I'd been reasonably calm up until this moment. I'd been fingerprinted before for volunteer work, so I thought I knew the drill. Each time, I'd torqued my thumb ever so slightly in a pathetic (and clearly unsuccessful) attempt to make it less recognizable.

Now, however, all 10 prints were being demanded, each from three angles. My reluctant digits would be pressed and rolled first on an inkpad, then on a card that would probably remain in some FBI file till the Rapture.

That I was even in this room training to be a census worker was bizarre. I grew up believing government was the enemy, and eight years of George Bush had done nothing to change that. Finding out that the president has been wiretapping without permission is kind of like catching your lover reading your journal — you never trust him in the same way again.

Ultimately, since I needed to pay my daughter's tuition, I submitted. I rationalized that if I were somehow beheaded by Al Qaeda, they'd be able to ID my torso.

It took only five days for snarling dogs and tedious work to end my stint with the census, but I actually kind of liked working for the gov. I felt useful, powerful and deliciously subversive.

Maybe we'll get everyone counted next year, and get better roads or smaller school classes. The census is critical for things like that, but those most likely to benefit from it lie to the census taker. As illegal immigrants they don't dare admit they're even here, and whoever answers the door swears nobody lives in the trailer out back. Their personal info is supposed to be embargoed for 72 years, but for some crazy reason they don't trust the government.

Photo: Library of Congress