The worst job in the world. ..

Today I was walking around in Tsim Sha Tsui, on my way to Admiralty to my fvourite supermarket. The temparature was hovering around thirty, the relative humidity was in the ninetees, and some serious direct sunlight had begun to turn my natural pastyness into lobster.
Folks were, as they do in HK, walk/running down the street in a steady sweaty buzzing river of blank faces. I was one of the blank faces, earphones in, ipod playing something agressive to help me compete with the crowds when . . . . .I realised what the worst job in the world was.

Can you guess? . . .

being ignored and buffeted by the tide of business people and teenagers was a man dressed up as a large root vegetable. I think it was an onion, or turnip, it could have been a suede. His mission was to hand out leaflets promoting a new fresh food shop.

I was brought up short by the pathos of what I was seeing. He was truly a tragic figure. I can only imagine the physical torture he was enduring but each refusal, each time someone pointedly ignored his attampt to smile and give them a leaflet, it must have been a hammer-blow to what was left of his ego.

That was the closest an onion has come to making my cry. I hope he's got his feet up now, in an airconned room somewhere, sipping a wheatgrass and aloevera juice smoothy, listening to his favourite music. I respect you onion-man.