On No

This guy started talking to me at a bar tonight. It was clear after a few minutes that the boy was not too bright, but then he chanted a few magic words: "I used to be a political activist."

"Oh?" I said. "What did you do?"

"I led petition drives," he said. "I'd go out and try to get signatures for petitions on ballot measures. They pay you per signature."

Oh. He was one of those bastards.

As I was leaving the bar, he said, "Is it okay if I call you sometime?"

It was as if he'd said, "Would you like to sign this petition in support of Indian gaming casinos?"

It was as if he'd said, "I locked my wallet in my car. Do you have two dollars to help me get on BART?"

I looked down, pretending to concentrate on putting on my gloves. Just say no, goddammit. Just say no.

"Yeah, uh, I don't think so," I said, feeling like a rotten piece of crap.

Dumbo gazed at me, stunned. "Okay," he shrugged, and walked away.

Take that, all you damn petitioners and panhandlers.