The Big Issue should rebrand the red tabards worn by sellers as invisibility cloaks.

 

When I donned the waistcoat and took to the streets of Glasgow, several people who know me looked right at my face and walked straight past.

One colleague almost knocked me over in their haste to get through the crowds on a busy Thursday afternoon in Sauchiehall Street.

And when I attempted to engage a group of smartly dressed young businessmen in a conversation, one turned around and swore at me.

Self-employed vendors who eke out a living selling copies of The Big Issue have been a fixture in our city for more than two decades.

Founded in 1991, The Big Issue gives homeless people an opportunity to rebuild their lives by selling the weekly magazine.

Vendors buy copies for £1.25 each and sell them to their customers for £2.50 - but it's a hard shift, as I found out last month.

My day began at The Big Issue's office in Saltmarket from where Beth Hardingham and Zoe Bartliff oversee the west of Scotland operation.

They supply more than 100 sellers - the majority in the centre of Glasgow - but their jobs are much more than that.

Many who come in from the street have complex needs and Beth and Zoe have become unofficial social workers who listen to their problems and signpost them to organisations that can help.

I arrived at the office at 8am and was put through the same induction process and sales training that every new recruit must complete.

Vendors must sign up to a strict code of conduct and if rules are broken they face suspension and a ban.

One of the key stipulations is that they must not sell copies of the magazine when under the influence of alcohol or drugs.

Satisfied that I was a suitable candidate, Beth gave me a red tabard, a laminated badge, a pitch authorisation card and a pile of magazines.

New vendors are handed three free copies on the first day and two on the second day and are encouraged to build a business by buying more magazines with their takings.

Beth and Zoe had high hopes for me and twenty copies were piled up on my outstretched arms.

I was taken to my pitch by one the Big Issue's many volunteers, John Dick, who is responsible for walking the streets of the city to check on each vendor.

The Falklands War veteran and former prison officer has a friendly rapport with sellers but is quick to tick them off if they don't meet the high standards the Big Issue expects.

We arrived at my pitch in Sauchiehall Street to be met by an unbadged vendor selling copies of the Big Issue.

John immediately identified him as an unofficial seller because he didn't have the laminated photo identification and he reluctantly moved on.

I was then left to my own devices and as I began offering copies of The Big Issue to passers by it became clear that it was going to be a long day.

The majority of people walked straight past without acknowledging my existence and some of those that did rolled their eyes or scowled disapprovingly.

When I tried to joke with a group of young men in suits I was told in no uncertain terms where I could shove my magazines.

It was a stark reminder that when I pulled on the red tabard some people no longer perceived me as an equal.

And it wasn't just the general public who were hostile - I was accosted by an angry beggar who was unhappy that I was distracting people from handing over cash.

Busy Sauchiehall Street can be one of the loneliest places on earth when you're selling The Big Issue.

I was ignored by some colleagues who I'd worked with for almost a year, one of them ploughing into me as they pushed through the crowds.

When I shouted their name they did a double take and immediately apologised, but it made me acutely aware of the many times I too had walked by Big Issue sellers without acknowledging them.

It took me an hour to sell my first copy to a woman who said she was only buying one because I am "not a foreigner".

One man promised to buy a Big Issue when he had been to McDonald's for change but when he came back out clutching a burger he shrugged his shoulders and said he'd used his debit card instead.

Moments like these left me crestfallen and led me question my perception of Glasgow as a generous, caring city.

However, as the day wore on my faith was restored, slowly but surely.

One man said he didn't have enough money for a copy but handed me all the change in his pocket.

Another gave me a bottle of Irn Bru which was a welcome boost as my bones began to ache and my energy levels dropped.

By the end of my shift I had offloaded five copies of the magazine and been handed £2.70 by kind strangers.

That day an estimated 122 copies were sold by dozens of hard working vendors across the city.

Most don't make a lot of money but they have the dignity of employment and a chance to find fresh confidence.

Many use the magazine as a springboard to mainstream employment after years on the dole queues.

Of course, The Big Issue has its critics who are concerned about tough sales targets set for vendors.

But it remains one of the few organisations that offer homeless people a bridge to a better future and from now on I plan to buy a copy every week.

 

Read: Big Issue vendor: The worst is when people lash out...I've had guys punch me