Riding The Charity Gauntlet

RIDING THE CHARITY GAUNTLET

It seems as if everywhere you go there’s somebody wanting something from someone for some good cause. I don’t understand it. If I walk down my high street I can guarantee at least four people working for Scope, or the British Heart Foundation, or whoever, two on either side of the road, wanting money from you ; and not just a small donation, but a direct debit from as little as £4.00 a month.

And when I get to my destination – in this instance let’s say it’s Croydon – I can guarantee at least ten people, working for more than one charity, try to intercept me in the four hundred yards from the train station to the shopping centre. I don’t know if it’s just me, but with this larger numbe of people trying to grab my attention, grab a piece of me, I feel as if my personal space, my privacy, myself, is being invaded. It’s infuriating, not to say insulting.

Do I look a soft touch? Another unsuspecting punter who’ll hand over his precious coins in droves just because he’s been asked? Do I appreciate being blackmailed into having a conscience?

Sure, I’d love to give money away, but I don’t have enough for myself, let alone anyone else. Life is so expensive these days. That phrase, Charity begins at home, is so brutal, so crap. But so true. I need to look after myself first.

Then again, on the train itself, or the tube, or whatever method of transport I use, I actually feel relieved when I make it to the other end without some foreign mother shuffling pitifully at me with a paper cup and a baby on hand, or some unshaven wild-eyed staring loon telling us that he’s not a thief, but please can he, ahem, borrow some money.

Yeah, he’ll pay it back. Someday.

I’ve seen beggars refuse sandwiches off others because they’re made of brown bread. I’ve seen beggars get abusive, and threatening, when offered Euros instead of pounds. I’ve seen beggars aim a stream of piss at me and tell me to fuck off before trying to headbutt the windows in my block of flats.

I don’t care if this person may be schizophrenic. That’s making excuses. It doesn’t matter if you are schizophrenic, there’s a line of behaviour that when crossed, you forfeit your sympathy rights. A line of behaviour, beyond which it is so obvious, to anybody, that you really have no feelings or consideration for anyone else. Cross that line, and people don’t care what happens to you.

Beggars can be choosers. Beggars can be cunts.

It’s almost as abominable as the Taxi Driver in Vegas who told us that we didn’t tip enough. He was lucky he got a tip of anything more than “don’t trust gypsies”.

It’s emotional mugging, running this gauntlet. I shouldn’t feel glad that I haven’t been begged at. Not being begged at should be normal.

I don’t want to feel ashamed for not giving my money away to people. I just want to be able to go from Place A to Place B and maybe Place C without being begged at, without being asked if I’d like to help starving cancerous children, without any of that. I just want to get where I want to go and not be bothered by beggars, charity workers, or any of that. I don’t want to walk The Charity Gauntlet. I just want to walk away.

Uncharitable? Yeah. Sure. But At least I don’t try to blackmail people for money. Though donations are accepted. Money, fine. Love? Hmm. To quote Axl Rose, “Don’t say you love me, you’ll only end up suing me.”

But then again, to quote the great Morrisey - please help the cause against loneliness. Show someone you care. Love them. Treat them kindly. And always wash up after yourself.

Doesn’t take much to make a better world.

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws