A cry for help
As I walk to and from the office in the city, I have to pass the front of Flinders Street (train) Station.
That place is a madhouse.
In the morning, there’s usually some kind of promotions staff on the pavement handing out free samples of new products such as face cream, or flavoured milk, or energy drinks.
At any time of day there’s usually someone holding a placard of some kind or a megaphone and protesting about something or other.
And in the afternoon…well, in the afternoon there is always at least three sets of people with clipboards ready to make eye-contact with the unwary, engage in discussion and attempt to sell, or interview, or solicit donations.
They are tenacious too, literally blocking your path to force eye-contact and/or conversation.
To get past that area each day unstopped, I have to steel myself, apply my grumpy face and walk with purpose. I’m a woman in a hurry goddammit, get outa my way.
I resent having to do that.
This morning, The Poolboy and I were waiting to cross at the lights, when we heard someone behind us saying, “Excuse me…hello…excuse me…hello.” And of course, we assumed it was one of the above-mentioned persons and ignored it. However, the voice continued, and something about the tone made me turn around to look. There was a blind man, tapping his cane, shouting his hello and excuse me into the ether as everyone around studiously ignored him.
The Poolboy moved towards him, just as another man also did, and the blind man said, “Excuse me, could you please just help me across the road?”
I felt like crap.
The marketing tactics of the Flinders Street loiterers have made us completely immune to normal requests for human interaction.
What could have been a discreet request of a passerby for assistance tp cross the road has now, by necessity, to become almost an hysterical shriek for help before anyone intervenes.
Unsolicited marketers should just bugger off. I’m sick of them.
