And then I took my bib off, er...

Here I sit again. About to go to bed, wondering what has happened to me today. Much? Not really. I swore at a bunch of young charvas. They crossed the road, muttering, and when they reached the other side, they shouted something about how it might be an idea if I got my hair examined by a qualified hair surgeon. Simply, I shouted “Fuck you” at a loud volume. They threw some typical insults my way, all lost as I was busy feeling a bit righteous.

Nothing gained.

Work improves. It’s true, the potential sign-up for the charity I am chugging for, must like me in order to sign up. If I stop them, they are allowing me a chance to impress them. If I talk for a few seconds, and in that time, they have warmed to me, when I reach the part of my awful introduction where I ask them if they would be interested in helping out, they might say, aww shucks, ok.

And that is it. If I have sounded confident, trustworthy and well, nice, then I stand a chance. This random specimen of the public might be having a good day. Perhaps her boyfriend just divulged a feeling of love towards her. A promotion maybe. Unless they tell me, I won’t know.

Today, a girl I spoke to used to work for Save The Children. I could see that the words ‘used to’ gnawed at her. Without having to say anything, I could sense that she felt a guilt at having been involved in charity work, a concept that is endless and vague, and she decided to take the opportunity I offered her to start giving so she could feel charitable again.

And what of the people – usually older people – who say things like “we’ve been trying to sort out these problems since I was a child”. They feel that surely, by the time they die, the unnamed forces of humanity (whoever they are) will have sorted out the problems of hunger and abuse in the world. That somehow there should be a kind of natural narrative to their lives. And that it ends happily.

I point out to these people that wars keep happening. That no matter how contrived our ‘modern’ wars seem to be these days, that they do follow a grand old tradition in mankind of trying to kill each other. I suggest that these kind of charities exist primarily to confront this, and extract the children who are most vulnerable and tell them that maybe it’s gonna be ok.

To be honest, I probably don’t say it in quite such a romantic-comedy kind of way, but the point’s there.

Still these people are unmoved. My boss would tell me that it is something I am doing wrong, that an experienced fundraiser could turn this person around. But surely once I have begun a debate with someone, I am onto a loser. It is good fun, but I’m unlikely, in one to five minutes, to completely change this person’s attitudes towards the world - to the point where they feel comfortable handing out their bank details for a long-term commitment of good will.

People ask how much of the money goes to the charity, and how much is spent on the evil admin. People hate admin. It really upsets them. Admin. Eugh. Admin. It’s an abbreviation for a start. It stands for administration, a lengthy and fruitless exercise that inevitably leads to flipcharts and ibuprofen.

How much of the money ‘goes to the charity’? An interesting point. A complex one too. Well, I am getting paid to do this (something I’ve hopefully remembered to tell this person already). Obviously in order to do this, the charity have hired a fundraising agency whose prime motivation it is to get as many ‘links’ (sign ups) as possible. And this agency are an agency so they exist to make money. They are obsessed by links. Their motivational speeches consist of the words, “Just get shit loads of links. Ok?”

The charity in question obviously budgets for expenditure on such folly. They are also run like a business and have decided that it is actually profitable for us to be out here, hassling the good people of the streets.

I honestly hope that the maths adds up. I have no idea. Sure, they have shown me pie charts, but whatever. It’s bullshit. I guess, for the time I work here, I will just have to have blind faith that the work I do genuinely helps the people I think it does. I really hope it doesn’t “all go to corrupt government officials in their country” like so many people think. Again, evil corrupt government officials. It’s a shadowy idea. You imagine a dark room, and a lavishly dressed man by a desk, necking tequila and feverishly throwing piles of bank notes into the air, with a horrible cackle. Who are these people? I suppose, with some careful reading, I could figure this out. Maybe I will.