I had been a girl scout since second grade. I don't really remember selling cookies as a Brownie, but we may have. In fourth grade, I became a Junior, which meant I wore the coveted green uniform and sash. I vaguely remember several meetings at which our girl scout leaders prepped us for the upcoming cookie sale. There was talk about how many boxes they wanted each of us to sell. We were given tips about how to increase sales. We were told what cookie sales meant for our troop. and fed stories about girls who were able to sell hundred of boxes. The pressure was on.
It all seemed exciting to me. After all, when Eliz was an Indian Princess and had to sell Vanilla Extract and other odd items, I was able to go to door for her and in my cuteness get neighbors to shell out the cash. Of course, that's when I was in kindergarten, still full of baby fat. But these, were Girl Scout cookies, for goodness sakes, which practically sold themselves. All I had to do was knock on a door and wave my little order form in front of whoever opened the door and the rest would be history.
So on a cold winter day, I headed out the door with my order form and pen in hand, ready to sell, sell, sell. I headed directly across the street and confidently, expectantly, knocked on the door. When a man answered the door, I was sure I hit pay dirt. I promptly gave him my sales pitch, but instead of buying a single box or kindly telling me thank you, but no thank you, the man inexplicably, angrily told me off and to add insult to injury slammed the door in my face.
I was humiliated, embarrassed and sick to my stomach. I was not about to try it again so I walked back across the street and sat in the cold for what seemed like hours on the milk box that was placed on our porch between the door and the window to our living room. I waited there on the porch until I felt like I could go back inside and tell my mom that no one wanted to buy cookies. Not one person.
I didn't tell her about the rude man. I just told her that I didn't find a single buyer. I remember her questioning me about it. What I didn't realize is that she knew I was just sitting out there the whole time. I ended up only selling nine boxes of cookies that year. Six to my mom and three to the neighbor on our right.
My mom was embarrassed. She was the cookie mom that year which meant she was responsible for the distribution of the cookies to all the girls in our troop. Our family room was filled with boxes of cookies, only nine of which were sold by me because everyone else in the troop managed to sell at least four times as many as me.
My troop leaders were disappointed. When I gave them the order form with nine boxes sold, I could see the look of disbelief on their faces. There most have been some sort of unwritten rule that the daughter of the cookie mom was expected to be a top seller. I always felt they treated me differently after that.
My fellow troop members were smirky. There was laughter and whispers when it was learned that I had only sold nine boxes of cookies.
It seemed that cookie selling season lasted forever. Every time someone came to the house to pick up their boxes of cookies, I was reminded of the failure that I was. On top of that every time I walked out the door, I was afraid I would see the grumpy man from across the street. I both despised and feared him. Thankfully a few years later I would have a chance at redemption.
To this day if I'm asked by a girl scout to buy cookies I never say no matter how ridiculously overpriced I think they are now.
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