Irony Becomes Her

Wild Pitch

Last Saturday morning our phone rang. It was Aaron with the Best Friends Firefighters Ever Had (or something like that). He wanted a specific donation pledge to save firefighters' lives -- I'm all for that -- and he wasn't going to stop talking until I gave it to him.

His pitch was punctuated by charming maneuvers, including the following, which I am not making up: He wants to name his firstborn son after my street name. Many other equally lame phrases found their way into this conversation, but I cannot remember them now. Mostly they involved interpreting any friendly-sounding word as a commitment to lifelong self-sacrificing friendship with Aaron personally and with the organization he represented.

I gave him a pledge -- the lowest they "offer." Like I said, I have nothing against firefighters and quite a few good feelings toward them. In fact, I have no problem with donating money to funds that help them. But the words "invoice" and "deadline" seemed awfully serious for a charitable donation. In truth, I was going to be billed for the amount that I had "voluntarily" promised.

Now I've missed the deadline because I still haven't opened the invoice -- partly because I've been busy and partly because it might be the best way to get on their "don't bother calling" list. If guilt doesn't work, then their whole strategy is amiss. Like the "dead doors" of Monsters Inc., they might just have to give up or try a different tack with the person who broke her solemn, phone-mediated vow to sent them a $25 check within three days.

But I might just hand a twenty to the next firefighter I meet.

posted by Lynn @ 8:45 AM