Dear Charity Collector

I don’t envy your job.  I can’t think of many things I’d enjoy less than stopping recession-bitten people as they go about their business, and ask them for their money.

It must be awful.

But that is no excuse for the utter nonsense that we put up with as we walk the streets every day. 

I do my bit for charity, I swear I do.  I contribute every month to a few very good causes.  And to be honest, I have promised myself I won’t sign up to anymore.  But you never seem to believe me when I tell you this.

Why do you stand in the middle of the street, in a fluorescent coloured t-shirt, wearing a badge around your neck and holding a clipboard, and then jump in front of me as if I hadn’t seen you there, shouting and trying to make a show of me?

“Hello!” You shout “and how are you doing today? If I can just talk to you for a minute”

Worst of all is when you stick your hand out to shake hands with me.  I was raised properly, and I’m not allowed ignore somebody who holds their hand out to me. So now I’m in the awkward position of either being pig ignorant, or shaking hands with you, and making you think that you have hooked me, and I’m about to start blurting out my bank account details to you. 

Happily, I eventually learned to step far enough around you to make it absurd for you to hold your hand out to be shaken.

But you learned that one too, didn’t you?

So now you appear, ever younger, painfully enthusiastic.

I trundle up Henry Street, usually trying to talk myself out of buying something I don’t need and can’t afford, or alternatively trying to think of what lies I’ll make up to get said purchases past His Nibs, when some boy who is literally young enough to be my son jumps out in front of me, arms outstretched,

“How are you?  Good to see you” you start

You don’t know me.  So it’s not good to see me, it’s just the same as seeing every other stranger who walks up the street.

“Can I just talk to you for a minute?”

“Sorry” I reply, usually quite narkily “I can’t stop.”

“Aw, that’s a shame, you look like a woman who cares about pandas / hungry babies / blind people / political prisoners”

Or whatever else it is you want the money for.

“I do care about them” I want to tell them.   “And I already support charities, thanks”.  I don’t say it though.  Never engage them.

The absolute worst is when you go too far in the attempt to engage me.  One young pup once trotted toward me, arms outstretched in a waltzing position, and asked whether I wanted to dance.

On Henry Street.  At lunchtime. With no music.  And with a very young complete stranger.

Do I want to dance?  Do I look like the kind of woman who wants to dance in the streets?  I didn’t want to dance with my husband at my own wedding.  I am literally the world’s worst dancer.  This was such a stupid question that I almost stopped to give out to him, or even to tell him why he was going about his job the wrong way, but I remembered not to engage in conversation, and stepped around him.

Don’t ask such stupid questions.  Asking a grumpy looking woman to dance on Henry Street is ludicrous.  Will it make me hand over my money?  No.  Such a stupid question will just get the youngster into a situation where he has to deal with a large and angry woman who hates stupid questions above all else.

I’ve started a new thing now, as you approach me I just raise the palm of my hand and loudly say

“Don’t even start”

Without any of the false friendliness. 

The really over the top ones keep on, of course, and force me to run away from someone who is just trying to raise money for a good cause.

I’m sick of the whole palaver.  Despite the fact that I’ve signed up to a number of charities over the years, I’ve never once signed up to one on the street.

No, it’s the sad eyed children on the ads during daytime tv that get me reaching for the phone.

So you might as well stop asking me.