It's Girl Scout cookie time

So, do I get a merit badge? It can be shaped like a cookie, since I successfully completed my stint as a Girl Scout cookie seller.
OK, before you get the image of me as a giant creepy Girl Scout, let me explain. My daughter, Allie, is in Brownies, and this was her first year selling Girl Scout cookies. And part of the way they make sure every citizen has at least 35 Girl Scout cookie-related encounters each day is to set up cookie selling tables around town. Strategic footholds in the war on sweet-deprivation, if you will.
I became involved because (a) I am a concerned and caring dad and (b) I accidentally volunteered for something before I knew the details. My wife and I had this conversation:
HER: Allie’s got cookie sales tomorrow, but I can’t do it.
ME: I can do it.
HER: You’ll sit with her for two hours at Wal-Mart while she sells Girl Scout cookies?
ME: It’s too late to turn this around, isn’t it?
HER: Yes.
She further solidified my tour of duty by screaming down the hall, “ALLIE — DADDY’S SELLING COOKIES WITH YOU TOMORROW!!!”
When it came time to go, my wife debriefed me on a few things:
1. Allie REALLY liked doing the money box. However, the other girl may also want a turn, so gently remind Allie that equal time is part of the deal.
2. This is an unpaid gig. Want a cookie? Buy a cookie.
3. It would not be necessary to loudly announce that I was here with my daughter. Safe bet that people could figure that out, much like when they see men holding a purse or buying feminine hygiene products at the store. Rarely is someone going to say, “Gee, Bill, who knew?” And if they do, Bill should consider different, more intelligent friends.
When we got to the store, Allie decided that she would spend an hour working the cash box, while the other girl stood out front and steered potential customers our way. After an hour, they would switch. My job, clearly, was to stay out of the way.
So I opted for people watching. I quickly began to separate the people coming and going into demographics. Some of the more noticeable:
— Those who have already bought Girl Scout cookies, and understandably explain, “I am sorry, but there are roughly 400 Girl Scouts in my neighborhood, and I am fairly sure I have about two acres of Samoas at home right now.”
— Those who are health conscious. Often, they will make derogatory comments about their own weight. At one point, I chimed in that the chocolate chip cookies were sugar free. The look I received told me that my comment was not needed.
— Those who were sent by central casting after asking for someone to play the role of “scary biker dude.” By far, these were the most likely to buy cookies. The bigger and burlier, the more likely they were to melt when a 7-year-old served up the sales pitch.
— Those who pretend that they have no peripheral vision and no hearing and must sprint past the ruthless gauntlet of terrifying Brownies, because goodness knows a polite “No, thank you” would really kill you. On the upside, should the Girl Scouts ever come out with a “Recognizing Social Misfits with no Sense of Common Courtesy” Merit Badge, they will qualify immediately. Fortunately, this was a very small demographic.
But the most common overriding theme was folks enjoying the nostalgia of Girl Scout cookies. They are delicious, and there is something about Girl Scout cookie time. When I was a kid, I knew it was time to see just how well my dad thought he could hide the Thin Mints in the freezer. (As if hiding them INSIDE a roadkill raccoon would stop us. Puh-leeze.)
For what it’s worth, my personal favorite are the Tagalongs, which made my tableside purchase of the chocolate chip cookies even more difficult. I only had enough cash in my pocket for one box, and I was all set to wolf down a row of Tagalongs myself. Allie then told me she wanted the chocolate chip cookies, and batted those big doe eyes at me. It was like kryptonite. I am glad she did not ask for a pony at that point.
In all, it was a fairly painless exhibit. I enjoyed getting to spend time with my daughter, watching her really become her own person. She’ll always be my little girl, but even at 7 I can see her growing up, right before my eyes. It just make me so... so... that does it – I’m getting her a pony right now.