CanvassSweeper

Walking the streets of Portland is like playing a life size game of minesweeper.

The ACLU. Green Peace. Red Cross. The ELF. Chances are, if an organization's name is an acrynom or the organization is attempting, in their opinion, to improve the world, they'll bother the unsuspecting pedestrian with "the systematic initiation of direct contact with a target group of individuals," or canvassing.

Over empathizing is not a character flaw I would list on my life resume; however, my empathy does rear its ugly head when it comes to Portland canvassers. So instead of passing by these canvassers and politely telling them to fuck off, I meander my way through Portland like a game of minesweeper.

This game takes a lot of skill, tact, and luck. Skill at dodging drone canvassers begins with early detection. Like a meerkat, I sense the presence of a predator long before they strike. Clip boards. I can see them two blocks out. Some canvassers have caught on and hide their propaganda, so I generally skip over any block that has an energetic, enthusiastic young person standing on the street corner. Old people don't canvass and young people don't hang out alone.

Overlooking a well disguised canvasser or turning a street corner only to find one dead ahead is the time to utilize Jedi mind tricks. Tactfully turn to your pedestrian pal and inform them in a loud voice, and with hand gestures, that you've taken them in the wrong direction and you must immediately cross the street or, better yet, turn back the way you came. Feigning directional impairment provides the illusion that you are dodging for a justifiable reason.

An ounce of luck doesn't hurt. Despite all training and skill, Lady Luck can create openings to avoid the awkward approach. Maybe another poor victim is harassed ahead of you. Perhaps the canvasser drops their clip board. Perchance a renegade bus steamrolls the canvasser.

Failure to avoid is inevitable. Your skill will not save you. Your tact is insufficient. Your luck will run out. The biggest fear is marooning on a street corner with one of these carnivores. Don't speak. Don't make eye contact. Don't move. They're like a T-rex.

More than likely you've been approached. More than likely you're not bothered by flippin' the bird and merrily going about your business. But for those with a conscience, I invite you to play CanvassSweeper.

xoxo,
ShavedGolf