Lemme take a moment to declare that I am The Most Wanted Man in America. This is not to claim that I have any sort of importance at all. Nor do I think I'm more wanted than Osama bin Laden or that waitress in those Carl's Jr. commercials. See, my desirability lies sorely where I live...in America (unlike Osama who resides in a cave).

A few months ago, I got a letter from the Census Bureau. It said that they were collecting information to evaluate the needs of Americans. I was "required by law" to fill out their questionnaire and send it back to them. Now I'm no fool. I get emails all the time from 'PayPal' and 'Washington Mutual' informing me that my account information must be updated and I need to reply with my name and password. Of course, these letters are as bogus as Paris Hilton's "jail sentence"--you'd hafta be an idiot to not realize it's just someone trying to steal your identity. I've said it once and I'll say it again: in this day and age of identity theft and psycho internet-stalkers, why would I disclose any sensitive or personal information?

I took a quick look at the questionnaire and decided I wasn't going to do it. It asked all the necessary questions criminals need answers for when it comes to stealing identities. Names. Addresses. Income. It asked just about everything except my underwear size. And while the paperwork that accompanied it seemed legit, it still seemed fishy to me--mainly 'cause it's 2007 and not a census year. I left it on my kitchen table where it went ignored for the next few weeks (which shows just how often I eat at my kitchen table).

As time passed, I kept getting letters telling me that I did not fill out and return my questionnaire. I couldn't help but think that these identity thieves were wasting way too much time trying to steal an identity that's fairly worthless (look at my student loans and failed credit card applications). Then two weeks ago someone showed up at my house. He introduced himself and said he was from the Census Bureau and that I hadn't yet turned in my questionnaire.

"For identity thieves you sure are determined," I said to him.

He assured me he wasn't looking to steal my identity and even produced an ID card to prove it. A brief conversation convinced me he was truthful and it was the United State government I was ignoring, not criminals (although the difference is minimal). Even though it wasn't a census year, the Census Bureau occasionally gathers information from random homes throughout the year. This sampling of information is used to fill in the blanks and basically keep tabs on the American people. I was selected to represent the millions of people who live in the Orange County area (stuck up, rich, white people everywhere are groaning) and the survey had to be return within a week.

After realize the great power bestowed upon me, I understood how important it was for me to fill out their questionnaire. Like a proud Puerto Rican who just got his American citizenship, I gladly did what my country asked of me. I filled out the questionnaire, put it in the postage paid envelope, and left it in my mailbox.

For five days I saw the damn thing sit in my mailbox. Either I've got the world's worst postman (Hello Newman) or that white envelope must be invisible to the naked eye (or maybe just government employees). I don't know what the postman was thinking--he had no problem dropping off things. I got my regularly scheduled issue of the Pennysaver and Big 'Uns but he simply would not take my outgoing mail (maybe he feared anthrax).

I wasn't too concerned. After all, it wasn't my problem. I filled out the form just like the government requested of me. I dropped it off so a government employee to pick it up and send it to the government office. The way I saw it, I lived up to my responsibilities. If the government didn't get it on time, it's their fault. I went to Vegas for the weekend and didn't give it a second thought. When I got back, it was gone (either by gust of wind or Cliff Clavin simply got tired of looking at it).

Monday I worked late. When I got home, there was a note on the door from the same census agent. He was sorry he missed me and desperately needed to get a hold of me because the questionnaire had to be filled out.

Tuesday I got off work early...but stayed out late. When I got home, I found two notes taped to my door. One was from the same agent and the other from his supervisor (I know he was a supervisor because it said so on his business card).

Today at work I called them up and let them know I mailed the form a week ago. I guess they didn't buy my "check's in the mail" story because when I got home today, I found three notes attached to my door (the agent, his supervisor, and the supervisor's assistant).

Who knew I was such a popular guy? Three different visits from three different people in the same day? That's a lot of attention--I didn't get that many Christmas cards last year. I felt bad 'cause I probably was looking like a flake at this point, but I really didn't want this much attention (the IRS might discover all those back taxes I have).

I had been home for about three minutes when I heard a knock on my door. Half-expecting the police and armed Census Bureau personal, I was relieved to find a 103-pound, 40-year old woman (if the government put as much effort into finding Deep Throat as they did me, they woulda identified him 40 years ago). We had a discussion and she told me how crucial it was that I fill out their questionnaire. I told her that I mailed it last week but that wasn't good enough. She took out her laptop and asked me the same questions I answered two weeks ago. When were done, she thanked me for my time and I immediately became insignificant again. As much as I didn't the attention, it was certainly nice to know someone cared about me.

Now I just gotta hope they don't enforce that "punishable by law" part.

© 2007 siknerd.com