You need to know a few things. The transit system we were on does not attract the kind of people who walk up and down the aisle selling things, whether it’s tube socks, or themselves. The people who stand in the middle of the aisle with a sign asking for money, or those who walk up and down asking for money, don’t ride this rail either.  But, this man’s behavior reminded me of exactly those kinds of behavior and made me not want to sign anything of his, ever.

 I didn’t mean to, I swear I had no forethought, but when he looked right at me I shook my head no–which immediately made me think, “Oh no,”  sure I had now invited him to approach me. Of course he was right on it—“So miss. I see you shaking your head no. What’s your  trouble?”

 What choice did I have but to participate in this bit of morning commuter theater?  I said, “I think you’re doing this wrong. You’re basically assaulting strangers who are stuck here with you and didn’t chose to hear what you had to say.”

 “I’m just trying something new,” he said. “I want to make a change.”

 I couldn’t help myself. Just like the head shake, a laugh burbled out of me, uncontrollably.  I hate the word guffaw, but…that’s pretty much what I did:  Guffaw, guffaw.

 I said, “But no one knows you. We have no idea what you stand for. What does “make a change mean?”  You keep using a slogan to tell us you are not a politician, don’t you see how that’s funny/not funny? We don’t know you and didn’t chose to hear you. I’d take a flyer or other literature you have on your platform, your position on things, but accosting us on the train is not a good idea.

 While I was saying these very reasonable, logical things he kept loudly interjecting, “I’m a man who fixes things. You want change, sign this petition. If you don’t want to hear it. Don’t listen.”

 I said, “What choice have you given us,” but of course, he had walked away.

 Out of the 90 or so people who shared this same experience, the vast majority continued to pretend nothing was happening, keeping their expressions blank and their thumbs on their cell phones busy.  A few muttered agreement with me, and had looked at me encouragingly during my own rant.  One man out of the 90 had signed the petition. When the electrician-not-a-politician came back to him, and said, “Buddy, you ripped me off. I need your e-amil and phone number.”  Buddy said, “I don’t want to give you my e-mail address and phone number.”

I think that means I won.