Strategy trumps Neonshirts

My blood was boiling. I can't stand those people. It isn’t nice to dislike people you've never met, it’s not nice to think mean things, it’s inappropriate to wish ill…but I’ve never claimed to be that nice of a person. I was standing at the crosswalk near the Centre Commercial at Place D’Italie when I looked up and saw them. With their orange shirts. Their fliers. Their “cause.” Their clipboards. That’s what I get for encouraging philanthropy. These people are what happens when overly extroverted phone solicitors mate with ticks and fleas and give in to their insatiable need to thrust themselves into the lives of others in person. They stand in public places and talk to you about something in French. What cause are they fighting for? A worthy one, no doubt, but I have no idea. I’m told that they don’t want money, they just want to spread awareness. Of what? I assume that it varies based on what color neon shirt the overzealous young men and women are wearing but I don’t know. I don’t speak French [Abbey says I need to add the word "yet" here...so...yet].

I know what you’re thinking and the answer is no. The fact that I don’t understand a single syllable of their plea does absolutely nothing to dissuade them from standing in my way speaking gibberish. I step to the right. They are there. I step to the left. They are there. I shove them out of the way. They give me a hug. There are usually about 10-15 of them on a small stretch of sidewalk so if I manage to elude one, I still have 4-8 of the remaining unoccupied, flier pushing, neon-shirt-clad, overly-peppy, smiling, well-intentioned…did I say well-intentioned? I’m giving them too much credit – I’ve never understood a word any of these people have shouted. For all I know they could be selling baby seal slippers, they could be petitioning on behalf of child labor, or they could just be trying to convince me that I should don a neon shirt and annoy people alongside them…maybe that is their entire cause…neon shirts and annoying innocent pedestrians.

Don’t be fooled by my simplistic portrayal of these clipboard-toating weenies. They have an answer for everything I try to do or say to avoid them. They meet my “I’m just a stupid tourist who doesn’t speak French” look (which, by the way, I have absolutely perfected) by replying “I…Speak…also…English…aussi” Caught you, frenchie, “aussi” is French, you don’t speak English, you are a liar, get out of my way. But they don’t get out of my way, they keep doing to English what I do French except I only do so when forces beyond my control necessitate my entering into French dialogue with a stranger…or my wife is refusing to speak to me in English to “help” me “learn.” They meet an aggressive look by getting even cheerier – maybe they want me to strike them. This could be another purpose of their gathering – if I strike someone in America, odds are I will end up paying them a healthy sum of money (that’s what student loans are for, right?). Maybe it’s the same here. If you ignore them they get louder, if you zig and zag they chase you down. Your only hope of avoiding them is to run inside the nearest building and pray to whatever you believe in that the neonshirts will go away. That was your only hope. Until I figured it out.

As noted in a previous post there is an overabundance of pedestrians in Paris – pedestrians are literally everywhere. Did I say pedestrians? Until today they were pedestrians. Henceforth they shall be known as “sacrifices to the neonshirts.” I stood there at the crosswalk and realized that there were more pedestrians than neonshirts. If I could maneuver through the upcoming block in a manner that would create a series of situations in which there were at least one sacrifice between myself and the neonshirt, the neonshirt would pounce upon the closer prey. Like every single one of my brainstorms ever, this worked to perfection. The sacrifices had no idea that I was walking right behind them to their immediate back/left and that I had made eye contact with a neonshirt (this is neonshirtese for “ooh! Ooh! Bother me!!”). As the neonshirt approached I swiftly moved to the sacrifice’s right side thus positioning this poor soul between myself and the neonshirt. The person was stopped and bothered.

Tommy – 1
Neonshirts – 0
Sacrifices to Neonshirts – -1

I then looked ahead to see that there were two neonshirts heading in my direction. I looked to my left – no one. I looked to my right – no one. I looked behind me…BAM woman and husband. I bent down to “tie my shoe” and in one swift motion I stood up, made eye contact with the two neonshirts, was passed by the woman on the right, and the man on the left. I had spatially divided the couple so as to necessitate the attention of both neonshirts and I giggled as I walked by the poor sacrifices.

Tommy – 3
Neonshirts – still 0
Sacrifices to Neonshirts – -3

It seemed as though all the other neonshirts were preoccupied with men and women I had just moments earlier traversed avenue D’Italie with. Our ranks were depleted. I was the lone survivor. Before I could breathe a sigh of relief a neonshirt appeared from around the corner, apparently acting as the last line of defense. I made eye contact. The “I’m lost” look didn’t work. The “I’m angry” looked failed as well. The outlook was bleak. From behind the redshirt appeared a beacon of hope – an oblivious sacrifice to the neonshirt. I looked unsuspecting victim at first puzzled and then elated. My eyes widened and I acted as though I was witnessing something truly spectacular just over the right shoulder of the approaching neonshirt. The neonshirt looked over his right shoulder. I leapt by his left shoulder as he cornered the poor sacrifice I had thrown to the neonshirts. Victory.

Final Count:
Tommy – 4
Neonshirts – 0
Sacrifices to Neonshirts – -4

Can I get a "booyah!"?

thanks for reading