A National Epidemic
He opened the door to find the dealer standing on his porch again, smiling her sweet, semi-toothless smile, proudly displaying her gang's colors. Like many kids in that part of town, she'd been brought into the gang at a young age. There just wasn't much a kid could do to resist their aggressive recruiting efforts, and gang membership offered prestige, rewards and a sense of belonging.
She was just a pawn in a much bigger game, and the man couldn’t fault her for doing what her ruthless masters were forcing her to do. There was no real “pushing” involved. She only needed to know how much he wanted to buy. He had quit the habit almost a year ago, gone clean - started a new life, free of her addicting junk. The stuff could possess a man; make him wake up at night craving it. One was too many – a hundred not enough.
And maybe she wasn’t so innocent after all. There was something behind that smile. Something that said, “You love it, Mister. You need it. With as much as you bought off me last year, you made me a hero in my gang. I’m counting on you again to help me rake in the cash. I'm gonna have respect among my peers. I'm gonna rise in the ranks.”
He caved, of course – and later that month when he saw her with her mother, he pretended to be joking as he shouted from across the parking lot, “Where are my cookies?!”
“Next Wednesday,” they both called out with waves and smiles.
“Better hurry the fuck up,” he muttered under his breath.
Last Year in Evil Girl Scouts
She was just a pawn in a much bigger game, and the man couldn’t fault her for doing what her ruthless masters were forcing her to do. There was no real “pushing” involved. She only needed to know how much he wanted to buy. He had quit the habit almost a year ago, gone clean - started a new life, free of her addicting junk. The stuff could possess a man; make him wake up at night craving it. One was too many – a hundred not enough.
And maybe she wasn’t so innocent after all. There was something behind that smile. Something that said, “You love it, Mister. You need it. With as much as you bought off me last year, you made me a hero in my gang. I’m counting on you again to help me rake in the cash. I'm gonna have respect among my peers. I'm gonna rise in the ranks.”
He caved, of course – and later that month when he saw her with her mother, he pretended to be joking as he shouted from across the parking lot, “Where are my cookies?!”
“Next Wednesday,” they both called out with waves and smiles.
“Better hurry the fuck up,” he muttered under his breath.
Last Year in Evil Girl Scouts
Labels: cookies, door to door sales, gangs, Girl Scout cookies, sales
Sent into orbit at
2:15 PM
5 Comments:
Tellin ya. Those fucking tagalongs. Hard to kick that jones.
By
Anonymous, at February 12, 2008 at 3:34 PM
Yeah, you'd better be damned sure that remark is under your breath, 'cause they'll cut you off cold. I mean, it. They will, man. They're freakin' Ruthless, which is ironic considering the Den Mother is named Ruth.
By
Anonymous, at February 12, 2008 at 6:12 PM
This shit doesn't happen in my neighborhood...but then again, I don't think my neighborhood is a part of America.
By
New York Punk, at February 12, 2008 at 6:35 PM
When my girls were little, they were in "the gang." We set up outside a Wal-mart and I told them to open a box of Thin Mints and let folks have one for free. I remembered the tales of pushers and how they'd give kids the first hit free.
My evil plan worked just fine.
By
Unknown, at February 13, 2008 at 2:16 AM
@texaninhippieland - now that's just genius!
Hmmm... yum.
I think I sold cookies once... as a brownie. I sucked at it as I remember.
By
Thinking In Vain, at February 13, 2008 at 3:43 PM
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