I am so good at getting past those people with the clipboards that stand on the sidewalk to fundraise for charities:
Charity Girl: Hi! Do you want to help children with cancer?
Me: Nope, I’ve gotta go exchange this shirt at J. Crew right now.
Charity Dude: Hey, man, can I get your help feeding the hungry in Africa?
Me: Nah, I’m on my way to lunch.
Androgynous Charity Person: Excuse me, but do you have a minute to hear about how you can help cure AIDS?
Me: AIDS!? Ew, gross.
However, like all great tragic figures, sometimes my greatest strength ends up bringing about my downfall, like the time I was in SoHo a few years back and this woman reached out to give me what I thought was a flier. I artfully dodged her and made it a few yards down the street before pausing, sensing that I had made a mistake.
I looked back and realized that this woman was handing out free Fruit Roll-Ups! The alliterative quality of such a phenomenon alone makes it amazing, but I love Fruit Roll-Ups! I couldn’t go back either. It’s this damn pride of mine. Can you imagine having to go back—hat in hand, tail between legs—put out your pathetic paw, and say, “I’m sorry, I was wrong to snub you before, and actually I would like one of those complimentary fruit treats.” I couldn’t do it. It’s one of the great regrets of my life, second only to the time I ran over that child with my Harley.