As they did last year, they’ve come twice in the last two days. They’re kids out running “a raise money for the ProChoice Abortion Factory NARAL” scam. The kids get a cut of anything they pull in, and they sell any info they get to Planned Parenthood or other death mills.
The NARAL Kids are pleasant and enthusiastic (I love the painting! I really admire the tree! Then they hand you the clipboard expecting you to sign in your enthusiasm to support their “work.”
I listen politely until their sign-up spiel slides into its lugubrious end and then I tell them,
“No, I don’t support what you’re doing or the people and causes that you represent. I think it’s evil for you to do this, and worse still because you are doing this for money.”
Here in Seattle’s Queen Anne, where smiles, nods, and prochoice signups for their scam are their usual rewards, they seem genuinely surprised and taken aback.
“You mean you’re not pro-choice?”
I assure them that I am not pro-choice. And then I say I once was, long long ago. It doesn’t matter. They shrug and bounce off to fresh fields and pastures new at my socialist next-door neighbors who give them money and cupcakes.
Yesterday evening, at night on the darkened porch, they came yet again. It was a young woman. I listened and then told her she was, and I quote, “EVIL.” She just shook her head and walked away to get on with her “mission” of going door to door bilking pro-choicers out of money.
I guess she forgot to leave the hobo chalk mark on my door that indicates “Satan!” because just now a boy old enough to be a man – but forever avoiding it – knocked with the same knock and announced himself as, and I quote, “Hello, I’m your friendly neighborhood feminist.” He pointed towards the pink watch cap he wore. He flashed me a fey smile and he could have even slipped in an insouciant twinkish wink. Man-boys in pink watch caps always make me suppress a shudder, but I manned up and listened. . . .