Neurotica Page 6

It was 6 o'clock in the morning, when I was awakened by a call from the Prime Minister. He asked me to come to London right away, but on the way over I was supposed to go door to door, collecting funds for new government programs. So off I went - hastily dressed, barely awake, hardly thinking, hungry, but full of a sense of duty.

  Several hours later, after visiting at least one hundred homes, I realised the difficulty of my situation. Why hadn't it occurred to me earlier? I felt like a fool. What was I doing, going door to door at such an early hour? Worst yet, how could I be sure that it was actually the Prime Minister who had called me? I began to suspect I'd fallen victim to someone's idea of a practical joke. But on the bright side, I had collected just over one thousand pounds, so who got the last laugh?

  I was considering taking the money and flying to some place exotic, when I saw someone far up the street, running towards me. I immediately felt guilty. Did I really think I could keep the money? Did I really think he'd let me away with it? Of course not! But how did he know? How did he know where to find me, let alone the intentions I had adopted?

  Soon he was standing before me - the Prime Minister, in his shabby blue housecoat, brown dress socks and matching penny loafers. He was gasping for air, sweating profusely, and puffing on a large cigar. No doubt, he'd been running for quite some time.

  “How are you doing?” he asked, expecting me to be professional, even under such strange, almost impossible circumstances.

  “I've collected just over one thousand pounds,” I was sure to add emphasis, “for the government programs.”

  “Yes, of course,” the Prime Minister laughed, shaking my hand, “the government programs. And I've collected quite a bit myself.”

  Clenching the cigar firmly in his teeth, he fumbled through the pockets of his housecoat and pulled out two crumpled wads of banknotes, amounting to no more than a hundred pounds.

  “And I got this cigar!” he was quick to add, posing with it.

  Needless to say, my initial impression of the Prime Minister was not strong. I wondered if his government programs would be any better; one could only hope so. Regardless, my sense of duty was definitely becoming a thing of the past. The Prime Minister, of course, seemed oblivious to the look of disappointment and frustration I had developed. Rubbing his chin, puffing on his cigar, he gazed skyward, apparently caught up in his own thoughts.

  “You know,” he waved his cigar at me, pacing back and forth, “your technique is much better than mine, on the account that you've collected a lot more money than me - almost ten times more! You've definitely caught my interest, young man. I'm glad I called and got you out of bed.”

  “Isn't London a long way off?” it suddenly occurred to me, wanting to get this business over with as soon as possible. “We should probably catch a plane, or something.”

  “No need,” the Prime Minister shook his head. “You're doing so well. Let's see how much more we can collect, while they're still willing to give!”

  Reluctantly, I approached the next door. The Prime Minister paced by the curb, smoking his cigar. I rang the doorbell. Almost immediately, I heard a heavy-set person coming to answer. The door jerked opened. A large, bearded, barefoot man in a black T-shirt and blue jeans stood before me.

  “Yes,” he said gruffly.

  His size and intimidating tone caught me off-guard. I almost forgot what I was going to say.

  “I'm collecting money this morning,” I chirped, “money to help fund new government programs. Are you interested in donating a few pounds?”

  “New government programs, eh?” he leaned against the door frame, looking me up and down.

  I knew immediately, under his scrutiny, that he wasn't going to give me a single penny. I got the impression he thought I was pulling his leg - and I had disturbed him at such an early hour! I wanted to apologise and turn away, but I was rooted there, unable to look him in the eye. I had never felt so uncomfortable. I waited for him to send me on my way, or worse, accuse me of running a scam. However, I soon realised that I was not the object of his scrutiny after all. He was leaning forward, looking at something behind me. Instinctively, I turned around. The Prime Minister was waving at us from the road - puffing his cigar, tightening the belt of his housecoat.

  “Well then,” the man fumbled through his pockets, “here's a fiver.”

  With the government coffers now five pounds richer, the Prime Minister and I were off to the next house.

  “I want to observe your technique up close, this time,” he followed closely behind me, as I approached the door; “I find it fascinating!”

  “It's simple,” I prepared to knock. “I just politely ask for the money.”

  “Wow,” he shook his head. “Who'd have known it would be this easy? And the guys told me this idea would never fly!”

  I knocked on the door a few times, before a frizzy-haired woman appeared in a flowery dress. She seemed very suspicious, refusing to open the door all the way. Seeing the Prime Minister behind me, she automatically assumed I was with the government.

  “What is it?” she asked, giving me a dirty look.

  “I'm collecting funds for new government programs,” I spoke up, trying to remain friendly and enthusiastic. “Are you interested in making a donation?”

  “No, absolutely not!” she screeched. “I don't approve of your organisation, or your collection methods! Don't try to pull the wool over my eyes. I hear all about your government on the news, and I know better than to get myself involved with something like that. Now beat it - both of you!”

  The door slammed shut. The Prime Minister and I left quietly, almost speechless, somewhat embarrassed by the incident. We moved on to the next house, hoping for better luck; there was little else we could do. At the pathway leading up to the front door, I stopped and turned to the Prime Minister, trying to be polite about it.

  “Maybe you shouldn't be standing right behind me when I knock.”

  “You're probably right,” he nodded. “I'll wait by the curb.”

  I approached the front door, feeling much more confident, now that the Prime Minister wasn't breathing down my neck. He seated himself comfortably by the road, pulled his housecoat over his legs, and puffed his cigar in silence. I knocked a few times, before hearing a voice slowly approaching the door, begging my patience. The door opened rather hesitantly, and an old man greeted me with a smile.

  “Can I help you, young fella?”

  “Good morning,” I beamed, glad to encounter someone in good spirits, “I'm collecting money for new government programs. Would you care to donate anything?”

  “Weren't you just here?” the old man called out, looking towards the Prime Minister, still seated on the curb.

  But the Prime Minister did not answer, letting on he was admiring the houses across the way. I was confused, and embarrassed, to say the least. I should have known that, judging by his attire, the Prime Minister was lacking in organisational skills. Otherwise, we would not have bothered this old man twice in one morning.

  “Your friend was already here!” the old man pointed towards the Prime Minister. “Must have been here ... oh ... about an hour ago.”

  “Sorry to inconvenience you,” I apologised quickly, but the old man wouldn't let me off that easy.

  “It's like I said before,” he roared, “I'd be willing to donate something, if only I had a proper pension! And let me tell you, I worked my fingers to the bone for years! Now you have the nerve to come here and ...”

  Suddenly, the Prime Minister grabbed my arm and pulled me away.

  “Let's press on,” he directed me towards the next house.

  “Have a nice day!” I called out to the old man, still lecturing about his pension from the front porch.

  The Prime Minister dragged me around a corner.

  “That man said you already visited him,” I ventured, somewhat upset that the mistake was made at my expense.

  “Yes, sorry!” the Prime Minister smiled, straightening my collar. �
��I wanted to see if you could get anything out of him!”

  As you can imagine, with the Prime Minister's busy schedule, there was no time for my grievances - or anyone else's, for that matter. He was soon using his effectiveness as a diplomat to get me up to the next door, or maybe it was just the fact that his brown penny loafers had better traction than my black dress shoes; when he pushed me from behind, I slid along quite nicely. Reluctantly, I knocked twice and almost immediately heard young feet racing to answer.

  “Hi there,” I greeted the young girl, dressed as though ready for school, “I'm here with the Prime Minister and we're collecting money for new government programs. Is your mum or dad home?”

  “Mum, dad,” the girl cried towards the kitchen, “some guy's at the door with the Prime Minister.”

  “Ask them what they want,” her father hollered back.

  “He wants to know what you want.”

  “Tell your dad we're collecting money for new government programs,” I smiled patiently.

  “They're collecting money,” the girl cried out again, “for new government programs.”

  “Who is it at this hour?” her mother came into the kitchen, getting ready for work.

  “It's some guy with the Prime Minister,” her father set down the paper. “They're collecting money. Have you seen my wallet?”

  “You're actually going to give them something?”

  “Sure why not,” he searched around the kitchen, finally finding his wallet. “It's not easy going door to door, especially these days. Times are tough.”

  The little girl, leaving the Prime Minister and me waiting at the door, ran back into the kitchen.

  “You give this to the man, honey,” her father gave her a five pound note, returning to his seat.

  The little girl, overjoyed, full of purpose, raced back to us.

  “That was stupid!” her mother reprimanded her father, too busy with her briefcase to bother seeing who was at the door. “How do you know it’s really the Prime Minister?”

  Her father paused for a moment, slid his chair over and peered down the hallway towards the front door. He saw the Prime Minister in his housecoat and brown penny loafers, puffing his cigar, standing alongside me, and his little girl presenting us with the five pound note.

  “It’s him all right,” he turned back to his paper.

  “Here you go,” the little girl handed me the five pounds.

  “Thank you,” I smiled, “have a good day at school! Bye now!”

  “What a lovely family,” the Prime Minister examined what little remained of his cigar, as we walked away. “It's good to know that people can still afford to have children.”

  Unfortunately, that was the last successful canvassing experience we had. It proved to be a bad time for us; everyone was heading to work - those who had jobs. The Prime Minister became frustrated, his cigar finished long ago. Some people saw us coming up the street, no doubt tipped off by neighbours we had visited, and immediately turned off all the lights, pulled the curtains, and locked the doors. Yes, the Prime Minister just wasn't a popular fellow to share a morning walk with. I actually found myself feeling sorry for him. He looked so defeated, in his shabby blue housecoat and clashing penny loafers. His brown socks only added to the pathos. He insisted that we head into a cafe for a late lunch. Although he previously showed me a large wad of banknotes, he now claimed to have no money whatsoever, so I had to spring for the bill; but it was canvass money anyway.

  The Prime Minister quite suddenly decided to head back to London, having had more than enough excitement for one day. He hailed a cab and took the money I had collected.

  “Take me to London,” he leapt into the back seat of the cab.

  “London?” the driver was shocked. “You got money?”

  “I do now!” he roared.

  The cab sped off into the distance. I was left with no money to get myself home. Walking all the way, I arrived back at my flat just past dinner time. Being somewhat tired, to say the least, I decided to go straight to bed. But this time I made sure my telephone was turned off.

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