I can conjure up more than a little resentment at having to get past a Salvation Army bell-ringer on my way into and out of most stores I patronize this time of year. Someone opening a door for me with supercilious "God bless" manages to occupy my mind for some little while with unpleasant thoughts. Not "joyous, peace on Earth good will toward men" thoughts. And God save the store which refuses to let them beg.

So why does it bother me? What does that say about me? Why can't I just walk past them secure in the knowledge that they have their job and I have my interests, none of which is supporting a Christian charity?

I think it's two things. First, the intrusion into my consciousness, the repetitive begging, the nagging. One "no" should be enough. One should not have to say "no" 4 or 6 times a day to the same organization. If anyone else pestered me 6 times a day for 6 weeks there would be fireworks. And second I suspect there's some guilt at not feeding their kettle and getting a bit of warmth added to my "God bless you". I don't want to disappoint the person, who is working for a very minimal wage, after all. If I could give to that person, if they were asking for money for themselves directly, it would be easy. But their money has to be filtered through the organization.

I realize my resentment is irrational. It is, after all, still a relatively free society. They are free to beg, I'm free to turn 'em down. Everyone makes their choices. And yet it still tugs at me a bit.

In my area we have a United Good Way in order to prevent institutional begging at the personal level. I think the Salvation Army has opted out so they can conduct their own campaign.

Target has banned 'em and received the brunt of their hostility. After all, for the stores it's sort of like standing up to the Mafia. And I appreciate that. When deciding where to go, I'll pick Target every time if that's the sort of place I need to go.

Well, I feel better. Better able to stare down some poor bastard standing outside in a driving rain clanging a bell and pushing open doors in the futile hope I'll drop a dollar in his kettle. What am I, a man or a simpering weasel of a fellow, afraid of the scorn of that idiot.

I really would prefer not having an answer to that right away.

Arf