wandering back to her desk near the supply room. It just felt more natural.

She started to miss the chatter echoing around the office. She started playing all the training modules as loud as she could pretending the mechanical, calm voice that narrated them was her co-worker. She named her Dana. 

After finishing them, she felt incredibly multi-talented. She wasn’t a mere admin clerk now. She could be a field supervisor. An office operations supervisor. Even an admin manager. But first, she should be a proper enumerator and go door to door. That way, she could get a head start on the next Census. 

She left, tablet in hand, Dana’s voice ringing in her ear.

“Canvass the block in a clockwise manner.”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

“Let’s work the home on 510 Valley Drive!” 

“Of course!”

“An RV! Mark that as a transitory location!”

She did as Dana said. She went along the boundary, stopping to examine each interior feature. She approached each housing unit. Finally, she got an answer.

‘Who are you?” The man squinted at her suspiciously a gap in his door. “What are you doing here?”

“Sir, I’m with the US Census. Are you a resident of 518 Valley Drive?”

He snorted. “Seriously? I don’t wanna hear it.”

Oh no, a passive refusal. It was okay. She knew how to deal with this. Acknowledge. Answer. Ask for help. Create a partnership. 

“Sir, I understand your concern. I only need to ask a few basic questions. By just answering, you can provide important information to me that could help your community get important funds-“

“What’s wrong with you? That’s not gonna happen!”

The guy was getting heated, but Dana had her back. “Acknowledge the comment and help him get past his grumbling, reminding him we’re all in this together.”

“I believe this will help. In the Census, everyone counts.”

She gave the man her biggest smile. He simply stared back. Then he gave a short, harsh laugh. “Ah, now I know what you are, The Census is dead, honey, just like you, just like most of us. Stop screwing around with the relics of the past. Don’t let me see your face again.” He shoved his broken door back into place with such force it was kind of like he’d slammed it. 

Hostile respondent. She tapped the box. She’d have to do that paperwork herself later.

She looked down the dilapidated rows of housing units and sighed. She’d finish this block later. She had a feeling she’d be checking a lot of “uninhabitable unit” boxes. Besides, it was starting to get dark, and whenever it got dark her body got…insubstantial.

She felt a little relieved when she got back to the office, even though she’d only been gone for a short time. She punched the code and opened the door. Carefully stepping over her co-workers' bones, she made her way back to her spot.