My coworkers have tried to sell me chocolate bars, girl-scout cookies and bags of mints. I’ve been asked to sponsor walk-a-thons, dance-a-thons and caber toss-a-thons…
(The last one was Typhoid Mildred. I think she was pulling my leg.)
This puts me in an awkward situation.
If a stranger shows up at my home asking for money to support homeless, unwed, crack addicted, bunny rabbits, I can say “thanks, but no,” shut the door and go back to my TV.
And I can do it relatively guilt free.
But when it’s my boss, Clark, asking me to donate to his daughter’s track team – not the same deal.
It feels like… extortion. Career limiting extortion.
The problem is that if you pay, you’re a mark.
That means parents from cubicles far and wide will swoop down on you with cookies and sponsor forms.
And if you don’t pay, you’re a bastard. A bastard who hates children.
But I have a solution. These kids need cash for school equipment, trips and recreation? Okay. We should all have a small amount of money deducted from our paycheques and put aside for this.
We could call it… I don’t know… Taxes.