‘Do you want to help save the world?’ was the question I was asked as I walked past St Mary’s Cathedral at the top of Broughton Street.
It wasn’t someone from the Church trying to recruit me. It wasn’t someone who had read my thoughtful prose and thought I would make a useful addition to their cause. No, it was a chugger.
Chuggers: those happy-go-lucky people with an annoying smile on their face, working for a company which is employed by a company which sends a small amount of the money raised to the actual charity it’s fronting. Those people who bob and hop about, waving their hands, clipboards and whatever else they can find in the air to try and get your attention and ruin your day.
I wholeheartedly support and admire all types of charity work. What I don’t support or agree with are chuggers. This particular chugger was wearing a Greenpeace bib, a charity that I respect.
Of course, they are only doing their job. They’re trying to earn a living like the rest of us. But if they are making a profit as well as their employer then how much money actual ends up being used by the charity?
If I actually spoke to one of them for any length of time, I’d like to find out why they won’t let you sign up for a direct debit amount of your choice. Why does it always have to be £15, £20, £30? And why can’t I just give the chugger a donation? I’d be happy to drop some money in a bucket if I were asked. Surely any small amount would count?
“Do you want to help save the world?”
To be honest, I couldn’t think of a reply. I tried in those few seconds to think of something witty, a put-down that would make him think about what he was doing and possibly cause him to rethink his career choice. But it didn’t come to me. Usually I just ignore chuggers and walk on by, or pretend that I’m a tourist who speaks no English. But on this occasion I was so annoyed that eye contact had been made that my brain no longer functioned properly.
I said, ‘No thank you’ and walked away. I had been defeated by a chugger. Yes, I still had money in my pocket, but I had lost my dignity.
After a sleepless night, it came to me ... the perfect retort. I rushed to the scene of the crime to confront my tormentor and regain my dignity. I marched straight towards him and – probably for the first time in his experience – actually initiated the conversation. Only too late did I realise that this chugger was a different person. He looked surprised, but then a smile hit his face and he said, ‘How would you like to help beat cancer?’
Once again I was defeated. I did what any defeated person would do; I signed up to a £45, three-year, fixed direct debit for Cancer Research.
I may have lost that battle, twice, but at least I know that when I do see the Greenpeace chugger again I will have my retort to hand and revenge can be taken. Until then, whenever I find myself in a similar situation, I’ll pretend to be German and ask if the Omni Centre is the Castle.