
I was at my parents house in the suburb of Oak Park, relaxing infront of their TV, and drinking a beer. The doorbell rang. I got up to answer it and there was this cute little girl scout at the door with her order form. "Its Girl Scout Cookie Season." she informed me. I signed myself up for a several boxes and let her on her way.
I like girl scout cookies (mmmm... girl scout cookies). I get back to the very important job of sitting infront of the tube when the doorbell rings again. I get up to answer. There is another, equally adorable little girl scout with her mom at the door and again, I buy a few boxes and make my way back to the tube.
Not two minutes later, the doorbell rings again. Is this what voters in the swing states felt like? I answer the door and there's another scout standing there with her form held up for me. She's got this annoying little voice. "Hi, There Mister! Wanna Buy Some Cookies!" she shouted. I was litterally about 2 feet away from her, she didn't need to shout. "Perhaps she's one of those unfortunate children with out the ability to control their volume" I thought when I realized what was going on. I'd been marked!
There was a pack of Girl Scouts workin in unison. Its possible that today's Girl Scouts have an information system that rivals the CIA. I wonder what kind of battle planning they did before hitting the streets.
I picture a war room with maps and dossies of easy targets. I imagine tougher older scouts teaching brownies how to act "extra special cute" to close the sale. When they showed up at my door, they had walkie talkies and were checking in with each other to see who was on what streets so they could hit up houses with big spenders.
I ask "So, uh... how many of there are you?" She didn't need to answer, because the swarm was upon me. Faster than a cheetah can pounce, there were 6 brownies and 3 girl scouts with their forms on the front steps, waving them in my face. It was too much... I stepped back. They stepped forward.
The hard part about girl scouts is you can't slam the door on them like you would a latter day saint or a vacuum salesman. And here they are shouting at you "Me Next! Me Next!" and you have to do it. You have no choice in the matter really. Then like locusts who've eaten the field, they move on to your neighbors' house. For a moment, you relax and smile, because its funny when its somebody else. Then you hear that annoying little voice and you snap out of it and get back inside before the second wave strikes.