RickinNYC
DIS Veteran
- Joined
- Apr 22, 2003
- Messages
- 7,870
So, the other day I took a walk during lunch and wandered down Broadway through So Ho. Enjoying the sights, I noticed several young adults with clipboards spread out down the block, ready to pounce on unsuspecting passersby. Typical New Yorker, I focused all my attention on the street ahead and steamrolled right through them, brain on lockdown, eyes glazed over. Suddenly, one particularly aggressive young lady, cute as a button, freckled face, bright red hair, huge, beaming grin like sunshine on a rainy day, jumped right in front of me.
Rocking on her feet, body humming with energy, clipboard waving about like a banner in a parade, she batted her eyelashes and said, "HI! Have a minute?!"
I was pretty astounded since she ignored all of my "don't bother me, I'm a typical New Yorker" moves. "Ummmm... ooookay, what are you selling?"
"I'm not selling a thing! I just wanted to know if you currently support any non-profits and whether you made donations regularly!" Again, with the batting eyelashes. And she did indeed speak with exclamation points. She's one of those.
I admitted very reluctantly that I did indeed make donations to certain organizations from time to time and tried to move on. She practically skipped along next to me, her unbridled enthusiasm was a solid presence, locking our bodies into one. "Really?! Which one?! Or is it more than one?! You're pretty well dressed so I guess you do well! Can I ask you some more questions?!"
I looked at my watch, noticed that I still had plenty of time before I had to head back to the office so I relented. I was really curious to know what the chick really wanted, what her ulterior motive was. "Sure, fire away." I have to admit, her big smile, her freckles, her huge head of red hair, she was cute. And she knew it. And she used it against me. (Yeah, for the smart alecks out there, SHE was cute. I said "SHE". I know cute when I see it. She was CUTE.)
So Cute Girl proceeded to whip open a magic binder that I hadn't noticed before, filled with graphic pictures of starving children from third world countries. Suddenly the spicy tuna sushi I was planning on pick up didn't seem so appealing.
"Don't you think these pictures are the WORST?! Aren't they so sad?! They need all the help they can get, RIGHT?! Shouldnt' we do something about THAT?!" Her questions came as a stream, blending into one, into one amorphous blob of "Don't you feel horribly guilty for living in New York, wearing your fancy clothes, carrying your shiny cel phone, with your boy band hair all spiky, while there are children around the world that can live a year on one month of your cable service?!"
I suddenly didn't think she was so cute anymore. I started feeling guilty so when she stopped to take a breath, "So how much money do you want?" My hand already going to my wallet.
"OH! OH NO! I can't take cash! I'm sorry! I can only take credit or debit cards so here's the form and I have a pen for you and you can fill it out and we'll just deduct a monthly donation from your account! OK?!"
I think folks from five blocks over heard my jaw hit the sidewalk when I took a look at the form. "You want me to give you my home number, my phone number, my social security number, and my credit and bank information to a total stranger in the middle of New York City? That has to be the single craziest thing I've ever heard. This is insane!"
Her smile never wavered. She grinned even harder and got even more chipper. I started to like her even less. She wasn't cute anymore. She started flashing ID and permits and forms. She had an answer for everything. I still thought she was crazy and said so.
So she tried a different tactic. Cute Red Head Girl turned into a nasty, snarling wolverine. "You KNOW?! You could have said something from the beginning! I'm just trying to help these poor children! They need clothes and food and medicine?! And YOU aren't even willing to try to help them at ALL!"
Ok, so she's not a wolverine. She was possessed, the devil was riding her humpback. She grew a horn and tails. Her eyes glowed. Her voice got deep and gutteral. Sulphurous odors emanated from her mouth. So, I'm lying. But she got really really mean.
So, I did what any normal guy would do. I pulled out my employee ID card and waved it at her. "I work for a charity! We help find homes for more than 6,000 men and women with AIDS, mental illness or substance abuse problems every year! THAT is my job! And if you're legitimate, then you need to know what what you're asking strangers to do is crazy!"
Pretty Red Head Wolverine Possessed Girl stared at me, her eyes at half mast. No expression. Pretty creepy if you ask me. "Oh! Why didn't you say so?!" And she walked off.
Crazy, no-good, do-gooder. I felt so invaded.
I wandered down the street, my spiky boy band hair firmly in place, my cel phone clutched in my hand, and I heard, "Hi! Do you have a minute?!" I looked up and saw a guy, a cute guy with blond hair and sky blue eyes, chiclet white teeth, wide shoulders, narrow hips, clutching a clipboard, smiling like the sun at me. He looked like he should be hanging out, playing with a puppy, while a beautiful blond woman in khakis gazes at him, all from the pages of Abercrombie. He was so dreamy so I did the only think I could do.
I grunted and ran.
Rocking on her feet, body humming with energy, clipboard waving about like a banner in a parade, she batted her eyelashes and said, "HI! Have a minute?!"
I was pretty astounded since she ignored all of my "don't bother me, I'm a typical New Yorker" moves. "Ummmm... ooookay, what are you selling?"
"I'm not selling a thing! I just wanted to know if you currently support any non-profits and whether you made donations regularly!" Again, with the batting eyelashes. And she did indeed speak with exclamation points. She's one of those.
I admitted very reluctantly that I did indeed make donations to certain organizations from time to time and tried to move on. She practically skipped along next to me, her unbridled enthusiasm was a solid presence, locking our bodies into one. "Really?! Which one?! Or is it more than one?! You're pretty well dressed so I guess you do well! Can I ask you some more questions?!"
I looked at my watch, noticed that I still had plenty of time before I had to head back to the office so I relented. I was really curious to know what the chick really wanted, what her ulterior motive was. "Sure, fire away." I have to admit, her big smile, her freckles, her huge head of red hair, she was cute. And she knew it. And she used it against me. (Yeah, for the smart alecks out there, SHE was cute. I said "SHE". I know cute when I see it. She was CUTE.)
So Cute Girl proceeded to whip open a magic binder that I hadn't noticed before, filled with graphic pictures of starving children from third world countries. Suddenly the spicy tuna sushi I was planning on pick up didn't seem so appealing.
"Don't you think these pictures are the WORST?! Aren't they so sad?! They need all the help they can get, RIGHT?! Shouldnt' we do something about THAT?!" Her questions came as a stream, blending into one, into one amorphous blob of "Don't you feel horribly guilty for living in New York, wearing your fancy clothes, carrying your shiny cel phone, with your boy band hair all spiky, while there are children around the world that can live a year on one month of your cable service?!"
I suddenly didn't think she was so cute anymore. I started feeling guilty so when she stopped to take a breath, "So how much money do you want?" My hand already going to my wallet.
"OH! OH NO! I can't take cash! I'm sorry! I can only take credit or debit cards so here's the form and I have a pen for you and you can fill it out and we'll just deduct a monthly donation from your account! OK?!"
I think folks from five blocks over heard my jaw hit the sidewalk when I took a look at the form. "You want me to give you my home number, my phone number, my social security number, and my credit and bank information to a total stranger in the middle of New York City? That has to be the single craziest thing I've ever heard. This is insane!"
Her smile never wavered. She grinned even harder and got even more chipper. I started to like her even less. She wasn't cute anymore. She started flashing ID and permits and forms. She had an answer for everything. I still thought she was crazy and said so.
So she tried a different tactic. Cute Red Head Girl turned into a nasty, snarling wolverine. "You KNOW?! You could have said something from the beginning! I'm just trying to help these poor children! They need clothes and food and medicine?! And YOU aren't even willing to try to help them at ALL!"
Ok, so she's not a wolverine. She was possessed, the devil was riding her humpback. She grew a horn and tails. Her eyes glowed. Her voice got deep and gutteral. Sulphurous odors emanated from her mouth. So, I'm lying. But she got really really mean.
So, I did what any normal guy would do. I pulled out my employee ID card and waved it at her. "I work for a charity! We help find homes for more than 6,000 men and women with AIDS, mental illness or substance abuse problems every year! THAT is my job! And if you're legitimate, then you need to know what what you're asking strangers to do is crazy!"
Pretty Red Head Wolverine Possessed Girl stared at me, her eyes at half mast. No expression. Pretty creepy if you ask me. "Oh! Why didn't you say so?!" And she walked off.
Crazy, no-good, do-gooder. I felt so invaded.
I wandered down the street, my spiky boy band hair firmly in place, my cel phone clutched in my hand, and I heard, "Hi! Do you have a minute?!" I looked up and saw a guy, a cute guy with blond hair and sky blue eyes, chiclet white teeth, wide shoulders, narrow hips, clutching a clipboard, smiling like the sun at me. He looked like he should be hanging out, playing with a puppy, while a beautiful blond woman in khakis gazes at him, all from the pages of Abercrombie. He was so dreamy so I did the only think I could do.
I grunted and ran.
