Guilty Pleasure

I'm constantly avoiding those cheery young people on the street who carry around clipboards, stopping folks to take a minute to "save the children", "save the trees", or "save the gays." 

Sometimes I walk in the street when I see them ahead of me; often I pretend I'm on a cell phone call.

Yesterday, a young woman caught me off-guard on Astor Place. She reached out her hand as if to shake mine and said, "I'd like to talk to you."

I responded, "Not now, sorry."

She followed me, asking, "Why not now?"

Without missing a beat, I said, "Because someone in my family just died."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she sheepishly replied, recoiling her hand and clipboard.

"Thanks for asking," I shot back weakly, continuing on my merry way to nowhere.

Yes, I felt guilty about projecting death onto an unsuspecting family member, but I didn't feel guilty about not saving something that day.