I’d like to talk about charity collectors, charity collectors.
Anyone like the old charity collectors?
No, I didnae think so cause they are a pain in the fucking arse are they not?
Big Issue Sellers
It all started a few years ago with the Big Issue sellers. They were like the pioneers of the ‘harass you in the street’ Charity collector dudes. Weren’t they?
I’ve got a problem with those guys. For a start, they’re better dressed than I am!
Not that I’m grudging them good footwear. It’s just if you’re going to beg… you could at least do me the honour of dressing down.
Eh? For Gods sake, make an effort. Let me feel a tiny bit superior when I’m giving you my charity.
That’s all I ask, just a little forethought to help me look down on you. Play the game, eh?
There is a protocol to follow here. You won’t see me running up to the Queen to give her a tenner. No, you don’t. Mainly because I haven’t got a spare tenner but also because she’s wearing a dress worth more than my house. So, it wouldn’t be right would it?
Can’t you see there is a protocol to follow here? There guys are standing on the street corner like Calvin Cline models and I’m the one that looks homeless.
And they always stand in the same spot don’t they? Day after day, week after week, year after goddam year. If they put that amount of time into actually looking for a real job, that would save me the hassle …..of every time I see them….having to cross the fucking street.
I think they’re under the illusion that the public is some kind of cash cow. Or that selling that magazine is some kind of public service.
It’s not as if people are going, “Oh, is that the first of the month, I must get up the High Street for the latest edition of the Big Issue!”
If people really wanted it that badly then these guys I think should made to deliver it.
For two reasons, the first one being to at least make them at sweat a bit. That has got to be the easiest job in the world isn’t it?
They just stand there holding magazines in one hand and holding their other hand out in the expectation someone feels sorry for them in their designer clothes.
Christ, is there a job in the world that you do less than that? Even a whore has to push back a bit.
You’re probably saying ‘Ah, but its not a job Billy.’
That’s how they get buy in life, it’s a fucking job, a’right?
And the second reason they should be made to deliver it is to let them see what money from a real job can buy, aye that’s right, a fucking house.
Then I could walk up the High Street in peace while they are up to their eyeballs in debt like the rest of us. Hallelujah.
How do these guys get off scot free?
“Oh, it’s so tragic being homeless. I live in a hostel and only get three free hot meals a day”
Aye, but ye don’t have to go to a crappy job every day and take it up the arse from some arsehole boss just cause your wife wants to live in a 3 bedroom semi-detached house that comes with a 25 year death pledge…sorry Mortgage.
Poor you, poor you. I bet you get some good sympathy shags on the back of your hard luck story as well, aye?
I’m amazed I’ve not been decked yet. Shows you how hard up they must be. They’ve not got the energy to lift their arm above begging height.
The guys like “If I could just raise my arm a bit more I’d deck you one, pal”
I’m like “Neh, neh, neh, neh, neh” sticking my hands out like big ears, for some reason.
There’s a guy that stands outside Queen Street Station every morning that hands out flyers saying “Work from home, ask me or phone for more information”
I was like “Are you homeless, Pal?”
“Well, then you’re not really working from home are you?
No, you’re standing on the fucking street hassling people every morning, aren’t you?
You’re flyer should read ‘Work from street”
The Big Issue sellers should be handing out your flyers. Now fuck off home and let me walk along this street and be harrassed by genuine hassle merchants only.
But to be honest the Big Issue sellers don’t annoy me now as much now as they used to because at least you know where you stand with them.
I’m like “Right, aye, Ok, there’s yer Pound Fifty. Now, Fuck Off! Go on, away you go. Go and do us all a favour and take a long walk off a short pier. Cheers”
I suppose the magazine is good for a brief glance……before offering it to a REAL homeless person…..to use for toilet paper. Don’t say I’m not charitable.
Actually, I’m unemployed myself right now so sometimes don’t even give them their pound fifty. I can say with a clear conscience,
“Sorry Pal, can’t help you. I’m a bit skint at the moment. I’m so skint I’m actually thinking about downgrading my Sky package. Either that or my super speed broadband. One of them has got to go. It’s a tough choice.”
The guys like, “Skint!! Skint!! I’m fucking homeless. You see that cardboard box over there…. aye? Well, that’s my lunch!!”
Sometimes they lay it on a bit heavy, eh? To make you feel all guilty.
I’m like “Is right pal, aye. Ah, tell you what then, I’m on my way to Burger King right now, what say I bring you back some Ketchup? Eh? It might make that cardboard go down a bit easier. You can wash it down with the melted ice from my cola”
The guys like “Are you taking the piss pal, are you taking the piss? I’m on hard times here”
“Aye, is that right? But yet you can still somehow afford a pair of Timberland boots? And a bottle of buckfast. And a large carving knife….aarrghhhh”
At which point I have to leg it.
It probably wasn’t the wisest thing to say in that situation, but I’m sure we’ve all thought it.
Honesty can be very detrimental to your well being.
Especially if you deal with people in Government, never mind Homeless people.
That is the Real Big Issue.
But as I said the Big Issue guys are alright really.
I mean they’re just small fry now compared to the new breed of charity collectors, the ones that wear bright orange waistcoats and have clipboards, have you seen these guys?
They’re like wolves aren’t they?. They hunt in packs.
You are walking down the street and you see one.
“Oh fuck, clipboard alert, clipboard alert”
You manage to get past one and another one pops up, then another and another.
You’re doing the slalom up the high street.
They keep popping up.
So to try and escape you run into a shop.
Just when you think you’ve shook them off another one appears from nowhere.
They’ve chased you into the shop!!
They’re worse than that Agent Smith from the Matrix.
“Ok, Ok, I give in, how much do you want?” Just to get them off ma back.
Then he says “Oh, Sorry, I can’t take your money?”
“You can’t take my money? Well, what the fuck are we doing inside this toilet cubicle if you can’t take my money? My money not good enough for you eh?”
“No, it’s just that first I have to tell you a story”
“Oh great, there’s always a bloody sob story. Let’s hear it then. Get it out your system. Make me feel as guilty as hell, why don’t you?”
“Yeah, well there is this group of people who desperately need your help”
“Aye, is that right? I need help pal, who’s going to help me?”
“No, you see, these people were born without arms.”
“I suppose that is sad, aye”
“And Legs, they have no Legs”.
“Ok, that is tragic, aye”
“In fact they don’t even have a body.”
“Well, why didn’t you tell me that in the first place? Then I could have deducted forr myself that they have no arms or legs. Are you using NLP on me?”
“No, I’m just reciting my script.”
But anyway, I’m quite naïve on the wonders of modern science. I don’t know what they can do these days so I’m like “What? They don’t have a body? Are you sure?”
“Yep, do you know what we call them?
I’m like “Call them anything you want, they cannae fight back.”
“Oh, hilarious aye. No we call them Headophites.”
“Headophites eh? If you ask me they sound as if they need to be put down”
“No, no. They’ve got a chance for a good life, if we can just raise enough capital to fund the research into doing head transplants from newly deceased corpses”
“What you want me to fund Frankenstein? I’m going fund the green monster guy?”
”Well, yes. So if you wouldn’t mind donating a tenner a month by direct debit?”
I’m like “How about a fiver a lifetime? Cash in hand.”
“No, sorry, we only accept Direct Debit.”
“Why do you only accept Direct Debit?
“Well next week we’re collecting for orphaned Ducks and the headophites will be forgotten about, so we really do need a serious commitment from yourself to help out the poor wee Headophites.”
Before you know it, you’ve set up a savings trust for 14 families of Headophites, 12 orphaned ducks, 2 french hens and a Partridge in a Pear Tree!!
“I take the direct debit also pays for your wages?”
That usually shuts them up.
By the time he gets paid and the fat cats take their share, at the end of the month the Headophite would be lucky to get a new pair of earmuffs.
Never mind a hat.
There is not much you can buy a headophite.
Get him a pair of sunglasses and he’s got the set.
A scarf would be no good to him as it would just fall off, unless you tied it really really tightly….which wouldn’t be much of a problem anyway as they don’t have lungs.
I’d have more respect these guys if they came up to me and said,
“Look, I couldn’t find any other job out there, you know what the market is like these days, so I’ve had to resort to hassling people in the street so I can afford to feed my two bairns and buy my 20 quids worth of lottery tickets every week.
So what say yo give some of your money to me, I’ll pass some onto charity so as to keep the good Karma chain going?
I’d say, “Aye, no problem pal, there ye go, there’s 50p. Dinnae spend your cut all in the one shop. But see if your numbers come up…remember this face alright, remember this face.
Cause I’ll be hunting you down to get my share of it, cause good karma comes back to you apparently right? So a quarter of a million should see me alright.
That’s what I would say, obviously this guy didn’t get anything and we both looked a bit dodgy coming out of the cubicle with sheepish looks on our face.
But then, when you get past clipboard crowd, you’re met by the Hare Krishna’s!!
They are quite a strange lot, aren’t they?
They stand outside Tescos or Asda and they don’t accept any form of money.
And they’ve got the cheek to call themselves a Religion?
They won’t get far up the tree of mass brainwashing with that attitude will they?
They ask you for strange stuff like Bananas and Kiwi Fruit!!
I’m like “Fair enough pal, whatever floats yer boat. There ye go”
But before I am allowed to leave them they always say the same thing
They say “And can you say that magic word for me?”
I’m like, “What, Abra Cadabra?”
“No, no, that other magic word”
“What, Hocus Pocus?”
“No, Guaranga. Can you say Guaranga, my friend?”
“Oh that magic word, Yes I can say that, Guaranga the fuck oot my face Pal. I’m on the Xmas shopping trip from hell here. I’ve got enough problems with Christianity and Satan Claus. The last thing I need right now is a shaved heed.
Or a book full of pale blue people.
I live in Scotland there are pale blue people everywhere.
And I can assure you none of them are fucking omnipresent.
That’s why they are running around like blue arsed flies buying presents.
It’s the closest they’ll ever get to being a Wise Man”.
And do you know, it turns out Guaranga is a magic word.
Cause he disappeared just like that.
It was fucking magic.
I was in Sainsburys the other day and there are even charity collectors in fucking Sainsburys! You can’t even go into a supermarket without being harrassed.
Now, normally you get asked if need a hand to pack your bags, to which I always reply,
“No thanks I’m not dead yet. I can still move my arms around enough to put my Frankenfood in a plastic bag, thank you. Why don’t you go and do something worthwhile with your life, like kill yourself?”
But do the charity collectors ask you? NO.
They think they have a god given right to be helpful.
“Oh, it’s Ok Sir, I’ll pack that for you. No Problem”
I think, ‘Ok, let’s see how this one is going to pan out’.
So I just stand back and watch him go ahead.
And then when he’s finished I say “Oh, thanks very much that was very kind of you”
Then he shakes his tin at me with that expectant look in his eys.
I’m like, “Yes?”
“Would you like to make a donation to the starving children of Africa”
“Ok, yes, I would love to. I would love to donate some money to the starving children of Africa. Where are my flight tickets?”
“Well, I need some flight tickets don’t I? If I am going to donate some money to the starving children of Africa I am going to need flight tickets so I can get to Africa to make sure they get the full quota of my hard earned dole money, you don’t expect me to pay for them myself do you?”
The guys like “Well, if you put some in this tin I will pass it on for you”
“Aye, sure you will pal, sure you will. After you and the Fat Cats take your share no doubt. Do you think I came up the Forth in an Apple boat? Well, as a matter of fact I didn’t. So I guess I’ll not be making a donation to the starving people in Africa then will I?
In fact, hold on, there, there’s a tin of beans, give that to them.
Next time, if I need my bags packed I’ll ask. alright?”
That wiped the smile of his pretend I am a do-gooder face.
They are just doing it to get some money in their own hip pocket. There is nothing charitable about that. They are a just a glorified beggar, that’s all they are.
In fact they are even worse, cause they pretend they are doing it for someone else’s benefit. Much like a Politician who pretends to serve the People while he takes expenses to purchase a house in Barbados next to Cliff Richard and the owners of said Charity companies.
As soon as my back was turned he was trying to exchange the tin of beans for a bar of Snickers! No doubt he would pass something onto the Africans though, like the wrapper.
Worst Kind Of Charity Collectors
But they worst kind of charity collector by far, well apart from the taxman that is, cause they are a stratosphere above any kind of charity collector.
They don’t even ask for a donation, they just assume and take it direct out of your paypacket, which is very nice of them.
Thieving wankers. Mind you we are their bonded slaves so we kind of signed up for that one.
But apart from those criminals the worst charity collectors are the ones that park themselves strategically beside the cash machines.
Don’t you just hate those wankers?
There you are withdrawing a couple of hundred pounds to go and get blootered on a Friday night and he’s asking you for any spare change?
What can you say?
“Sorry Pal, this machine only dishes out Notes. And anyway this bank card doesn’t actually belong to me. I stole it fae somebody.
I used to be a beggar just like you but I found that crime pays more and it’s also more honest. At least I am not pretending I am a useless waste of flesh incapable of creating a better reality for myself than begging others to hand out money that they worked so hard for. So I just steal it from them.
Thank God the banks tightened their security with that new Chip and Pin system. That’s been a godsend. You just check their number over their shoulder in Tescos, follow them down the street, quick blow to the head and that’s you sorted.
You should try it. I am sure people would appreciate it more than you ruining their Friday nights drinking by making them feel guilty about pissing their money against a wall when there are beggars on the street.”
I actually seen a guy sitting beside one of those cash machines once, and I swear he looked like he was dead.
It was the middle of the day and it was freezing and he was in the most awkward sitting position you’ve ever seen.
There was a big queue at the bank machine and you could tell people were not to sure whether or not to they should give him a shake to see if he was alive.
Of course nobody did.
It would have been just your luck that if you did he would only have been sleeping.
Then when he woke up “Any spare change pal?”
“Oh fuck, stung again, stung again”
Its hard enough filling out all those forms to get my handouts from the government or rather the tax payers of this country, without handing it straight back out again to those lazy bastards.
Charity collectors, who needs them?
Well, apart from people in desperate need of charity….but sod them,
I’m alright Jack….well for the time being anyway. I dare say if I ever need charity I will be the first one to hold my hand out but in the meantime, every man for himself.
After all that’s what we have been trained to think since birth isn’t it?
I am just a product of the system.
A selfish cunt.