Iona’s home is a compact, two-story frame house, painted a cheery, soft shade of yellow.
It is surrounded by mature trees and shrubbery and there is a short overgrown walk leading
to the door. The house has a cottage-like feel. An old, bent woman with silver hair pulled
back into a bun, wearing a sensible house dress and shoes, hesitantly opens her door.
She keeps the glass screen door closed. Understandable.
I begin my pitch at a louder than normal volume because not only am I speaking to a much older woman, but I’m also speaking through a pane of security glass.
Iona sizes me up and pushes her screen door open. I start over. I pace my words more slowly this time, as I can’t discern if she looks confused because she can’t hear me, or because she doesn’t understand me. A minute into my pitch, a small white dog escapes through the open door into the small yard. The woman seems unphased. “Maxie!” She calls for the dog. Her tone is calm and I notice her words are laced with an Eastern Europen accent of some sort.
Maxie is a good dog and returns to the porch while I get to the million dollar question: “Do you have five minutes to take a quick survey with me on my computer?”
“Come inside,” she says.
This has never happened in the weeks I’ve been doing this job. If a person agrees to the survey, I’ have always had to continue outside on the porch, balancing my tablet on a stair or a box or some other object. I thank her sincerely for the invite and follow her inside.
She sits on the sofa, and motions me to the spot next to her. “Come. Sit.” she commands. I obey.
I begin the survey confirming her address, age and gender.
The question I must ask verbatim for gender is: “Are you a male or female?” This causes her to fall silent.
I’ve learned in previous efforts with this somewhat awkward question to just remain quiet and wait for the response, rather than try to explain or justify the question.
After whole seconds of silence, “I am a woman!” she says defiantly “Always have been.” I nod, smile and continue with the questions.
In between questions she draws my attention to Maxie and how much he is enjoying his bone. We talk briefly about Maxie. He’s eight years old. Small dogs live longer, she says. He’s a Poodle mix. Poodles are smart dogs.
I agree.
Don’t have to teach him anything. He already knows.
She also had another dog and cat before, but both got old and died
I return to the survey and ask her a long question about tobacco and nicotine use. She emphatically says she never smoked. Never ever.
But her father smoked. Smoked constantly, she says. Died at 45 years old from smoking. He had five children, and none of them smoked, Ilona explains, because of how they saw their father die.
She grew up in Hungary. Came to the United states in 1985.
I ask if she owns or rents the house we are in. It’s one of the survey questions.
Bought the current house in 1993. It wasn’t new. But newer.
Husband died a few years ago. It is just her in the house now.
I ask her if she is currently in the armed forces.
I have to ask these questions, even when the answer is obvious.
No, she tells me. But her son was in the Navy.
Once I enter this basic information, the survey proceeds:
Rate quality of overall health (Excellent-Good-Fair-Poor)
Rate quality of overall life (Excellent-Good-Fair-Poor)
Rate quality of social interactions (Excellent-Good-Fair-Poor)
Of the approximate thirty people I’ve persuaded to do this survey to date, all have responded in the Excellent/Good categories for all three questions.
I ask Ilona:
Rate the quality of overall health. Excellent? Good? Fair? Poor?
Fair, she says
Rate the quality of your overall life. Excellent? Good? Fair? Poor?
She thinks for a moment. Fair, she eventually says.
Rate the quality of your social interactions. Excellent? Good? Fair? Poor?
Silence.
I rephrase:
“How is your social life? Friends, family, neighbors?”
(In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have rephrased so much.)
“Oh…..” she finally says, her voice trailing off.
“Not good,” she says in a half whisper.
“Poor” she clarifies.
“Very poor.”
That was the end of the survey.
I press a button for the database to do some calculating. She is not selected to participate in the full study. Unlike those before her who also were not selected, rather than feeling any sense if relief, Ilona is saddened by this outcome.
I say good bye, rub Maxie behind his ears one last time and return to my car. I realize that I am a little bit sad, too.
