The people in the line are watching, judging. The youngest is watching, judging too. But also I guess looking for guidance on what to do the next time someone in a shop asks him if he wants to donate. The truth is, I don't. For some reason the disdain I feel for people I don’t know asking me for money far outweighs any compassion I might feel for the poor and needy. Especially when they’re wearing yellow ears. But she’s still staring, and it doesn’t look like the transaction is going any further without an answer. Which means a dozen people’s day has been halted as a result of my callous indecision.
So why don’t I want to donate? All it would take to restart time is a few quid. A fraction of what I’d fritter in TK Maxx on a shirt that looks good in the changing room but turns out to be socially unacceptable outside of it. Or box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts bought for no other reason than to generate approximately 15 seconds of interest in daddy when he gets home late on a Friday night. But I can’t do it, it’s not my style. I wonder why not - and so does everyone in the queue.
I don’t know, there’s something about public displays of generosity that feels so...old fashioned. Like something my parents used to do and make me cringe. I guess I’d just like everyone to think that I’m actually giving far larger amounts behind the scenes - through my very own charitable trust or something - and a cash donation on this piddling scale just isn’t worth my time. And that I’m way too self-effacing for such public displays of benevolence. But it’s not true.
So why can’t I do it? Perhaps it's because there's something inherently self-contradictory about putting coins in a tin. Because if you really were a caring and compassionate human being you wouldn’t need to be asked - What, you mean there's people out there short of money?! Shit, here, better take this practically valueless collection of small change. So maybe what I’m saying to the world by not donating is - Really, you don’t need to ask. I’m better than that. And anyway, donating to charity is supposed to be a selfless act. But as far as I can see the only person benefitting from this would be me, winning the fleeting approval of an overly impressionable twelve year old and half a dozen people waiting for crisps. Which smacks of hypocrisy.
Still the cashier stares. I hear the feint rustling of crisp bags and sandwich packets as the queue becomes restless.Maybe I should bat it back and ask the cashier if she’s donated anything herself. And if not, why should I? But I guess the fact I’m on this side of the counter signifies I'm the one with more cash than I strictly need. Why else would I be buying a White Americano and packet of Extra Strong Mints. She, on the other hand, is slaving at the till to earn a pittance. Possibly just one of several jobs she holds down to support a large family living in a shed. Unaided. So why the hell can’t I put some money in the tin?
Perhaps I just have a natural aversion to the telly trying to influence me. Sure, I watch it all the time, but I'm way too sophisticated to be drawn into any of this mass emotional manipulation stuff. I might watch Strictly, but I don’t vote. I simply observe from a lofty viewpoint. I do not participate; I leave that to the big single parent families in sheds.
And anyway, I didn’t get where I am today - being able to buy White Americanos and Extra Strong Mints at will - by giving away money willy-nilly to people with fluffy ears. And who would relieve TK Maxx of it’s most unwearable stock, and Krispy Kreme of its last stale remnants, if I didn’t have the cash?
So I resolve to take the harder route, forego the shallow gratification of generosity, spurn the vein hypocrisy of doing the right thing. Feeding the tin is the easy way out, an ostentatious and ultimately futile gesture designed only to impress, and create a sense of inner virtue woefully undeserved. Instead I will decline and face the consequences of a blackened conscience, carry the cross of selfish indifference for the rest of humanity. It won’t be easy, but at least I’m being myself. Which is something I can just about handle - once I’ve had a White Americano.
"No thanks," I respond. "I’ll just take these."
"Do you want a four-pack of mints," she asks. "It’s only 20p extra."
This is more like it, an anti-donation! The opportunity to waste even more money on even more of something I don't need. With the added advantage that it will make my child sick and rot his teeth, denying me the self-satisfaction of knowing he's healthy and well cared for, and that I'm a wise and responsible parent. Might even kill him, curtailing my bloodline, and denying the world exactly half my lineage. You don't get much more selfless than that.
"Yes thanks, I’ll take two."
@jesoverthinksit
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