Survey

My birthday’s near the beginning of October. Another step down the slope towards irrelevance. Not that I’m complaining, exactly. It’ll be a low-key, midweek celebration, which I tend to prefer.

In the run-up to the day, memories surface and submerge. The just-cake-and-family celebrations of my youth, when Jesus’ birthday was the only one that mattered. The surprise parties of my 20s. The thank-you notes for the perfect presents, for the strange and awful presents, and for oh so many unicorns and purple things long after age nine, when these were, respectively, my favorite animal and color. Things in the mailbox–a note from a faraway friend, or the comforting perennial birthday card from my grandma in Chicago with a five-dollar bill in it. The thank-you for my grandma’s fives was always telephonic. My mom would make the call, Grandma and I would chat awkwardly for a couple of minutes, and then my mother would take over the conversation. We probably spent more than $5 on the long distance charges from Virginia to Illinois.

At any rate, ask me if I’d prefer something surprising or familiar around birthday time and I’ll say Yes, please. In truth, the unexpected is a little ahead in the contest. I haven’t shaken the habit of checking the mailbox (and my online notifications) early and often as September wanes.

This year September gave me two surprise envelopes, both with cash. These were not the fake bills that some companies send to promote windows or life insurance; they were legal tender! The first piece of mail contained two fresh dollar bills from the Nielsen people, along with an offer to become one of roughly 42,000 households that provide the data for TV ratings. I discussed the prospect with my husband Dave, after agreeing to split the money with him. I was a Nielsen household for a while when I was in my 20s. At the time participants had to fill out a diary by hand, which I felt was more work than it was worth. These days Nielsen collects the data remotely, but there are still time-consuming elements, along with the fact that they need to install monitors on your household’s devices. It took us about 25 seconds to decide this was a no go.

The other envelope, from the US Census Bureau, had a five-dollar bill, smooth and paper-cut sharp, fresh from the Mint. A slant rhyme, if history does indeed rhyme, with Grandma’s cards. Her fives had been bills farther along in the life cycle, crinkled and soft, smelling faintly of tobacco, sometimes missing a corner. In those times, ones were the shortest lived paper currency; longevity depends on how frequently a bill changes hands and accumulates wear and tear. In the 2020s, fives are the shortest lived of American currency at an average life of just 4.7 years, compared with 6.6 years for ones and a whopping 22.9 years for one hundreds. Grandma’s fives always seemed just a step ahead of the incinerator, though they were still good for candy bars at the five-and-dime.

The Bureau’s $5 was to get me to consider participating in an online survey to see if I’d qualify for the Census Household Panel. If I completed the survey, $20 would follow in the mail at some point in the next few weeks. Maybe on my birthday, I thought, wouldn’t that be cool? If I made it onto the panel I’d be given other surveys, about once per month, with  $10 for each survey, for a couple of years.

I could use an extra $25. Even on the slope of irrelevance, cash for trail mix and water comes in handy. Therefore I clicked my way through many questions and, to my surprise, was enrolled.

A little research found that the CHP aims to get 15,000 people on the panel, which sounds like a lot but is pretty small given that American population is 331.9 million. If I entered the numbers correctly, my laptop calculator computes that I am representing 22066.67 people! In which categories, I’m not sure. Middle class, suburban, female, married,  autistic, political progressive, self-employed, awkward, insomniac, college educated, New England resident? However the researchers and analysts decide to classify me, it’s fascinating, a little exhilarating, even, to conceive of myself as a data point. Quite the birthday gift…