Oh go away. I waste enough money on my own family. (Pic: Unicef.org)
It’s 1974. I’m standing at a stranger’s door with my sister (who is trying hard to get rid of me) and a few tag-alongs we picked up on our trick-or-treating route in Suburbia, USA.
Not a parent is in sight along the very dark street filled with people hiding their identities…God bless the dangerous 70s. The door before us swings open and we’re greeted with syrupy faux-fear. (It’s Oct. 31 after dusk, lady, what on earth did you think this was going to be? A meter reading?)
We kids all take a collective breath and say, “Trick or treat!”
Well, except for this Weenie (guilty as charged), who is sickeningly obedient and says, as directed by teachers earlier in the day: “Trick or treat for Unicef!”
As we walk away, my sister hisses at me, “You should never ask for money! They’re going to think you’re keeping it for yourself!” I notice, however, that there had been some whiff of relief rising from her hot, sweaty costume as she held out her own orange Unicef box. I know that she’s thinking at least she didn’t have to say it.
Ah, memories. Well guess what, children of the globe: the humiliation is back! With a box decorating contest to boot — see linkey.
I do get that Unicef is a long-standing organization and that (as far as I can tell) they really do mean well. But I’m still gonna laugh behind my hand when trick-or-treaters come to my door this year, poking one another until SOMEBODY says the humiliating Unicef bit.
I can’t help it. They’re gonna EARN that nickel, dammit. Why in the 70s, a nickel could buy a regional hotel chain and we had to do humiliating things plus take out the garbage, walk to school and…hey. Did you just fall asleep??? I tell ya. No freaking respect nowadays. GET OFF MY LAWN.