Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

Open the front door and a group of Roma suddenly burst into song. Your troubadours will either be all female or all male, generally two adults and at least 2 children per group. The tired faces rotely work through some holiday song without a hint of pleasure.

It must be Christmas time in Romania.

The singers are trying to pressure you into paying for the uninvited entertainment, much like a violinist playing table-side at an upscale restaurant. Performers intentionally attempt to create the appearance of entitlement as if some unspoken social contract obligates you to pay for something you never asked for.

Street musicians play in public squares and parks across the world, often with some hat or basket set up to collect the donations of passersby. But that’s not what this is. Theses carolers aren’t singing in hopes you may voluntarily toss a coin their way. No, they rang your doorbell and are singing specifically to you to obtain money through your guilt.

It’s like riding the metro in many European cities where some street kid boards the car and breaks into song. If they sang from the heart and hoped for some patronage, it might be well enough. But, generally speaking, the subway singer will directly approach various passengers at the end of the melody to directly solicit funds.

For a long time, it was common to find hordes of dirty children attacking you outside of train stations or in city centers, attempting to appeal to your guilt and charitable nature with false claims about being hungry. They target anyone who looks like a sucker and sink their teeth into you like a pitbull on a steak.

Of course, I never pay out of coercion. Why should I give in to their will?

I have no desire to encourage them to continue such an existence. Even if they are being forced to beg by tyrannical parents or kidnappers, I feel no compulsion to enrich their masters. I recommend everyone approach the issue rationally and refuse handouts that promulgate an abusive environment.

You may think this is always the poor and downtrodden left with no choice but to beg for food money without the appearance of panhandling. If so, you’d be wrong. Even wealthy institutions like the church pry into your pocketbook in the guise of holiday cheer.

The ringing of the doorbell may not be gypsy minstrels.

Instead, it could very well be a couple of well dressed Romanian men in their 30s. They’re knocking on your door to collect money on behalf of Jesus himself. In fact, they’ll tell you it’s good luck for the new year to allow them to conduct a blessing right there at your doorstep.

All you need to do is give money to help enrich the church. In return, they’ll say a little prayer and splash you with drops of supposed holy water. Aren’t you lucky? A Christmas miracle has delivered salvation to your home! Rest assured that they do represent the blessed Lord. Who would lie about such a thing?

Good christians always need more money from the poorest and most gullible members of the flock.

In the United States, you get seasonal phone calls from the Police Widows’ Fund or the FireFighters’ Childrens Benefit. Sometimes these brave heroes die in the line of duty to protect you. You. Left behind are the helpless wives who have no means of income along with the traumatized children who suffer the pain of having lost a parent.

It’s up to you, you, to make the choice to soften their tragedy. You see, although the government pays reasonable salaries to these public safety officials such that they can afford new cars and trucks, decent homes, high definition televisions, frequent parties, and other niceties all on a single income, they are but humble civil servants who were unable to conduct financial planning necessary to care for their families in the event of accident.

Never mind that the government pays compensation to the family when a loss occurs. The facts are that every day hundreds of women and children are starving in the streets because murdering drug dealers and arsonist hoodlums have robbed our fine city of its’ best and brightest citizens, my friend.

Now, you can change all that, right now. You don’t have to be the one who allowed families to be ruined. What’ll it be, my friend? $50 to help the police man’s distraught wife? $100 to put food on the plates of the fireman’s toddlers? How much can you contribute to this worthy cause?

Meanwhile, in Romania, there’s recently been a new scam afoot.

While riding the train to Bucureşti, a very nice Italian couple asked if I knew what was the story behind the people with lambs around town. Having not seen such a thing, I couldn’t really answer. They told me what they had seen three or four different times in the centru and up on Poiana.

Apparently, folks on the streets of Braşov had been walking around with little lambs in their arms. They approach strangers, classically targeting those who look like tourists, the well-to-do, and the gullible. The pitch is that you can have good luck if you touch the lamb or, better yet, have your photograph taken with it.

There it was: the Lamb Scam. The grifter’s freshest iteration of social engineering in Romania.

You see, the lamb represents the new year and serves as symbolism for God. If you pay it some attention, then you’ll be lucky during the next ani and your wish-upon-a-star come true. Or, alternatively, the lord of heaven and earth will bless your life for the upcoming twelve months because you’re a true believer.

Whichever way opens your purse.

So, you get to pet the cute little lamb or have your picture taken holding the lamb. You get some sort of generic blessing laid upon you. And presto change-o, you’re sure to enjoy good fortune from the mysterious forces that govern the universe.

I had not personally encountered such a thing, but over the next days I did check with some friends around the country. It seems this custom is fairly new. Several people confirmed having seen it for the first time in December 2006.

But some people in Bucureşti have said it is about 2 years old, which leads me to believe it might have spread from the capital to other largish cities in Romania after meeting with some success.

On the train, about 20 minutes had passed since the pair told me the first information I’d heard about this scam, when what should providently happen? Yes, the compartment door opened and a Romanian man in his late 40s thrust a sleepy bundle of billowy white in front of my face.

Being a baa-aa-aad boy, I immediately began stroking the creature’s head and chin which it seemed to enjoy. The man’s eyes grew large with euro symbols as he anticipated an easy sale. Others though I had just committed myself to paying the guy for his good luck blessing.

Not I.

When I had satisfied myself, I thanked him and turned to talk to my fellow travelers. No one spoke a single word of Romaneşte and avoided all eye contact with the man, not wanting to tempt fate as I had. You can bet that after a moment of silence he concluded that I must not understand how things work.

He proceeded to carefully detail the arrangement whereby I was now obligated to pay. Afterall, the lamb had done its’ job of bestowing me with good fortune from on high. Thus, the bearer was entitled to compensation. Things became momentarily heated when he realized I was not hip to the program.

I steadfastly refused to pay and he talked about bad luck and offending God before realizing I’d had had him before he could had me. Quite displeased, he eventually wandered further down the train cars in search of easier prey. And we all laughed about the incident.

Then, on the very next night, while traveling from Piaţa Revoluţiei to Piaţa Universitaţii after midnight during Bucureşti’s celebration, I walked passed a little Roma girl holding another lamb who was trying her best to flag down victims over the noisy atmosphere. With very little prodding, my companion that night reached right out and started petting the lamb.

The girl immediately launched into her sales pitch about good luck from God during the new year and so forth, which we promptly ignored. Once the fun moment was over, we simply walked on and she called after us in a vain effort to collect money for services.

If you shove a dog, cat, rabbit, lamb, or other non-threatening animal into my face, I just might pet the little beast. You’re not going to play parlor games which con me into feeling I owe you money for superstitious pleasure.

Talk of the Almighty might garner you a buck from a fearful sinner. Whispers about the smiling sisters of fate might earn you coins from those inclined to believe in magic.

But don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes. I’m not the one.

Ain’t happenin’, Jack.

This entry was posted on Thursday, January 11th, 2007 at 9:58 pm and is filed under Living, Society, Travel Tips. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.