Psycho Canvas
Nov. 14th, 2009 08:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
(Yes, it's a bit of a stretch, I'm sorry)
On-street canvassers and I have never had the best of relationships, but in the middle of the week I had the most surreal experience with one ever.
I was waiting for the bus across the river in an (ultimately futile) attempt to get home quickly from work, and though the epidemic of clipboard-wielding grinning maniacs isn't nearly as bad in Kendall Square as it was in Davis Square, there are sometimes a few of them around telling people about some issue or other. This one was preying on the people who were waiting at the bus stop and trying to get them to sign up to donate to the ACLU, and asked me just before I sat down if I had a moment to talk about gay marriage.
And even though previous experience has made me always prepared with some convincing excuse that puts them off talking to me instantly, you can't say no to that, can you? Even though the Americans had a good start in this regard, for a long time now they've been slowly voting to reverse all their shreds of cultural evolution, and pretty soon their only contribution to Western civilization will be the invention of the pancake-wrapped sausage on a stick.
So I went over to him, planning to use my other tactic of talking back to him and hopefully keeping the discussion up until my bus came. He was very nice about it and even asked what bus I was waiting for so he could watch out for it. He handed me the clipboard so that I was unable to defend myself and talked for a while brightly about what I've just mentioned above while I nodded along, ready to talk about the recent vote in Maine at any moment but unable to really get a word in edgeways.
Eventually he paused in the middle of a sentence and looked confused, which I thought was my cue to start my side of the conversation while he'd forgotten this part of his routine, but once again he got in first.
"Do you know a girl called Whitney?"
"Yes," I answered after a moment, all my thoughts of return conversation having vanished at the sudden question.
"And you're married to her, aren't you?"
This was terrible. After honing my ability to avoid the regular variety, I had been caught off guard by a psychic canvasser. He could no doubt read my every move to escape before I got the chance to try it, and I didn't even have a second controller port to fall back on. The only thing left was to admit it.
But he then revealed that he was the husband of one of Whitney's friends, who I'd met once at a game night and hadn't recognized because his mass of hair was concealed under a wooly cap. So he then switched to talking about his rubbish job for a while and let me get off free back to waiting for the bus.
About twenty minutes later I was still there, so I phoned the MBTA and asked them where the bus was, and after I convined the woman on the other end to check she told me that the one I was waiting for had never left the depot for reasons best known to itself. But by now it was nearly the next one's arrival time, so after asking her if that one was likely to ever get there, I continued to wait.
He had been listening to me talking on the phone and came over again to cosmiserate about the state of Boston's public transport. "But do you know what would really make your day?" he asked, holding out the clipboard. After our shared friends had released me not half an hour earlier, he was going to use them to his advantage instead!
But at that precise moment, the bus came, so I apologized and leapt on, getting home in not much more time than it takes to walk. I set up my work laptop there instead, immediately went on to the T site and performed my monthly application to get my money back - everyone's happy. Except the MBTA, I imagine, but if you lived here you wouldn't have any sympathy for them either.
On-street canvassers and I have never had the best of relationships, but in the middle of the week I had the most surreal experience with one ever.
I was waiting for the bus across the river in an (ultimately futile) attempt to get home quickly from work, and though the epidemic of clipboard-wielding grinning maniacs isn't nearly as bad in Kendall Square as it was in Davis Square, there are sometimes a few of them around telling people about some issue or other. This one was preying on the people who were waiting at the bus stop and trying to get them to sign up to donate to the ACLU, and asked me just before I sat down if I had a moment to talk about gay marriage.
And even though previous experience has made me always prepared with some convincing excuse that puts them off talking to me instantly, you can't say no to that, can you? Even though the Americans had a good start in this regard, for a long time now they've been slowly voting to reverse all their shreds of cultural evolution, and pretty soon their only contribution to Western civilization will be the invention of the pancake-wrapped sausage on a stick.
So I went over to him, planning to use my other tactic of talking back to him and hopefully keeping the discussion up until my bus came. He was very nice about it and even asked what bus I was waiting for so he could watch out for it. He handed me the clipboard so that I was unable to defend myself and talked for a while brightly about what I've just mentioned above while I nodded along, ready to talk about the recent vote in Maine at any moment but unable to really get a word in edgeways.
Eventually he paused in the middle of a sentence and looked confused, which I thought was my cue to start my side of the conversation while he'd forgotten this part of his routine, but once again he got in first.
"Do you know a girl called Whitney?"
"Yes," I answered after a moment, all my thoughts of return conversation having vanished at the sudden question.
"And you're married to her, aren't you?"
This was terrible. After honing my ability to avoid the regular variety, I had been caught off guard by a psychic canvasser. He could no doubt read my every move to escape before I got the chance to try it, and I didn't even have a second controller port to fall back on. The only thing left was to admit it.
But he then revealed that he was the husband of one of Whitney's friends, who I'd met once at a game night and hadn't recognized because his mass of hair was concealed under a wooly cap. So he then switched to talking about his rubbish job for a while and let me get off free back to waiting for the bus.
About twenty minutes later I was still there, so I phoned the MBTA and asked them where the bus was, and after I convined the woman on the other end to check she told me that the one I was waiting for had never left the depot for reasons best known to itself. But by now it was nearly the next one's arrival time, so after asking her if that one was likely to ever get there, I continued to wait.
He had been listening to me talking on the phone and came over again to cosmiserate about the state of Boston's public transport. "But do you know what would really make your day?" he asked, holding out the clipboard. After our shared friends had released me not half an hour earlier, he was going to use them to his advantage instead!
But at that precise moment, the bus came, so I apologized and leapt on, getting home in not much more time than it takes to walk. I set up my work laptop there instead, immediately went on to the T site and performed my monthly application to get my money back - everyone's happy. Except the MBTA, I imagine, but if you lived here you wouldn't have any sympathy for them either.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-14 01:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-14 01:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-14 01:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-14 02:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-14 02:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-14 02:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-14 10:35 pm (UTC)Didn't you know?
no subject
Date: 2009-11-15 02:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-14 10:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-15 04:36 am (UTC)Of course, in this case he was much more polite even when he hadn't realized that he actually knew me, although when it started I was rather worried that if I did say that I wasn't interested in handing over money at that moment and stopped him, then I would... still have been standing there right next to him, and it would have been weird. I'm rather glad that it resolved itself the way it did.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-14 02:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-14 02:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-15 03:28 am (UTC)In essence, gay people squick them out and so they don't want to do them any favours.
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Date: 2009-11-16 01:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-16 11:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-16 01:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-15 12:29 am (UTC)HIDEO
HIDEO
...earlier this week I was approached by two guys with a notebook. First page was a picture of Jesus being baptised. "This is a picture of Jesus being baptised. Have you ever been baptised?"
I'm not exactly sure what they were trying to achieve, but I quickened my pace just in case they had a Super Soaker of holy water waiting for me.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-16 01:40 am (UTC)