When I was a little tyke I signed up for Girl Scouts. Seriously, could I be more American? For years I learned how to do things like build a fire, make my own rope, put up a tent, and even lash a table. Yeah, that’s right. While other troops were building macaroni statues, my mom was teaching her troop how to take sticks, and a rope, and build a mother fucking table.
Yeah, you totally want to bring me with you camping next time.
But anyway, part of being in the GS meant that once a year we had to don our little outfits and tromp door to door asking strangers if they would like to buy some of our delicious Girl Scout Cookies. When I wasn’t trying to convince strangers in their bathrobes to hand me money I was standing in front of the local Albertsons terrorizing shoppers. Come on, only 900 more boxes and I get a fricken stuffed penguin!
Once I got all old and crotchety and moved into an apartment I no longer had the joy of having strange people come knocking on my door trying to sell me weird crap. I just assumed that the days of door-to-door were simply over. People must have learned their lessons, there were scary people out there who ate children, so stay home. Get a website like the rest of the world and charge a shit ton of money for shipping and handling. Save your feet girls.
But no. OH NO. Now that I have a house I have started to see first hand that people still LOVE to come knocking. Now apparently I am a prime candidate for things like free steam cleaning, hand delivered milk, candy bars, raffle tickets, and yard work. Each time I open that door I am greeted with the same phrase, “Are you the lady of the house?” EXCUSE ME? The lady of the house? What in the world does that even mean? I feel like I should be carrying a martini at 11am, wearing fuzzy house slippers, and holding a fluffy rat dog in one arm named Tiny.
NO. I am not the lady of the house. I just so happen to be female, and sadly I also happen to be home right now. You’re lucky that the master of the house didn’t answer this door, because he’s no where near as polite to door-to-door salesmen as I am. SCRAM.
Or what about the guy who when I answered the door turns to his partner and goes, “See, I told you they wouldn’t be black. You owe me 5 bucks.” EXCUSE ME? Turns out because I had an Obama sticker on my car they made a bet to see if I would be black, and then TOLD ME ABOUT THIS BET before trying to sell me some crap. Buddy. This is a very bad way to begin your selling pitch. I advise you work on not stereotyping your clients and then demonstrating to them how absolutely ignorant you are right before trying to scam them by telling them about it.
I have a plan. Lets all wise up to this thing called the Internet and stay home. Girl Scouts, I want you to spruce up the website, create a Facebook page dedicated to those tasty little morsels of yours, let all 7 million of your fans know when you can buy them online, and watch people go nuts. I mean, if I could order my GS cookies from home instead of feeling like a fat ass for buying 16 boxes of Thin Mints in front of some 8 year old and her mom that would be heaven. I bet American’s orders would quadruple if instead of a face to face with some little girl we could charge away in the privacy of our own homes.
I would totally spend an entire pay check on those magical little cookies.