Don't Ignore Me. Do You Feel that Pang Most Jerks Get?

Every year. Six years in a row. Usually about seventy hours or more. I volunteer for Salvation Army to harass customers and pedestrians around local grocery or department stores. Normally, I am a chatty, congenial person, so when it comes to bombarding the public with guilt and discomfort, there is no contest. Before I go out, I make sure I am wrapped up well. It gets very cold standing stationary with the wind blowing against the bones. Long underwear, clothes, more clothes, down vest, fleece, winter ski coat, wind-proof pants, two scarves, hat that almost covers my eyes, very thick gloves. I am now in disguise. I am the unidentifiable Salvation Army Volunteer.

The best victims are the moms who come in the day before Thanksgiving with three or more small children buzzing around them like the electrons of a nucleus.

"Hello!" I call out, clanging my bell at her. The mother smiles without eye contact and turns to yell at her children. "Ma'am did you know that just fifty cents can touch the lives of children like your own?"

The mother pauses and, with some eye contact, smiles again in my direction.

"Children are at risk Ma'am," I call after her. Clang, clangity, clang. "They must be provided for! They must be protected!" She snatches the hand of her son who is five feet away from me, staring curiously.

The men who are sent by their wives are especially fun.

"Doing all the work, eh?" I comment to a middle-aged man, tightly clutching a list decorated with indistinguishable writing. Clangy, clang, clangy.

The man sighs and nods. "I don't know why she couldn't have just gotten this yesterday when she went out."

"You know us women, Sir! We never think ahead." I smile.

He stops walking, and peers at me closely. He is trying to decide whether or not there is actually a woman under the sixteen inches of coats and scarves I am wearing. Clang, clangity, clang, clang. I beam him my best smile.

He cannot decide. He gives me $1.19 in change because he feels bad that he couldn't recognize my gender.

There is always revenue from the flustered ones who charge out of the store right before it closes with two carts, five feet of receipts, and a handful of change.

All you need to say is, "Happy Holidays!" and ring the bell a little. A handful of change is dumped into the pot, half of it spilling on the ground, as the person runs after their other cart.

Clang, clangity, clang, clangy, clang. Watch out! I'm here to take your money and your heart.