Everyone you’ll meet when street collecting for charity

I don’t have the plague so don’t walk 20 metres around me

Initially, I was optimistic about collecting for Worldwide Cancer Research, with Bowie, Rickman and Wogan’s tragic passings still enshrined in the nation’s hearts. Thus I presumed people would be extremely willing to donate to ‘charity chuggers’.

However, rather quickly my enthusiasm was squandered by the various people who choose to ignore my requests. I decided to categorise them:

Look how happy I was

The awkward people who pretend not to look at you

I know you’ve seen me. Don’t play mind games with me. You aren’t winning an Oscar for acting like you’re unaware of the collection tin I shoved in your face.

The happy faces

These are the people that smile at you, acknowledge that you’re doing a good thing. Their beaming smile fills you with hope before they then carry on walking towards a tea room without even offering up a measly copper.

The people who act like you have the plague

I don’t have a gruesome contagious disease, so why are you walking so far around me? These are the type of people who walk on the other side of the road to try and convince themselves that you don’t exist.

The people who walk through you

They just don’t care. You’re in their path, and they’re not moving. These are the people who have a cover photo of their messy weekend in Amsterdam where they ‘bunned bare draw’ with ‘tha boiz’.

The people in denial

When I politely ask you if you’d like to give to Worldwide Cancer Research, why do you reply, ‘I already donate to another completely unrelated charity’. Last time I checked Battersea Dogs Home don’t fund research into all different types of cancer. It’s great that you donate, but you didn’t answer my question…

“Lonely, I’m Mr. Lonely, I have nobody for my own”- Akon (2014)

So how much did I raise?

In my two hours ‘charity chugging’, I raised a grand total of…*drumroll* £2.45.


Even at northern prices, you’d be hard pressed to find a pint for that. Since I was standing near a few pubs, it seemed bad that people favoured a quick half-pint over funding lifesaving treatment. Each to their own.


Okay, maybe I’m the world’s worst street collector, or maybe the people of York were just being stingy. In reality, it’s the former, from the community spirit we showed during the floods, to how friendly northerners are, York is a lovely place. It just seems the street collecting lifestyle isn’t cut out for me. To succeed you need to be really insincere, obnoxiously smily and in your face which unfortunately is frowned upon in just about every other social situation.

Any additional donations would be greatly appreciated.