Chug not, lest ye be Chugged

A new word has entered the vernacular.,according to the Urban Dictionary:

Chugger (n) -- charity mugger. One of those people who stands in the street with a big brightly-coloured bib and quite possibly a clipboard soliticing donations to the Feline Liberation Army or some other worthy cause.

Chuggers are rampant here in New York, as they were in San Francisco. Jittery, grinning, cultish in their exuberance on the indifferent city sidewalks. They hold their clipboards at their sides, and ask passers-by if they might stop and talk about their cause. One group is especially prominent, and I have heard their trademark question so often that it shakes me:

“Do you have a minute for the environment?”

Now, of course I have a minute for the environment. Every one of us needs to have oodles of minutes for the environment, veritable hours of minutes, in this its time of urgent need. But I don’t have this minute, and I don’t want to feel like I’m a tree-hater simply because I don’t want to stop on the sidewalk. I don’t hate on Mama Naitch, Chugger, I simply have somewhere to be. (I am aware that this is fueled by my own Catholic guilt.) It’s gotten to the Pavlovian point—the moment I see someone with a clipboard, I instinctively cross to the other side of the street (and drool, though that's probably unrelated).

It’s as if telemarketers have taken to the streets, albeit for noble purposes, and become sidewalk trolls—demanding eco-moment of your time before you may pass. The thing is: I admire their commitment to the cause. It’s impressive to see someone welcome so much rejection--so many fake cell phone conversations-- in the name of what they believe. It’s just that I would rather they call or visit, since in those cases I could screen or pretend I’m not home. On the street, it’s just awkward.

I am trying to do my part for the enivironment. In fact, I just got an eco-calendar. It tells me a different thing every day that I can do to help the environment. So far the only suggestion I’ve seen is to take all of my extra pencils and glue them together to make a coaster. Not having a surfeit of No. 2’s around the house, this one isn’t for me—and I’m not entirely sure the impact it would have on Mother Gaia. But I’m out there, figuring it out, trying to do my part.

Some day soon I will once again smile brightly in the direction of someone who doesn’t know my name. I will politely demur when they ask for a moment of my time. And now, I know what to call them: chugger.