Well, I'm starting to settle into my new surroundings now. It's a huge departure design-wise for me - my first diary was blue, my second black and blue and now I've gone for something completely different. It's still a bit of a shock to the system everytime I look at it at the moment. I had a ball joining diaryrings over the last two days, hunting down girls particularly. Though I was disturbed by some of the girls who don't have rings yet. Y and I talked it over last night on the phone and decided that something must be done about that - starting tonight. I'm going to set about making a couple of rings a bit later on to set things right :)
Today I made a stand against those annoying little gits who wander the town centre with their clipboards, trying to get you to sign your life away to either a catelogue that you'll never order anything from, a charity who guilt you into giving instead of letting you choose which charities to support or a timeshare or some other such thing which usually starts with you answering questions about washing powder. They swarm all over my local town centre already, but now they've appeared in the town i work as well.
I had already navigated two on my way to Boots, but when one stopped me the second I left the shop, cornering me on the stairs no less, I really lost it. You see, I resent being made to feel guilty for wanting to walk to where I'm trying to get instead of stopping around to answer some questions. And if you do end up getting trapped and listening to them, where does it get you? Yet another catelogue full of clothes that you don't like dropping on your doorstep every month and endless marketting calls, despite all the promises that your number will never be revealed to a 'third party'.
The charity ones make me feel even worse. I know that all charities have to raise funds somehow - hell, now I'm working for one I can see first hand how much so - but there's a right way and a wrong way to do it. The right way is by presenting people with the information to consider donating in their own time, and giving them a direct method to donate there and then, whether it be a collection box or a charity concert or whatever. The wrong way to do it is to back a passer-by against the wall, show him or her pictures of mistreated animals and shove a form into their hand to make them give their details and forever see the charity appear on their monthly bank statement whether they can afford it or not. But that's the pressure tactic they use these days, becoming more like double glazing salesmen than anything. And I do feel so guilty when I have to refuse. I genuinely wish I could give all of them what they want but I can't. I give what I can, when I can, to the causes that I believe in as do many people, but it diesn't shake that feeling of guilt when I can't commit to that fiver a month.
The third breed of clipboarders are the ones with the 20 questions to ask you about some subject or another - usually adverts for brands of washing powder - which will always end up with them entering you in a 'free prize draw' with a timeshare as the prize that no one will ever get. What do you win instead? Oodles and oodles of lovely junk mail. Mmmm, great. There was an instance once where I was stopped in the street and asked if I'd mind participating in some kind of a health test. I made my excuses and tried to leave, only to be attacked with what was supposed to be a winning line:
"There's a bar of chocolate in it for you....."
I patiently explained that I did not like anything sweet and the poor woman became quite flustered and offered me fruit. Fruit, being equally as sweet as chocolate, also got turned down by me. Out of bribes, the lady let me go, but to this day I have to admit that she'd have hooked me if she'd had some ready salted crisps on offer.
So, anyway, with this history of clipboard angst, you can imagine my anger when they popped up and trapped me when I had to get to the station to catch my train. A young man thought that with a smile and a wave of his clipboard he could trap me against the shop doors and get me to sign something.
Not so.
Mild-mannered, down-trodden X finally bit back.
I first of all used my usual line,
"I'm sorry, I can't stop right now."
"Oh, it will only take a moment."
That's what they always say.
This time, I was not going to stand for it.
"Look, I have a train to catch," I snapped, "I am sick of getting stopped by you people everywhere I go. i've already been caught twice - this is beyond a joke!"
"Well, if you can just spare us a moment of your time...."
"No! No, I can't! I don't want a catelogue, I can't afford to sponsor anyone and I don't want a timeshare!"
"Oh no, no, we're not asking you to sponsor anyone. Just give us one moment...."
"What part of 'I have to catch a train' did you not understand?!" I demanded.
The young man floundered. I wondered for a moment if he was going to offer to catch it for me in exchange for a moment of my time but thankfully he did not. Finally, he stepped aside and allowed me to pass. I noted with glee the grins on the faces of two people walking by who had seen my display of Anti-Clipboard Angst. I also noted that the young man did not stop either of them, and moved away from the door of Boots. I have often thought of creating a survey of my own to confront them with, asking them questions about how much they enjoy getting on people's nerves. Perhaps one day :)
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