The Crazy Days of Summer
Yesterday was the official start of the summer season in the United States. Which means I can finally post the rant I forgot last year.
If you live in New York City, summer guarantees one thing in addition to the intolerable heat radiating from the asphalt and occasionally overwhelming smell of garbage. In my neck of Brooklyn, this is the season when nonprofit organizations deploy armies of young volunteers or employees to stand at busy street corners, solicit passersby, and drum up donations. But even as a left-leaning Democrat who generally supports the causes these young people represent, I never talk to any of them. And all I can say to their bosses is:
Please stop.
Some of you may be old enough to remember New York’s dreaded “squeegee men,” guys who would take advantage of a red light or traffic jam and surround your car while offering to clean the windshield. Often, they’d even start the “cleaning” process by squirting the glass with some foul concoction of dirty water and other unidentifiable substances. But you couldn’t just wave away the squeegee man’s aggressive solicitations; somehow that would only make them try harder. No, once a target, you had two options: turn on your windshield wipers to interrupt the process or let them finish and pay up.
Approaching the corner of Montague and Henry Streets in Brooklyn Heights on a sunny July morning can make you feel a bit like that innocent commuter stuck at a light and unexpectedly staring down the barrel of an unwanted spray bottle. On one side of the street, an energetic pair of clipboard-carrying teenagers wearing T-shirts bearing the green and white globe of The Nature Conservancy’s logo are asking: “DON’T YOU WANT TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT CLIMATE CHANGE?” Not to be outdone, on the opposite corner, a group in Planned Parenthood’s bright pink merch are waving wildly to catch people’s attention and inquiring: “DON’T YOU CARE ABOUT FREEDOM FOR WOMEN?”
Yes, yes, I do. I also want to help feed starving kids (Save the Children) and fight gun violence (Amnesty International). What I don’t want is to be begged for that help on the street. Every day. Sometimes multiple times a day if, God forbid, my errands take me past the clipboarders again and again. Pedestrians don’t have the benefit of windshield wipers to shoo the reps away.
Organizations apparently call these street representatives “canvassers” and the work they do “face-to-face fundraising”—"F2F” for short. Perhaps in some earlier era, F2F was an effective technique for raising money. Maybe it still is. My three minutes of research on the issue revealed a wide range of opinions. But after years of warnings about digital scams and data breaches, I’m NEVER going to use my credit card to make a charitable donation with some stranger on the street no matter how legit their brochures look or how much their volunteers smile. I’m just trying to get a cup of coffee or pick up a prescription, not get ripped off while trying to solve all the world’s problems.
To be honest, getting repeatedly attacked by these well-intentioned but zealous canvassers also makes me less inclined to donate to their organizations after I go home. Certain groups camp out at the same location over and over. While they may think that helps with name recognition, I suspect all it does is build resentment among the locals—especially if they do break down at some point and make a donation. The canvassers have no way of knowing who in the crowd has already given, so even donors can be solicited dozens of times during the course of a summer.
The worst part is the endearing enthusiasm of many of the canvassers. Whether by training or temperament, they convey the deep commitment of true believers. Which means rejecting their advances feels a bit like kicking a puppy. No one wants to be mean or rude. But I would guess most of us don’t want to talk about melting icebergs while picking up a sandwich for lunch either. So, I wear my headphones and feign engagement on an important phone call rather than be another abrupt jerk refusing to even acknowledge the canvassers’ existence. Yet I still keep walking. Because I didn’t ask for any of this. And I shouldn’t have to choose between wasting my time and hurting a young person’s feelings. The stats may show that F2F solicitations from street teams still bring in some bucks. What I suspect they won’t capture though is people like me, all the annoyed potential donors who walk right by and never consider looking back.