Enumeration Enumerated

I need to explain what I did.

When I was in my twenties, I went from job to job very quickly. Most of the money I made went toward a plan to help me all the way through school, although I still managed to waste some of it. Knowing that I could jump from one lousy job to another without much difficulty helped…for a while. I am not sure where this confidence came from, but it did allow me to create a list of over twenty jobs when someone asked how many types of employment I had in those early years.

This changed when I found myself working for a local government office. I became an enumerator for Elections Canada. This would mean walking door-to-door in my neighbourhood with a folder, a binder and a large yellow button announcing my employer and my duties. I had to get the names of eligible voters for the last list before the system was converted to online registration (the Internet was still quite young, and so was I).

The first meeting was in a local office, and I was told about the work through a relative who wanted me to settle on at least one type of job. And I may have misunderstood what the job was all about. I was convinced that the job was for a local Member of Parliament in my riding, not for the actual federal government. It was not my fault. That relative was a long time supporter of one particular party, and the meeting took place in the typical abandoned store front rented for a brief period of time. We were told that we would be working that season collecting names in our local neighbourhoods, and that we would have a partner. Fortunately, the partner I had was my own age and his mother was the one who would collect our names and forms when we completed a day of work. Sandy was a local kid who had also hopped from job to job, and he seemed to be as mislead as I was about whom we would actually work for. It was an interesting start to the session.

We began very close to home. I met Sandy on the corner near my house and we started on the street where at least one relative lived. And that was one of the few friendly faces we saw that first day. They say that an Englishman’s home is his castle; in Canada, it seems to be more of a stall or box. I saw couples that should not have been together, happy young ladies that maybe should have realized that we were too young for the flirting and their wardrobe (still a happy memory), and the plain hostile. The one visit I would never forget was the old lady who, upon hearing her doorbell, looked at us through the curtains in her front room, stared at both of us as we pointed at our buttons and folders, and kept staring at us as we walked up the street (we were not really dressed for a home invasion, but still…) And it was striking to me that of all the homes we visited, only one old man was ready for us with his name and other information. Door-to-door work is something you should avoid if you can, but it was nice to have such a moment with at least one voter. I hope his party won.

I do remember that there was a part of me that was sad when it was all over. Sandy's mother was responsible for collecting all of the information we had and submitting it to the government. She had a dog that was very friendly and loved to leap on us as we discussed the days we passed walking up and down in that neighbourhood. It was a long spring leading into the summer, but I was confident that I would never forget this particular employment.

So, that was an interesting portrait of my contribution to our voting process, my neighbourhood, and my willingness to see what was behind many closed doors. We only made a few cents per name, but I got to see what our home was surrounded by and what went on behind many closed doors. And I learned that there are some jobs that do teach you more than you ever know...or need to know.

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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