Girl Scout cookies are good marketing, aren't they? I mean, especially cookie booths. Literally, you stand right outside a place that has cookies inside. Delicious cookies that you can most likely purchase for considerably less than $3.50 per box. And yet, you purchase Girl Scout cookies because cute little girls who say, "THANK YOU FOR SUPPORTING GIRL SCOUTS!" in really loud, insincere voices ask you if you will.
Really, I'm not sure if it's good marketing or just the fact that, as much as I loathe to admit it because of the amount of snarking I enjoy doing, most people are pretty nice to small girls.
Of course there are always exceptions.
Case in point, on Sunday we had what shall forever be known as The Cookie Booth From Hell.
It was at Kroger. I thought it was at Lowes and I showed up to Lowes with nary a moment to spare and I was DISMISSED by another troop leader who informed me of my infinite wrongness by bringing out HUGE CARDBOARD SHEETS OF PAPER WITH A SCHEDULE WRITTEN ON THEM. That she, apparently, drives around with.
Anyway. We loaded back up and hauled ass over to the Kroger. Late.
I hate being late.
Kroger wasn't bad though. Lots and lots and lots of shoppers. Most of which politely told us they had already purchased cookies, but some of which bought our cookies. People were generally friendly and nice and came up and spoke to us and didn't just try to ignore us like the old men at Lowes did the prior weekend.
After we had been there two hours a woman who was in such desperate need of a bra that I almost reached into my shirt, whipped mine off and offered it to her, came up to our booth. She surveyed our wares and spoke politely to all the girls, asking them how they were, where they went to school, etc.
She was...okay, she smelled horrible. Like puke and garbage and really, really bad body odor. ADVANCED B.O. people. She was jumpy, she was jittery, and she kept touching her own face.
She moved kind of around the back of the booth where I was standing and she said,
"I lost my wallet. Do you have any money? Can I have some money?"
I told her, no. I didn't have any money. Which was true.
She pouted at me. "I know you have money. You just made change. I saw that money. You have money. You could give me some money."
OH. HELL. NO.
I said to her, "This is not my money. This money belongs to the Girl Scouts. I can't give you any."
(Oh, and seriously? I could have totally taken her. I'm a big old girl. I could have just sat on her skinny ass. So I wasn't worried about her trying any Kung-fu moves or anything and stealing the cash.)
She STARTED YELLING AT ME.
"THIS IS BULLSHIT! BULLSHIT! GIRL SCOUTS IS SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT HELPING PEOPLE! I NEED SOME MONEY FOR GAS! I LOST MY WALLET! ALL I'M ASKING FOR IS A LITTLE HELP! WHAT ARE YOU TEACHING IN GIRL SCOUTS ANYWAY!? ISN'T GIRL SCOUTS ABOUT HELPING PEOPLE!??"
The girls? Were completely wide-eyed. Scared, even.
I? Was pissed.
"Girl Scouts is NOT about helping people," I snarled at her. "It's about teaching girls to HELP THEMSELVES."
She stared at me. Blinked.
"You need to leave," I said quietly. "I'll call the police. Leave."
She walked away. About fifteen feet away from us, she started jogging. Eventually, she broke into a run.
The girls all stared at me.
I smiled at them and said, "Well. Let's sell some cookies. Okay?"
They were quiet for a minute. Then one of the girls said,
"Guess what Miss Chickie? That lady who was askin' for money? She's my neighbor! She lives in that apartment house next to my Mee-maw!"
Of course she does.