Chugging hell, I’m back.
Posted by: smellmycheese on: October 5, 2011
Well it’s been a while, but like Take That and genital warts, I’m back.
A lot has happened since I last blogged. I am now living with an actual real live (brilliant) man, which means I can no longer moan about being single and nearly 30. Don’t despair though, I can still moan about nearly being 30. And everything else.
So to ease you gently back into my funpacked world of moaning and whingeing, we’ll start with chuggers. AKA charity muggers.
"Hello, are you a nobhead too?" Yes, yes I am!"
Oh how I detest them.
For those not familiar, I’m referring to the creatures that lurk in the middle of high streets ready to pounce on you with their clipboards, false smiles and personalities that could variously be described as ‘wacky’, ‘zany’ and ‘crazy’. All words that make me want to gouge my own eyes out with a rusty spoon and then feed said eyes to the irritating little arsewipes.
Think I’m being harsh? Let me explain why you’re wrong. One: I’m right. And B: do not be fooled into believing for one second that these people give two tiny shits about cancer sufferers, wounded animals, abandoned clothes pegs or whatever charity it is they’re trying to ensnare you into via the medium of direct debit.
They might happen to care, but it would be completely coincidental.
And this is what makes their smug, self-satisfied, over familiar manner all the more galling. I know they work on commission, they know they work on commission and anyone with a functioning brain cell knows they work on commission. So they can sod off trying to guilt trip me into giving to whatever charity they happen to be working for. If you care that much pal, get another job and then the money that the charity save by not paying your commission can actually, you know, go to charity.
When they try and reel me in by making some grotesquely patronising comment such as ‘hey there trendy hair!’ or ‘hi girls!’ (when I’m with my 60 year old mother, for god’s sake) are they expecting us to giggle girlishly and immediately sign up to give ten pounds a month to the retired dogs’ bowls society for the rest of our lives? Because that’s not what happens. What happens is I swallow back my barf as I politely say no thanks and attempt to walk around them as they get into my personal space with their invasive bodies and their stupidly inane fake smiling faces. Next time I plan to place one hand on their chest and shout NOOO in a very deep and loud voice as I continue walking.
(Possibly.)
October 5, 2011 at 2:39 pm
Yay a new blog post! This made me lol (obviously I only use lol in an ironic sense). I swear to god one chugger once said to me, when I wouldn’t stop to talk to him, “don’t you want to help the children?” Yes that’s right, I would like the children to die just so I can save £5 a month or whatever it was he wanted from me. That really annoyed me. I’ve als been told I was a liar by one when he asked if I shop in Leeds (actually not sure if he was a chugger, may have been just trying to sell me something, but same difference). Yes technically I was lying, and I was indeed shopping in Leeds and carrying shopping bags kind of gave that away but I was using that as an excuse not to talk him, rather than tell him to p*ss off, I would have thought this was pretty obvious. I hate being made to feel like I am obligated to stop and talk to these people!
October 5, 2011 at 2:41 pm
I think you do want the children to die. I also think you hate animals, breasts, and all people. Or at least I think you should say this to whichever self important wanker working on commission tries to guilt trip you next.