Attack of the Park Slope Sidewalk Volunteers!

Kelsey Dake / NYT

It's happened to many of us: You're trekking down 7th Avenue with two large canvas bags full of groceries, which become heavier with each step as the summer sun blazes down your back. As you approach Union, sweat pools down the crack of your ass, and you see them: Six fresh-faced teens donning neon tees and loaded clipboards. Located on both sides of the street, they are an army of youthful soldiers; small but impenetrable. You don't want to be rude. You just want to get home to bake polenta with cremini mushrooms. Just as you consider turning around and walking the long way back, one of them materializes from thin air.

"Excuse me," he or she chirps. "Do you have a minute for Planned Parenthood / The ASPCA / Plan USA / Solar Panels?" 

You smile and nod. Your Siggi's yogurt cups are slowly curdling. 

As someone who once peddled comedy tickets on the streets of Times Square, I know how awkward it can be to corner a stranger and ask for money. Whether they're paid or not, I admire these teens. They are sweet and happy and create a balance of karma in the world. Their do-goodery cancels out my otherwise lazy activities, like seeing how many frozen grapes I can stuff into my mouth while watching an entire season of The Golden Girls. But here's the thing: I am charitable in my own ways, so I don't always stop; yet I still feel like a huge asshole when I tell these bright-eyed pamphlet pushers "N-O." 

Sloane Crosley, one of my favorite humor writers and a damned fine Diorama artist, wrote a great piece in the New York Times Opinion Pages on the season of sidewalk volunteers titled, This Summer, the Guilt Is Gratis. She writes:

If I cared just a little bit more, I’d stomp back and defend myself. As it just so happens, I adopted my pet; I recycle; I live in Chelsea, a few blocks away from a store called the Rainbow Station, which, let me tell you, does not provide parking for rainbows; and I am scheduled to give a talk at a Planned Parenthood luncheon this fall. Do I have a minute for these causes? I have a lifetime for them! I live with them!

Amen, sister. If I gave in to every smiling Joanie and Johnny who stopped me on the stretch of 7th ave between President and Lincoln, I'd have to get a second job just to pay for my new sponsor children, whose photos would hang above the bed of my recently adopted three-legged dog Chippy, inside of my freshly solar-paneled apartment. In that sense, taking on just ONE more good cause is like playing a risky game of Jenga. If I don't have the money to give I don't want to waste their time though, so I make excuses while rushing past.

"Eeesh, sorry," I'll say while sucking in air through my teeth and pointing to a freckle on my wrist. "I'm running late for something." Let's be honest: We're never running late and these kids know it. They're likely bored of these common rejections, so let's do them a favor and spice it up a bit; give the kids something to talk about at the dinner table later that night. As you see a teen approach with a pamphlet of a sad puppy consider doing the following:

• THE 5TH AVE SUPERHERO PHONE CALL: Answer your phone. Listen. Look to the sky as if spotting your signal. Say, "I'm on it." Duck into the Brooklyn Superhero Supply Company. 
• THE ACT I INCITING INCIDENT: If you're walking with a companion, turn to him or her and make a dramatic proclamation: "I'm pregnant and want a divorce," or "I was the one who ran over your cat, Skittles." Cry on cue if you can.
• SING A SHOWTUNE: Got a little Sound Of Music or Cabaret loaded in your repetoire of songs sung in the shower? Bust that shit out as you're walking by. Loudly. Dance with an invisible partner. Own it. 

 Your Siggis yogurt will remain intact, and you might not walk away feeling like a complete asshole.