Why I don't want to be nominated for the Ice Bucket Challenge.

It finally happened. This evening, at twelve minutes past six – just when I’d begun to convince myself that the whole sorry affair had reached a point of critical mass and was about to implode like some sort of unsustainably enormous Red Giant – I was nominated for the ice bucket challenge.

The ice bucket challenge was supposed to be for celebrities, simply because the world's richest 360 people have the same amount of money as the poorest 2.4 billion people. It was the perfect motivation for charities to get them involved.

 

It also allowed them to show off their palatial homes and brag about their famous chums and demonstrate how relatable, fun, philanthropic and generally show how they are better than you. It was never meant to be for people like us, the no-mark schmucks who could set ourselves on fire and run through a shopping centre screaming our own names without even getting so much as a second glance from anyone.

 

But this month, it crossed over. Inspired by the selfless work of their celebrity idols, civilians started performing ice bucket challenges of their own. Facebook immediately transformed into a mess of family, in-laws, friends and acquaintances hooting and shrieking while failing to realise that you’re supposed to hold your phone sideways when you film things.

 

That was fair enough, I thought, because who’d be silly enough to nominate me? Everyone knows that I’m no longer the sort of person who’d willingly pour water over myself, let alone film it!. It might be fun, but I hate fun. I repel fun. I am, largely speaking these days, the walking manifestation of anti-fun.

That’s when it hit me. If the ice bucket challenge is here to stay now – and it is, because things take so long to die on Facebook that I still get poked on a semi-regular basis – then others will find themselves in my position, too. It might be you. You might find yourself being errantly nominated for the ice bucket challenge by a misguided acquaintance. You might not know how to react, either. So, in a selfless act of public service, I’ve decided to show you your options.

Your options are basically

a) do it, or

b) don’t do it.

Now, obviously, you’ll be veering towards the latter. This is because, like me, you find the challenge’s general oppressive air off-putting; that sort of rag-weekish, self-promotey, be-a-sport smog that’s impossible to escape because it’s all for charity.

You already know what reaction you’ll get if you don’t take part. 'What?!, you hate charity now?' 'You couldn't care about everyone stricken down with an unfortunate illness?' 'You don’t want to get your precious little head wet?' 'You're so selfish!'

But then again, if you do accept, it comes with its own challenges. For example, who are you supposed to nominate? From watching the celebrity videos, I’ve determined that you’re supposed to nominate three people: one who’ll genuinely enjoy the challenge (because being ignored by all your nominees is worse than death), one who’s slightly more famous/popular than you (to show how well connected you are) and your arch-enemy (because, even though this is for charity, you’re still not above being incredibly petty).

You’ll also need to worry about the size of your bucket (which needs to be large but not ostentatious), the speed of your pour (counterintuitively, slower tends to be more impressive) and the intensity of your reaction (whether to remain silent, making it look as easy as the act of charity should be in itself, or shrieking like you're having your genitals tasered, which is obviously very embarrassing for everyone).

But in the end, having carefully weighed everything up, you may revert to your gut reaction. The ice bucket challenge isn’t for you. You’re an adult, damn you, and you’re going to support charities in the proper, grownup way – by setting up a monthly direct debit payment and praying that the organisation doesn’t suddenly start using its badly allocated marketing funds to contact you. You might never be the recipient of a "like", but at least you’ll have your dignity. And, despite what celebrities or your friends might think, that’s the most important thing.

 

Don't get me wrong, this isn't an attack on anyone who has, or feel they need to complete the challenge. However, I've always believed charitable work should be approached with a certain amount of humility, and should also be done in a self-effacing manner with anonymity and no requirement for recognition. Most importantly, it should be completely VOLUNTARY,  and be relative to your own time and budgeted on what you can presently afford, if you can afford it at all.

Which, in a roundabout way, is to say that I’ll politely decline my nomination on the credit of the standing monthly donations I make to my three chosen charities until I shuffle off this mortal coil.