My Stationary Walk

I am standing at my designated spot outside the railway station wearing my sash and holding my ‘tin’ (plastic cylindrical box) and roll of stickers. Today is my six monthly hour long stint of Cancer Research collection. It is 8.00 am and I have placed myself strategically so that I can be seen at a distance and have to be passed by all those who are going to the station. I am obliged to stand still in my position which is a rarity for me as I am always on the move. I cannot wave or shake the box nor should I approach or talk to people unless they speak to me. These are the rules. At the same time I want people to see me and feel kindly towards me and the cause, so I stand feeling rather pious but with a benign open expression and a smile at the ready.It is an interesting experience as I am at liberty to watch people in a way that, had I not had this ‘honourable’ task, would be considered odd or make myself and others uncomfortable. It’s a great excuse to people watch! My thoughts run to how I am being approached but ignored by these people. Though I cannot move it is they who are being put on the spot. I can see them glance at me, avoid my eyes and hurry by. Until anyone offers me anything I start to feel annoyed by my empty tin and their meanness. Will anyone stop at all? on you bastards, I think, you’ve all got jobs, you might need this money one day! Everyone should take a turn at this charity collecting – then they would know how it feels and be more generous! I put some money in from my own purse.I observe that the commuters are generally aged between 20 and 40, smartly groomed in preparation for their day of work and most often travelling alone, though sometimes in pairs. There are occasional schoolchildren singly or in groups. There is a pattern of people’s volume and speed of movement depending on the train times. Trains arrive every 15 minutes. Everyone streams by and naturally, when one is due, people who have cut it too fine are in a greater and greater hurry until that train has gone and the next early birds start to trickle past at a relaxed pace once more. I feel increasingly cold and wish I had worn gloves.Someone catches my eye and then walks right up to me, digging about in his trouser pockets for change and puts the money in the tin. I am genuinely so grateful and am all smiles! Then someone else does the same, a woman this time, fishing about awkwardly in her handbag for her purse. I realise they must be in a hurry and am so appreciative: Thank you so much! Would you like a sticker? No? Sometime this happens, no one gives and then there’s almost a queue! I have plenty of time to think so I contemplate this phenomenon and also try to calculate such things as the ratio of male to female givers, how much I estimate is in the box and how many givers to non givers: I have money weighing my container down I feel much more warmly towards my fellow man. Occasionally someone feels moved to speak about why the charity has a special relevance for them and we have a short but meaningful exchange. Sometimes people I don’t expect to stop do so, like a couple of young schoolgirls and I feel very heartened by this. I am never concerned about how much people give, it is the fact that they have bothered to stop that seems to matter.I notice that the time which, at first seemed to drag has seemed to speed up and my shift is finished. It is time to hand over my tin, sash and stickers to the safeguard of the next collector, Linda. I feel quite relieved. I become a normal commuter myself, buy my ticket, get on the train and slip into anonymity.