CORRECTION:
This column in Wednesday’s Emerald, (“I blame the charities,” ODE April 11) incorrectly identifies The Fund for Public Interest. The column incorrectly refers to this group as the Oregon Students Public Interest Research Group.
The Emerald regrets the error.
I’ve become a liar – what I believe to be a very convincing, perfectly prepared liar, but a liar nonetheless. And, I blame this newly achieved trait on the environment; I blame trees, and flowers, and little furry creatures. Actually, that’s a lie too, because I don’t blame them at all, I just blame OSPIRG.
For those who do not know, OSPIRG stands for the Oregon Student Public Interest Research Group. Or, more appropriately, they are the people who stand on the corners by the bookstore, wearing red jackets, and finding ways to gain your eye contact. Once this eye contact is achieved, they quickly hit you with the question: “Do you care about the environment?”
It is this very question that has begun my string of lies. My response has almost become innate. I smile nervously, tell them that I do in fact care about the environment, then very carefully break eye contact, point my finger in whichever direction I can manage, sigh and say, “I’m sorry, but I’m in a really big hurry.” I’m obviously not in a hurry, because at this point I’m generally heading in the direction of Starbucks. I just don’t feel like talking; I don’t like confrontation; and I would much rather continue my walk to get coffee and listen to my music.
Unfortunately, for those in the student population who have yet to achieve such well-developed lying skills, they are left with few opportunities for escape. There is always the option of crossing to the other side of the street. However, lately I think the red jackets may have caught onto my plan of avoidance. They appear to combat this strategy by double teaming both sides of the street with their posse, which leaves you with two options: You either stop and hear what they have to say or you run. While I would suggest the latter, I also think if everyone started doing that, chaos would soon follow, and no one wants to be the cause of chaos. So basically, you have to walk by them and hope they are too consumed with talking to someone else that they miss you. It is certainly a far-too-stressful situation for a morning walk to class. However, my beef is not solely reserved for OSPIRG.
I’m going to go out on a limb here and heartlessly berate every charity out there that wants my money. This hatred generally stems from my complete dependence on my parents for financial means, meaning that these charities are not taking my money, but instead are taking the money my parents donated to me. Yes, I find myself to be a strong viable cause for donations. And I think that’s wholly legitimate. How can I care about the environment if I’m too hungry to even walk around in it? Answer me that, charities who want my money! Maybe I should stand on a corner asking that question.
Regardless, I think this is a growing problem in our society. Everywhere you go, everyone is asking you if you’re willing to donate a dollar to buy a paper-head that represents a children’s charity, or a shamrock for leprosy. While all these causes are probably very important and need all the funding they can get, is it really necessary for a donation to be added to the cost of your groceries, or the price of a movie ticket? By having just a dollar added to everything you buy, the amount seems so small you can’t help but feel guilty for not paying up, but why should we feel so obligated to do so?
At my past university, we used to have people wander the streets with clip boards asking students to donate five dollars a week to help feed a child. I always thought this was a very bizarre cause to walk around a college campus asking for help with. Don’t college students spend a considerable amount of time and energy to assure they will not have to pay money every month to feed a small child? Everything has become so detached, all we need to know is that it’s a cause that needs help, and thus needs our money.
Call me old-fashioned, but I like to see where my money goes. A few summers ago my friend and I frequented a pizza place in Portland. Every time we sat outside, we were always graced by the presence of Brock. Brock was a man who reeked of old beer, and told tales of when he used to work at a pizza restaurant. While speaking, his eyes continued to roll into the back of his head, and once he finished spurting off stories he always asked for a few bucks. The nice thing about Brock was you always knew where your money was going. You were helping to keep this man good and drunk so he could continue to walk around recounting tales of his glory days. And just knowing that was nice.
Maybe all this story displays is that I’m more sympathetic toward drunks than nature. I’m really not sure. All I know is that I don’t like lying, and I want to stop.
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CORRECTION
A column in Wednesday’s Emerald, (“I blame the charities,” ODE April 11) incorrectly identified The Fund for Public Interest. The column incorrectly referred to this group as the Oregon Students Public Interest Research Group.
The Emerald regrets the error.