Dear Girls Who Dress In Strange, Outdated Uniforms and Sell Overpriced (Yet Still D-e-lectable) Cookies For The Briefest Time Period EVER,
Let me teach you something about this magical world that you might, one day, experience (if I let you live that long)... a world called "pregnancy". You see, in this happy land of swollen ankles, cracked ribs, and food cravings so fierce that no purveyor of edibles is safe, the will of the pregnant woman = law. Please her, and you've saved your own life. In this magical world, Oh Toters of the Tagalongs, it's best to just give Mama what she wants... and, right now, Mama wants to get her hands on some Thin Mints. And Tagalongs. And Samoas. And Lemon Chalet Cremes. How am I supposed to accomplish this task when you only peddle your wares for all of THREE WEEKS A YEAR?!
The last I checked, the following issues apply to you:
1. You, too, are susceptible to this recession, Oh Darlings of Detestable Attire
2. You have a quota, sure, but you also have a soul. I hope.
3. You have parents... parents who should know how to read a freaking MAP.
I fail, then, to understand why you continue to limit your sales period to 3 - 4 measly weeks a year. Really... REALLY?!
However, since I have yet to consume a single, freaking cookie this year (see point DIRECTLY above) and still have my wits about me, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.
1. Up. Your. Sales.
- Notice how you're having to cut back on how many cookies you're able to produce every year? It's not because the Magic Flour Fairy forgot to wave her wand above the factory, or whatever other nonsense your Troupe Leader has filled your dainty-hatted heads with... it's because your prices are too high, and your selling period is too short. I mean, think about it: You're badgering me to pay $4 for a box of cookies that will, in all humiliating honesty, last all of 2 blocks from store-to-home (1 block if there are traffic lights on that particular road), and you're only available for 3 - 4 weeks?! Darlings of Chocolate-Dunked Delectables, does that make sense?
2. Show a less demonic side (or, if that's too tall an order, just shoot for a softer side), and I'll show you my wallet.
- Lay off the freaking guilt trips, already! I know you reeeeeeeally have your heart set on that sparkling baton for selling 500 boxes of cookies, and you reeeeeeeeeally want to win that trip to Disneyland that you'd get by selling 74,500 more... but, um, it won't happen by jumping in front of my shopping cart with two of your closest friends. No, all that will accomplish is you getting run over by said cart, and your mother getting an earful when she tries to yell at me for hitting her precious Mini-Me. Have you heard of lying? Why not try THAT tactic the next time we meet in front of Safeway? Here's what it would look like:
You: "Gosh, lady... you're so pretty."
Me: "My, aren't you just the sweetest thing! Whatever are you selling? I'll buy all of them."
SEE?!
3. Go where the money is.
- Chances are, Susie Sixpack, it ain't the local Cash-N-Carry. By now, your parents are probably sick to death of hearing your endless blathering about quotas and goals and dreams and visions of a better tomorrow, which makes them your ideal business partner. Couple your new-found ability to tell boldfaced lies to complete strangers with your parents' knowledge of the community you live in, and you should be able to zero-in on the wealthiest neighborhoods in no time. Disneyland? It's yours.
All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the Whores of Wholesome Cookie Wonders that I know you have inside of you.
In all honesty, your organization is a great one. I love the concept of girls sticking together, learning some pretty valuable life skills, and raising money in a way that isn't likely to hurt another corporation's bottom line (aside from the evil mega-giants of Nabisco et all). Heck, I was even a Brownie... for all of 6 months, which was how long it took me to realize that we were called "Brownie", not that we got to eat them.
Now, lengthen your selling period or I swear on everything holy in Pregnancy-topia that I will teach my toddler that it is okay to pee on girls in ugly uniforms.
Do a Good Turn Daily,
Krystal
