I have what career counselors call a “limited skill set,” which means there are all sorts of jobs I’d be terrible at.
At the top of that long list is “salesman” and “fund-raiser.” I never needed a career expert to convince me of that. I’ve known it since childhood.
Growing up, it seemed as though every group I was a part of had some sort of fund-raising/sales project, and I was always awful at it. My first question was always, “OK. How many (whatevers) are we supposed to sell?”
Then, I’d go home and tell mom how many she had to buy.
One year, our Cub Scout group sold light bulbs, which is a great idea. Look around your house right now. I bet you need lightbulbs, and if some cute kid (I was a very cute kid) knocked on your door and happened to be selling lightbulbs, you wouldn’t need much convincing.
And yet I didn’t sell a single package of lightbulbs that year, unless, of course, you count those I sold to mom. We were set for lightbulbs in the Smith household for about 10 years.
So, as a fund-raiser, I am a miserable failure — with one exception. Not to brag, but I’m pretty sure I am an exceptional Salvation Army bell-ringer, perhaps the best ever.
I started volunteering as a bell-ringer for the Salvation Army’s annual Red Kettle campaign about a dozen years ago when I was living in Arizona.
My first assignment was in South Phoenix, the poorest, most crime-plagued part of the city, where you were never too sure if the people approaching your kettle were coming to make a deposit or a withdrawal.
Once I got of the initial fear/suspicion, I found that the poor folks of South Phoenix were every bit as generous — perhaps even more generous — than the rich folks of Scottsdale, where I also had a chance to ring the bell.
There are only two ways to account for this. I am a person of great, magnetic charm or, perhaps, there is something about that familiar red kettle that brings out the charitable nature in people. I’m really torn on that. I could go either way.
I think one of the things that allows me to succeed as a bell-ringer is that there is no sales pitch to memorize or inflict upon strangers. You just stand there, ring the bell, smile and say “Merry Christmas,” “Good afternoon” and “Thank you” when they drop money into the kettle.
Wednesday, I rang the bell at Kroger from noon until 2 p.m. It was the same old story.
Folks came by, dropped change or folded bills into the kettle and went on about their business. Some seemed almost embarrassed by the whole interaction, stuffing money into the kettle as if it was hot to the touch. Kids are different, though.
Each coin is deposited carefully, one at a time. Each bill is poked carefully through the slot. Kids take their time and savor the experience.
Of course, some folks walk right on past, taking care not to make eye contact. If you make eye contact, you either have to donate or explain yourself.
For the latter group, it’s “Sorry, I don’t have any cash,” or “I just put money in the kettle at Walmart.”
As an veteran bell-ringer, I’m ready for that.
“That’s all right,” I always say. “We’ll be here all month.”
Then there are times when there is a lull, and you find yourself alone, which creates the great Bell-Ringer Philosophical Question: “If a bell-ringer is at a store and there is no one there to hear, do you keep ringing the bell anyway?”
My answer is yes. The bell-ringing should never be interrupted. Otherwise, you’re just some grinning idiot standing around in a red apron and Santa hat, the sort of character police notice. (“All right, fella, you need to be moving along now.”)
The bell lends a measure of dignity to your appearance. So keep ringing the bell. You never know who’s watching.
Since I worked only one shift Wednesday, I have no idea how much money I collected. I suspect, given my winning personality, it was a great deal of money, however.
So, I expect to volunteer again, this year and in the years to come.
I may be a failure in light-bulb sales community, but I’m a rock star when it comes to bell-ringing.
Who knows, maybe you are, too.
There’s one way to find out: Give Major Alan Phillips a call at 327-5137 and volunteer.
Tell him Slim sent ya. He’ll be impressed, I bet. I know I would be.
Slim Smith is a columnist and feature writer for The Dispatch. His email address is [email protected].
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