Charity Begins at the Exit Door

It’s about this time with only two days left of lounging in the glorious sunshine without a care in the world, that no matter how hard I try my thoughts turn to the week ahead and my return to the world of London commuting.

The London commute, where it’s law that you must not speak to or catch the eye of the individual opposite but assume an aloof ‘I’m far too important to talk to anyone’ attitude. This head down blinkered approach does however have its advantages on arrival at the station.

Every morning I have to endure and run the charity gauntlet. In my mind I’m tackling the box shakers and magazine wavers in much the same martial arts way as the character in the film ‘Airplane’ as he walks through the arrival hall. The reality is however somewhat different.
Firstly I have to dodge the fancy dressed bucket bouncers who pounce on each and everyone of the train users as we queue frustratingly at the slow and inefficient security barriers. Then before safe exit of the station a heads down side step is required to pass the usual lifeboat or ex-servicemen collectors.

Having made safe egress from the concourse it’s the free paper vendors that appear in pairs in a well practiced pincer movement who thrust their pre-folded rags practically up your nose, while making the same ‘g’day sport’ quip you’ve heard a million times before… (you know the rag), it’s still not funny.

So now you’re motoring, free of the station crowds and striding purposely towards your destination when you spot them. Not only do they hunt in packs but they’re both sides of the street. The WWF collectors, high visibility jackets, clipboards and pens. This is serious, these well rehearsed and practiced hyenas are persistent. They step in front of you and walk backwards harassing you all the way down the entire length of the road and don’t take a ‘No’ as a reason to stop. You look for the gap or perhaps some other poor commuter who’s become their prey, then without looking up, shoot for their turned back. As an added insurance policy you pull out your mobile phone and pretend to be doing something so important, so all consuming that you have the perfect excuse not to look their way. For its eye contact that will seal your fate. You sense their frustration that they’re not allowed to use lassoos as you sweep past the overly enthusiastic Eco warrior and stop holding your breath as the office is almost in sight.

But it’s not over yet. Like some deranged episode of ‘it’s a knockout’, and yes I can hear Stuart Halls manic laughter every step of the way. There are still the random unexpected leaflet launchers and special offer mongers to avoid who leap unseen from among the lines of walking contestants. Head down again and side stepping in my most impressive rugby winger style I see the final corner… nothing can stop me now. ‘BIG ISSUE!’