I Support Illiteracy--and you should too!

“No.”

That was my answer. The question? Well it wasn’t really a question at all and that was the problem. It was a statement. For an extra dollar you can help support literacy in Illinois—and then she stared at me. And when I say that she stared at me, I mean to say that she gave me a look that said, only a complete asshole would refuse to give one little dollar to help people read.

Well color me a complete asshole, because my dollar stayed in my pocket and will likely go towards something off the value menu at a local fast food joint while people here in my home state continue to not be able to read—and I’m fine with that.

Now, it’s at this point that I feel it necessary to tell you that I am that guy. I’m the guy who can always be counted on to buy a candy bar from you so that your snot-nosed kid can get new soccer uniforms. I’m the guy who never misses a Salvation Army kettle. I’m the guy who buys tootsie rolls or paper carnations to support whatever disease is having it’s big day. I’m the guy who’s a mortal lock to pledge to your Walk-For-Whatever. The girl scouts all know I’m a sucker for their cookies. I’m a giving kind of guy.

And if you came up to me and asked me to help support literacy in my home state, I’d give to that cause too, but when you try to guilt me into it while I’m in line at the store, you can bet your sweet ass that my money is staying in my wallet, thank you very much!

Ask, and you shall receive. Try to guilt me into giving and I’ll be stubborn just for fun.

The whole idea that any organization would accost me and put me on the spot like this is insulting. If I want to walk by a bum on the street and not give him my spare change, all I have to say is—sorry buddy, I don’t have any, even if I have $0.97 jingling around in my pocket. If I want to walk past that Salvation Army kettle, I need only put my head down and ignore the bell ringer.

But when Little Miss Cashier Girl at the bookstore tells me that I can help people learn to read, she knows damn well that I have money. I just handed it to her. It just means that I get less change back. It means that one, itty-bitty little dollar isn’t going to make it back to my wallet.

So, she looks at me with those big doe eyes and says her line: For an extra dollar you can help support literacy in Illinois. She might as well be saying: For an extra dollar, you can save a bag full of puppies from being set on fire! Or, for an extra dollar, you can keep babies from being dunked in acid. That is the tone she says it with, that is the look she uses to accompany her request.

In her eyes, it is, of course, a moral imperative that I donate just one little dollar. Well I say no. I say no because I will not be bullied into giving. I say no because I’m offended that you try to hold my change hostage. I say no because I don’t care if some 17 year old girl working the register at Borders thinks I’m an asshole. I say no because you have a lot of nerve trying to hijack my dollar like this. If you want to station a person at the door who ASKS me for a donation, I’m all for helping you to end illiteracy. But as it is now, with your guerilla-warfare tactics, I am proud to say and shall scream from the mountaintops: I SUPPORT ILLITERACY IN ILLINOIS!!!!!

More books for me! Now, I won’t have to worry about someone coming in and taking that last copy of the book I want to get off the shelf, because that fool can’t read! Muah-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Somewhere, in some board room, some asshole stood up in front of a bunch of people and presented them with this idea. He got a raise, a promotion and a pat on the back because I’m sure it’s wildly successful. Most people don’t give from the heart. Most people can be guilted into giving though. The change-jack is probably a very successful strategy. And all of those people in that office probably think it’s brilliant.

Well, I don’t think it’s brilliant. I think that when you stop relying on people’s good will and start relying on guile to achieve your means, you are no longer a worthy cause. If you are duplicitous in how you get your money, surely you will be duplicitous in how you spend it. You justify your means with the end. Well, I justify my lack of charity with your lack of scruples.

In all seriousness, illiteracy is no joke. But neither is my point—when not-for-profits start resorting to these kinds of methods, they lose all integrity. They lose any sense of trust I might have had in them, had they approached me in an honest way. Which is why, in the end, that dollar won’t really go to some item off the value menu at McDonalds, I’ll just add it to the dollar I wind up giving to the next bell ringer I see outside a grocery store, or the next guy at the red light who wants to give me a tootsie roll.

I’m happy to give. I just refuse to be taken.

Literary Profiling

I just left Borders a few moments ago and I was the victim, once again, of Literary Profiling. It’s starting to piss me off. And I’ll state right here at the outset that I’ve received this treatment at Barnes & Noble as well, so its not a matter of the store I choose. It’s a matter of these book-Nazis assuming that certain types of people buy certain types of books.

I took a look in the mirror when I got home. I had pretty standard apparel on for me:

Navy Blue Baseball Hat, Duke University
Navy Blue Fleece Pullover
Navy Blue w/white side stripe Nike warm-up pants
Navy Blue Crocs, Chicago Cubs Logo
Various undergarments (none of which are Navy blue!)

Granted, I look more prepared for the gym than I do the bookstore, but that’s no excuse for Literary Profiling. But that’s exactly what happens when I walk into a book store. They see me walking through the new releases and tell me, very politely, that they have some great new books in the Sports section in back.

It’s almost like they don’t want the smart-looking people to see me browsing the books up front. Apparently, they think I’m some kind of smart-person scarecrow.

“Oh look, the Neanderthal wanna-be jock guy is looking at the jacket of that book, it must have pictures and small words! I won’t even bother picking it up.”

When I go into the Sci-Fi/Fantasy section, they assume I’ve gotten lost. Apparently, I don’t look like a guy who can appreciate a story about Elves and magic. And so:

“Excuse me Sir, can I help you find something? Are you looking for a gift?” Why must I be shopping for a gift? Why can’t I enjoy wizards and witches and magical swords? Huh?

Well, lately it’s been much, much worse for me. I’m not normally someone who reads the classics. I much prefer contemporary works to the oldies, but for the past few months, I’ve been on a Kurt Vonnegut kick. I’ve gone through almost his entire library of works, with only a few left to go.

Granted, it’s the beginning of Christmas shopping season now, so its not uncommon for the register person to ask I need a gift receipt, but this has been going on since this summer and they aren’t just asking if I need a gift receipt, they ASSUME I need one!

Here are some of the various things that have been said to me after plopping down one of Vonnegut’s books at the register:

“Oh, do you have a Vonnegut fan in your family?” Yes. Me.

“Are you buying this for a special someone?” Yes. Me.

“Oh, look, Siren’s of Titan, one of my favorites! You know it’s not your typical science fiction right?” Yes. I do.

“Breakfast of Champions! You know it’s not about the cereal!” [ha, ha, ha!] Really? I thought it was a recipe book!

Do I have the word DUH written on my forehead? Is it impossible for someone who dresses like I do to enjoy dark humor and scathing wit? And let’s face it folks, anyone who’s ever read Vonnegut knows that it’s not tough reading. A middle-school kid could get quite a bit of Vonnegut and would have no trouble reading him.

So, what’s with these elitist, book-nerds who don’t want to let me play in any reindeer games? I bet if I came in wearing a half-tucked shirt, dark-rimmed glasses and mismatched socks they’d be nice to me! Do I really have to nerd it up in order to have a peaceful shopping experience? Do I really need to dress the part so that I won’t be met with incredulity when I reach the cashier?

I’m a dork. I’m proud of the fact that I’m a dork, but I don’t have to dress like a dork do I? Aren’t the Cubs Crocs enough proof of my dorkdom? Do I really need to push the envelope farther than that in order to gain your respect bookstore people?

So, no. I don’t need help finding my way back to the Sports books section and I’m not interested in the new NASCAR picture book you recently got in for the Holidays. Yes, I’m actually buying this deep and intellectual book for me. Hooked on Phonics not only worked on me, but it created a miracle! Jesus hisownself, of water to wine and rising from the dead fame has nothing on athlete-wannabe guy who learned to enjoy books of substance!

I just want to do my book shopping in peace. I like being in bookstores. I like grabbing a cup of coffee and wandering aimlessly in my comfy clothes for an hour or two, just reading the jackets of various books and picking one or two to take home with me. I like being left alone while I wander through the Psychology section and the Writing section and the Classics section. It’s not a jungle. Navigation, even for a Neanderthal like me, isn’t that difficult. The HUGE signs hanging all over the place letting me know what section is where are extremely helpful and do a wonderful job all on their own.

So, in the future, book store people, just smile and assume I’m exactly where I want to be in your store. Assume that I’m buying these books for myself and that I’m a big boy who can understand all of the big words and big thoughts inside them. And please, just stop it with the Literary Profiling.