Mary Hanna column: For a good cause

Solicitors will always be with us.

And by solicitors, I don't mean British lawyers or ladies of the evening. I mean other people who ask strangers for money, sometimes in exchange for goods, and sometimes in exchange for tax write-offs.

In hard times, solicitors get a little bolder. I encountered two this week who impressed me with their determination, if not their people skills.

I was on my way into Walgreens when I spied a woman in a white uniform sitting at a table with a can and some laminated materials. I recognized a sob story waiting to happen, so I breezed by, ready to throw an "I'll stop on my way out" over my shoulder if she spoke to me. She did not.

On my way out, as I had silently promised, I stopped.

"Tell me your story," I said.

She talked about single mothers, the homeless and the hungry. She showed me an official-looking letter (laminated) that certified her group — I didn't catch the name — as a legitimate charity.

Before she could get too wound up, I put a few dollars in the can.

"I used to be a single mother," I said, smiling.

If only she had stopped talking or merely said "Thank you," I might have felt good about it.

But no, she had to tell me that she was on private property and that they had called the police, but because she was an approved charity, they couldn't make her leave.

"Oh, well, good for you,"

I know just how Walgreens felt. Long-time readers will recall that I have a thing about strangers standing on my porch asking me for money.

I don't believe I'm alone in the belief that it's intrusive, awkward and sometimes scary. Unless you're a Girl Scout pushing overpriced cookies, don't knock on my door. If you are a Girl Scout, I'll take two boxes of Thin Mints.

Alas, I am cursed with a front door that has a big old window in it, and it's hard to pretend I'm not home after the stranger has already made eye contact.

So the other day when a woman knocked on the door and interrupted the episode of "Designed to Sell" that Corky and I were watching, I was bummed. I could see she had an earnest expression and a clipboard, a sure sign that I was going to be hounded for a donation.

I reluctantly opened the door a crack, keeping Corky from bolting out the door to assault the visitor with her famous glad-to-meet-ya tongue bath.

"How are you today, ma'am?" said my visitor, stepping back and eying the dog.

Not waiting for my answer, she said, "If I talk fast, will you promise not to sic your dog on me?"

Well, since she put it that way, I listened to her prepared speech about losing her apartment, having kids to feed, and wanting to go to college. I cut to the chase.

"Are you selling magazines?" I asked.

"Well, yes," she admitted, and told me I had hundreds to choose from.

"I'm sorry, I don't buy anything at the door since I got burned by a scam," I said, and immediately regretted it.

"Who did that?" she asked, bristling. "Was it one of our competitors?"

I was not about to go into the fact that someone with the same story got money from me for a magazine that never arrived, and on top of that, stole my umbrella. Not to mention the one who talked Keeper into a five-year subscription to I Love Cats, which he pretended was a Christmas gift from Mr. Bobo.

I answered my interrogator with a one-syllable grunt and started to close the door.

"Wait!" she said. "Can I trouble you for something to drink?"

I nodded and closed the door, quietly turning the lock before going to the kitchen for a glass of water. (Hey, I'm not stupid.)

I came back to the door with some ice water, which the supposedly homeless mother of three refused.

"I hope you don't take it personally," she said, "but I don't drink tap water."

Suddenly, I felt a whole lot better about not ordering Field & Stream.

Write to Mary at P.O. Box 7093, San Carlos, CA 94070 or mary@maryhanna.net.