Dealing with Chuggers

Today – a Tube strike in London.  I decided to take the day off, have a duvet day.

  • Lie-in
  • Stroll round the locality
  • Do a bit of personal admin

All done.  On the way back from a stroll round Camden Market, North London, I bump into a chugger (charity mugger: the people like market researchers who stop you and pester you in the street), trying to get me to sign up for a direct debit to his charity.  Me, when I give to charity, I give quietly, sticking money into the collecting tin or onto the offetory plate, not because you leap in front of me, asking for my bank account details, when I am thinking of my next weekend in DUS with Schatz.

This is where my interrogators course back in 2000 comes in useful, much more fun than telling them to get lost or ignoring them.

Chugger:

Good afternoon, sir, how are you?  Do you have five minutes for?

GingeInGermany: (No reply, but I give him some neutral eye contact.

Chugger:

Blah blah blah rattle rattle yak charidee.  Have you heard of us?

GingeInGermany (monotone tone of voice):

I cannot answer that question.

Chugger:

Blub blub yak blah blah regular donation?

GingeInGermany (monotone tone of voice):

I cannot answer that question.

Chugger:

Blub blub yak blah blah fill in form blah bank account details wibble wibble?

GingeInGermany (monotone tone of voice):

I cannot answer that question.

Chugger (by now realising he’s dealing with a wind-up merchant, and has as much chance of getting this guy’s bank account details as the King of Saudi Arabia has of being invited to my nephew’s bar mitzvah):

Ohhhhh, ok, thank you very much, mate.

He’d downgraded me rapidly from sir to mate.

I always knew that interrogators course would give me a transferable skill.

Have a questionable day, won’t you!

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