Good fishing

Seems like my experimental two-word previous post has not attracted any of the spam bots that I suspect tried to hang over two thousand comment spams to my page that I recently renamed “Security Policy”.

Morphicon got going right on schedule today. I was not there for most of it today. The U.S. Census job is not working out too well. My problem is not one of performance, as you’ll see a moment, but one of showing up to work. I’m way too good at finding other things to do. Case in point, working as a precinct election official May 5, and stopping work early to take myself and two other people to Jewel’s house to assemble convention booklets for Morphicon and stuff them into bags May 9. Yesterday, my Morphicon staff work again trumped my Census work. I had to drive Wolfdog and his puppets and sound equipment to the Holiday Inn Worthington.

He has no car of his own. Funny how he can throw money into that crap and not think of getting wheels of his own. Well, very wroth with myself over how I was courting disaster by not earning enough money over the past few days, I decided to put in a some serious hours of Census work, Morphicon or no.

What the folks at the Census call “efficiency” I refer to as taking your boat to where the fishing is good. And on Alwine Road, just off of Westerville Road just south of Morse Road, the fishing was indeed good. There I filled out questionnaires on two senior citizen residents and talked to a man there who not only lived alone (makes for a fast, easy write-up) but also told me that the houses on either side of him were vacant. Tonight’s haul was nine completed questionnaires to show for 4¼ hours of work this afternoon. 2.12 questionnaires per hour.

My supervisor Heather called it “super”, but I’m not sure she should have. Her bosses are looking for two completed questionnaires per enumerator for every hour of work. My performance today just barely passed muster by their standards. It may not be right to give me a big head over something that is merely adequate.

To make matters worse, the higher-ups are very unhappy with the rest of Heather’s team. They’re ordering us all to work all weekend to bring our collective average back up to the required two per hour.

That’s not going to please Wolfdog very well when the time finally comes to transport his gear back to his apartment Sunday afternoon.


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