The Devil’s Cookies

This is Dottie, and I’ve prepared the rant to overthrow all rants. I’ve got three words for you: Girl Scout Cookies.

I spent the majority of my youth as a Girl Scout- I wore the uniforms, I did the community service, I went camping, did a ridiculous amount of arts n’ crafts, earned lots of badges and pins…and I sold cookies. Out of all of those things, the one I enjoyed the least was selling cookies. In fact, whenever “Girl Scout Cookie Time” approached, I shuddered at the unavoidable horror of exploitation I would have to undergo for the next month or so.

Whoever thought of dressing up young girls and sending them door-to-door peddling sweets was a freaking genius, as well as a very sick son of a bitch. Worst of all, they made it a competition! You’re a troop for goodness sakes! Yet once a year, you were told to forget that powerful bond of sisterhood you’ve worked so hard to uphold, to neglect your studies and any other responsibilities a ten-year-old girl may have, and to do your very best to outsell the others by any means necessary (even if that meant the trading of sexual favors…Otherwise, why would men ever buy Girl Scout Cookies?).

Selling was especially terrible if you lived in a neighborhood chock-full of old people, which I did. Sure they’re warm and kind, but kindness will only take you so far in this case. No, what you need is gluttony, obesity, people who eat their feelings, women on their periods (and pedophiles of course). What I had were very nice elderly people who wished that they could buy cookies, but couldn’t do to their Diabetes, high blood pressure, etc. I was only allowed to walk so far (my parent’s weren’t too keen on driving me to another neighborhood because that meant delivering to another neighborhood later on), so I’d go as far as my little legs would carry me, sell about twenty boxes of cookies, and go home feeling utterly exhausted and defeated yet another year. It sucked. Sure I sold a few boxes to relatives, but it’s surprisingly awkward to try and sell stuff to your family- some of them flat out turn you down, while others purchase out of obligation. My grandmother was the best- she would always buy four boxes: two for me and two for my brother. Don’t even get me started on selling them in the freezing-cold lobbies of local banks and grocery stores (let’s just say that when you ran out of Thin Mints and Caramel Delights/Samoas, things got ugly…). Did I mention that the troops only get about 40 cents for every box they sell (current cost is $3.50)?

Sad isn’t it? I thought so too, so I quit. Yup, I made it to the 7th grade, and then I decided that having time to study AND have friends would be a better use of my time. That’s right, I’m a quitter. I still like to help people and go camping, and I am a master of arts n’ crafts, but to this day I am confident that I made the right decision, if only to avoid selling those Devil’s cookies.

On a lighter note, I still love to eat Girl Scout Cookies. Now, whenever “cookie time” rolls around, I am overjoyed, and I buy some from every single Girl Scout who asks me- I seek them out, because they’re delicious of course, but also because I remember what it’s like to have to sell them and I feel for those little girls from the bottom of my cold, jaded heart. That couldn’t be one more layer to their phenomenal marketing scheme, could it?

(Note: As far as I know, sexual favors are not actually traded in the selling of Girl Scout Cookies.)