'Tis the season to feel guilty and cheap.

Anyone that dares to venture into the retail world has, at some point, encountered somebody asking for donations. Year 'round, though especially during this time of year, stores have trained their cashiers to champion a relief fund for some kind of evil: hunger, cancer, poverty, etc. Carefully and masterfully trained, they know how to execute the question in a way that makes you feel like you just ran over some kid's puppy if you dare to say no. And I do not have the ability to say no.


Guilt-inciting cashier: "Would you care to donate a dollar to the Starving Children Living With Leukemia fund? It's only a dollar."


Me: "Uh...the...SC...LWL? Only a dollar?"


Guilt-inciting cashier: "That's right! The SCLWL! It's only a dollar, sir."


Me: "...Only a dollar...um...sure, go ahead."


Guilt-inciting cashier: "Wonderful! Also, would you like to donate ten dollars to the Battered Women And Lonely Abandoned Toy shelter?"


Me: "I don't know, I'm kind of broke. I don't have a job. Ten dollars might be too much."


Guilt-inciting cashier: "Oh. I see, sir. I guess the women whose husbands abused them could probably go without food another night. And the toys will continue to look sad and lonely and make you want to cry. I'll just ring up your video games that you obviously need to survive and finish your transaction."


Me: "Ugh, fine. I'll donate the ten dollars."


Guilt-inciting cashier: "WONDERFUL! You're doing a great thing. Also, the man behind you needs a kidney and it seems you're a match, would you care to donate one of your vital organs today?"


They're tricky. A few days ago, I went with a good friend of mine to the pet store because my hamsters needed a couple things. As the guy was ringing up my purchase, he casually pointed to the piece of paper taped to the front of the register and asked if I'd like to donate money to help find homes for rescued animals. As I glanced at the paper, I saw the donation amounts they were accepting.


$50: I was feeling pretty good. Fifty bucks is a lot of money, I could have easily said no to that.


$30: Alright, thirty is still too much to donate, I don't think he'd judge me too much if I declined.


$10: Panic set in. These amounts are getting a whole lot smaller the farther I go down the list. I need to hurry and answer without looking like I'm having some kind of serious inner struggle.


$5: At this point, I saw through their game. Five dollars is too small for me to say no to without seeming like a total dick.


$1: Damn it. Fuck you, Petsmart.


I donated the dollar. I couldn't say no. That was their plan all along. I don't want to seem so cheap that I can't part with a dollar; the problem is that it turns into $10-$15 a week, and since my bank account is hovering right above the double digits, that's a pretty sizable portion of my savings. 


Christmas makes it even worse. The bell ringers outside almost every store look so jolly, and the fact that they insist on saying hello forces me to make eye contact with them.To make matters worse, the looks on their faces when they realize I won't be donating anything is nothing short of disappointment and disgust. I end up hurriedly emptying the contents of my pocket into the bucket, in hopes that somebody, somewhere, might find use for fifty cents and my shopping list.


The bottom line behind my inability to say no in these kinds of situations is the result of how much I hate being disliked. Donating is my replacement for explaining why I'm unable to donate; parting with one of my last dollars is easier than telling the cashier, or bell ringer, that I'm unable to part with it. What if they don't believe me? What if, as I walk away, a homeless family walks by and I hear their child say, "Why does the mean man want us to starve, Papa?"


Papa wouldn't have an answer. Papa wouldn't know why the mean man wants them to starve. He'd just shake his head and try to reassure his son that they'll find a way to eat, and that everything will be okay. And then my black heart will burst forth from my chest and return to its rightful place in the 9th circle of Hell.


And that's why I donate.