Let me start by saying, I’m not a complete and utter heartless jerk. I’ve donated blood, I sign petitions, I give money to the homeless and in general support any charity that asks for my help. I do, however, have my limits.
On either side of the intersection of Adelaide and Edward Streets in Brisbane…every day, are two charity workers with collection tins. Good location for that sort of thing, it is probably the busiest intersection in the CBD. Each day it is the same people collecting money, however each day, the charity is different. I know it probably shouldn’t, but this sets of alarm bells in my head.
Can these two women really be working for all these charities? The answer is probably yes and that isn’t my real issue with them; the issue is that they never remember me giving money and then ask me to donate when I am walking back five minutes later.
You see, on one side of this intersection is the beginning of Queen Street wall (where I work) and the other side is home to my favourite coffee shop (or my very own non-alcoholic Cheers), Sugar and Spice. I cross this intersection a minimum of six times a day and each time they BOTH ask me for money resulting in 11 ways I have to explain that I already donated this morning and deal with a sceptical “sure you did “ expression from them. It makes me quite anxious.
One Sunday afternoon I was watching Ab Fab and drinking wine, when the episode where Patsy does makeovers on a morning show came on. Whilst being interviewed Patsy is absolutely useless and can only respond with “cheers”, “yeah, thanks, cheers” or “yeah, yeah right” leaving the interviewer with nowhere to take the discussion. It was at this point I realised that this technique could possibly work with my charity workers.
The next day waiting for the lights to change to green before crossing the road to start my week of retail hell, I was approached to give money for the charity of the day. I gave some coin, thinking it better for my karma if I give before potentially being a massive wank-face later in the day. About two hours later, I approached the intersection for my mid-morning coffee…
“Would you like to help…”
All I could hear was my heart beating between my ears, “yeah, yeah no cheers”.
“Oh, ok”, she responded, I think ready to collect my money.
“Cheers”.
“Would you like to…”
Shit, this is getting insanely awkward, “yeah, thanks, cheers”.
She stared.
“Yeah, yeah, right”. At that point the light turned green…thank god, as that was getting awkward.
Whilst standing waiting for my coffee I tried to think of a way I could go back without having to walk past her…guilt had gotten to me. Anyone who knows Brisbane would know it would be quite difficult and out of the way to avoid going back past the intersection (anyone who knows me would know I’m too lazy to bother going out of the way), so I had to bite the bullet.
As I approached the corner where the other lady stood to collect I was nervous, do I repeat the Patsy theory or just give a simple no? Fate shined upon me as the light turned green. I was now caught in the slipstream of people hurtling towards the charity worker I had just spoken too. She looked at me, smiled, and asked someone else. Success! The Patsy Stone way of dealing with life had worked. There was only one thing I could do to celebrate. I approached her, put my change in the collection tin and say, “yeah, no cheers”.
She was still confused.
