The Cookie War

A little more about the Cookie Mom, just as background. She's intense. She has this way of talking where she nods while she's trying to convince you of something, like the nodding is a subliminal message of "agree with me." And she has a hard time maintaining an American sense of personal space (about an arm's length most of the time, but she is about 5 inches from your face). That said, she has been an active member of the troop's background workings--goes on field trips, comes to meetings, runs to the store at the last minute if I've forgotten anything. She's a good volunteer. She's just not the sort I would want 100% in charge or, really, to spend a long weekend with in the wilderness. I might go so far as call her difficult.

She picked up her boxes when my cookie manager went to pick up the rest (essentially, our troop sold a thousand, and Cookie Mom picked up a thousand more). She came to the following meeting all smiles, seemingly normal. We all acted totally dysfunctionally, too, with me pretending I didn't know, Cookie Mom pretending she hadn't done anything weird.

Sunday was our booth sale at a local grocery store. It's in a plaza with other stores, smaller little chain places. Mike dropped Sophia and one of the neighbor girls off to work after church and came back to report that we were almost out of Samoas.

Hmm, I thought. Maybe we could help everyone out and take some Samoas out of the Cookie Mom's stash. I kept this in mind and headed over to the grocery store a couple hours later to pick up my girls and talk with my manager about this possibility.

I went in the back way into the plaza. And I saw our table--huh, not in the grocery store like it's supposed to be, I thought. Outside one of the little shops. Table set up, customer in front, a sign that said girl scout cookie sales...as I drove past, I realized it was Cookie Mom with Cookie Daughter. Sitting out on the sidewalk selling cookies, when our troop was just down the way inside the grocery store selling cookies at a booth.

I parked and went in and asked my manager if she knew about the table at the end of the plaza.

"I know!" she said. "The Shop N Save people told me they've been there all week. You know, it's against the rules. One of the cashiers said they've been making a killing over there!"

Listening to her, I know she doesn't know.

"It's Cookie Mom," I tell her (but I use her real name--I don't refer to her as this in every part of my life, just here).

"What!?" is the reply.

And then we stand there. Irritated because we're a TROOP and they are renegades. Irritated because this is some cockamamie plan to "earn" an I-Pod and our girls are working towards troop goals. I know both of us wanted to tell on her, just so that she didn't pull this sort of thing again.

But if we did, if we screwed this up, what would happen? Maybe Cookie Mom wouldn't be able to meet her goal. Maybe the troop would be stuck with cookies and debt. Maybe we'd get in trouble other ways, for letting her do it in the first place? I just don't know.

So I didn't cut off my own nose to spite my face (for a change). I figured I'd ask her at the next meeting how things were going. Be nice. Get an idea of how much trouble we were in.

She didn't come to this week's meeting. Of course. She had to have seen me in my van as I drove by with my mouth agape. She probably thinks I'm mad (I was then; now I'm just hopeful that it will all work out). Mike convinced me it was a stupid rule--let her sell them however she can. If the manager of that store didn't care, we shouldn't either. So I'm taking a deep breath, still hopeful, but I'll be damned if Cookie Daughter gets in I-Pod if I'm stuck hawking her cookies in the end. That's pretty much my leverage at this point.

It's still so weird.

One week to go. More when I know something.