Hubby offered to cook fajitas for dinner last night. I offered to pick up the necessary groceries. Work finished for the day, I went to the local major grocery chain for peppers, mushrooms, onions, wraps, and sour cream.
Standing in line at the checkout, not the self checkout, one with another person scanning bar codes and bagging my groceries (save that for another rant), I confess to eavesdropping on the conversation between the cashier and the older gentleman ahead of me.
C – “Would you like to donate to breast cancer?” Awkward pause.
OG – “Yeah, sure.”
C – “How much?”
OG – “Ummmm …”
C – “A dollar … two … five?”
OG (very quietly) – “A dollar.”
The transaction completes and the cashier begins scanning my grocery items. She takes my airmiles and membership card. The inevitable question.
C – “Would you like to donate to breast cancer?”
Me – “Do you issue a tax reciept?” Blank stare. “If I were to donate $20 to the Canadian Cancer Society, I would get a tax receipt. I’d be happy to donate $20 to Fight for the Cure. Will you give me a tax receipt.”
C – “We’re not a charity.”
Me – “Exactly. But (this company) gets a tax credit for donating MY money to Fight for the Cure. Why should I subsidize your employer’s tax break?”
C – “I don’t know nothing about that.”
Me – “I didn’t think you would. Its nothing personal, but you asked. I’m just explaining why I’m not donating to breast cancer, here.”
Lady in Line Behind Me – “And neither am I.”