Walking into Walmart this morning to pick up my meds, I was accosted, not by a panhandler or some poor schmuck with a sob story, but by a cute eight-year-old girl selling Girl Scout cookies. She wouldn’t take no for an answer and “had” all the answers. This little waif, hands on her hips and a defiant gleam in her eye, actually blocked my entrance into the Walmart. Standing in front of me like a little David about to punch Goliath, she meant business. I couldn’t bump her out of the way, so I was forced to engage her. It was all a grand scheme. Standing behind a table stacked with boxes of cookies were four Mama Bears, arms crossed, foot tapping, just waiting for me to decline. They all had that ” Just try to get out of this one” look on their face.
” I don’t have any money,” I pleaded.
” We take credit and debit cards,” she chirps. When did this start? Does every kid have a credit card machine in their backpack?
” I’m diabetic and could have a seizure,” I add.
“No problem mister, we have sugar and gluten-free,” she sneers.
I’m trapped. Twenty adults are staring at me as if I am a criminal. I hand her my Visa card, and she rings up five boxes of cookies and a twenty percent tip to boot. I take my cookies and walk to my car, fearing they will grab me again on the way out. I’ll be having cookies for supper.
Notes From The Cactus Patch 