Check-out Charities

One day last week, on what felt like my 57th visit to my local supermarket, the cashier grinned as she rang up my order.

“Wow,” she said. “Thirty dollars exactly. I can’t ask you to round up.”

Well she could ask. But my answer would be the same as always: No.

Frankly, I’m tired of being asked if I want round up to the nearest dollar every time I make a purchase.

It happens at grocery stores, department stores and fast food joints. Everywhere you turn, someone’s got their hand out.

I like to think I’m charitable. But I like to pick my own charities.

Right before Christmas when my basket was full of rich foods, a cheerful cashier asked me if I wanted to round up the food bank. I hesitated. The food bank does remarkable work feeding the poorest of the poor in Hampton Roads. It seemed churlish not to donate.

I sighed. I glanced around and saw the man behind me, staring. I was embarrassed. I didn’t even look to my total to see what rounding up would mean.

“No,” I replied.

Not, “I’m so sorry” or “I gave at the office” just NO.

I always say no to check-out charities. No matter how worthy the beneficiary. No matter how many people are within earshot.

I don’t like the tactic. I want it to stop. And I’m not alone. According to a recent YouGov poll 40% of Americans resent what are technically called “point-of-sale fundraisers.” Only 12% of us are happy to be asked to round up. The rest don’t care.

Or haven’t thought about it.

You know how this works, right? The cashier has been instructed to ask loudly for a donation, which has the effect of shaming the shopper into giving. I mean, who wants to look like a miser to the rest of the schlumps waiting in line? Especially if your basket is full of wine or steak. Once one person has been goaded into giving, everyone else is more likely to follow suit. There's some kind of mass psychology at work here.

Lemmings. That’s what we are.

It works. It seems about 53 percent of shoppers donate when asked, which translated to about $749 million in 2022.

Would you like to give a dollar to fight juvenile diabetes? Would you like to round up to help starving puppies? Would you like to give a contribution to wipe out fibromyalgia?

No, I wouldn’t. I’m part of the Check-Out Charities Resistance.

The way I see it, I have my own favorite do-good organizations and I try to be generous to them. When I do donate I save my receipts for tax time.

So why should I help the CEOs of retail and grocery chains look like mighty philanthropists - you know, posing for the obligatory publicity photos with giant checks - when it’s OUR money they’re donating? (Except in cases where the retailer matches the contributions, of course.)

I'm not dissing the jars of change for the childrens’ hospital or an animal shelter at 7-Eleven or McDonald’s. Most of us welcome these as a way to get rid of coins. They're a genuine convenience. Besides, there's no pressure to drop in your nickels and dimes.

Check-out charities are something else. They pop up unexpectedly when the cashier rings your purchase and asks you if you want to fork over a buck to help help the homeless, save the whales or attack the disease du jour.

Sorry. My answer is no. Always.

It’s worth noting that I soon as I got home on the day I was solicited for The Foodbank of Southeastern Virginia I went online and made a donation to that wonderful charity.

While not huge, it was larger than the 37 cents I would have kicked in from my grocery bill.