(I Know How This Looks)
I should explain. It looks like I went to the store and came back with twelve-ish boxes of Girl Scout cookies.
The truth is that I went to the grocery store in late winter, which is when America’s youth runs a live experiment on adult decision-making. Every year, I fail. Yes, I am weak. Yes, I love cookies. Also, I keep underestimating a group of children who have mastered capitalism.
What appears to be a folding table and a few boxes of treats outside Kroger is in fact a highly optimized retail environment built on decades of behavioral data. I am not equipped for that.
At no point did I intend to purchase eighteen or so boxes. I would like that on the record.
And yes, I see you pointing at the kitchen counters like you’re presenting evidence at a war crimes tribunal.
Let me walk you through what happened:
TERRAIN CONTROL
Tables were placed in the high-conversion retail corridor, that narrow stretch between the parking lot and the grocery entrance.
In that Pre-Cart Vulnerability Window, I was trying to remember whether we needed milk (YES), whether cilantro is the one that tastes like soap (MAYBE), why winter is still happening (SCIENCE), whether I brought my reusable bags (OOPS!), and if I should eat more kale (ABSOLUTELY NOT).
Because my brain was buffering like airport Wi-Fi, I was in no condition to handle an enthusiastic greeting from an enthusiastic child with an enthusiastic clipboard (or their sales pitch) in the Ambush Zone.
EYE CONTACT
If you learn just one thing from my experience: NEVER. MAKE. EYE CONTACT. because once there is eye contact, you have only two options.
- Purchase.
- Lie.
If you don’t purchase, you’re a monster. If you lie? You’re a monster.
You know it. They know it. Everyone within fifteen feet knows it.
I tried several defensive maneuvers, including studying my nailbeds, powerwalking towards the automatic door, looking at the sky for divine intervention, and a sudden interest in the grocery carts.
Alas, I looked up and locked eyes with several adorable Girl Scouts.
It had begun.
THE FRIENDLY GREETING
They asked with all sincerity, “Would you like to buy some cookies?”
And like an idiot, I responded to this conversational tractor beam with “Sure, what do you have?”
PRODUCT DISPLAY PSYCHOLOGY
Having now lowered the drawbridge like a fool, immediately I received a graceful little arm sweep. “Right this way.”
And there they were. Thin Mints, front and center.
Thin Mints are strategically placed because they are unassailable. No one is morally opposed to Thin Mints. (And if you are, keep that to yourself. This is not your moment.)
I thought I was being smart and said, “Okay, I’ll just get one box of Thin Mints.”
WRONG.
Immediately, one of the girls pointed to a stack of boxes. “A lot of people also like the Samoas.” Yeah, of course they do! They’re delicious!
I tried to hold the line. “Oh, I can’t eat that many,” WHICH IS A LIE. Not only can I eat that many, I have eaten that many..
FREEZER RATIONALIZATION
“That’s okay,” the be-sashed scout said, still holding the eye contact from the beginning of our interaction. “They freeze really well.”
Uh oh.
Now I’m reframing the purchase as a responsible long-term investment. If two boxes freeze well, then four boxes freeze exceptionally well…and now stockpiling 23 boxes feels prudent.
THE AUDIENCE EFFECT
A crowd assembled, waiting to see if I’d also like Do-Si-Dos, Tagalongs, and the ones that look like they taste like particleboard. (Dip those in lemon curd or Nutella. Delicious.)
I start doing fast, bad math. How many boxes say I’m a good person and supportive of children? (The answer, by the way, is six, minimum. I went with 31 because I am a very good person.)
THE FINAL ESCALATION
Now, maybe you’re strong and can hold the line. Maybe you’re a one-box person. Great.
How would you handle an end-of-transaction “Would you like to purchase some for the troops?”
Whatcha gonna say now, friend? “Nope. The troops are on their own”?
No. You’d do what I did. You’d grab your wallet, and get those 43 boxes of cookies, you patriot.
EXIT?
Transaction complete. I walked back to my car, pushing a shopping cart full of so many cookies it looked like I should asked about bulk pricing.
The whole way to the car I’m talking to myself. It’s fine. Good people buy 58 boxes of cookies.
I loaded the cookies into the trunk. And the back seat. And up front with me where they could ride shotgun.
Then I realized I forgot to actually go grocery shopping. This meant I had to go back past the same Scouts who have already correctly identified me as an easy mark. So now I’m scanning the building like I’m planning a heist. Is there a back entrance? A side door? A loading dock? A tunnel system? ANYTHING, because what I cannot and will not do is walk past that table again. I know what happens. “Would you like to buy some cookies?”
So I did what any grown adult would do. I went home and got my groceries delivered.
And I forgot the milk.
If you’d like to support an excellent troop, you can order cookies directly from them here.
Jackie Pick 
You are forgiven for falling prey to the original human funnel. The funnel clues, you reminded me, are in the cookie code names.
The straightforward Thin Mints masks the Anglicized spelling of Cookie No. 2. That treat is named to tug the romantic heart of “South Pacific” fans when in reality it’s a crass mental exercise of subliminal corporate greed: let’s suck you in to get Some Mo’ Ahs.
Do-Si-Do is the square dance the other Scouts do around you with the invisible rope to keep you from escaping. This move pilfering from Ricky and Lucy’s flight from a Tennessee jail.
As for Tagalongs, that is the telepathic sleight-of-hand action wherein a Pixie on the side (say, infant in stroller), makes eye contact with innocent passerby while sending message about you, the purchaser: “Don’t you want to tag along?”
In such moments, I — the shopper who goes Krogering behind you — actually applaud your largesse. You see, when I see the table and edible temptations (wasn’t that a flavor once? The little devils), i languish in the lot a few moments pondering the parking lot (“Where DID I park?”), but actually watching who gets sacked into the cookie funnel, THEN I dash into the store untouched! In short, had we arrived at the site simultaneously, in basketball parlance, I would use you to set a pick.
…
The biggest challenges I find with these morsels are that 1) they only last so-long once arriving in the house, if they get that far; 2) the prices keep going up and the packages (number of cookies?) keep shrinking; 3) the delicacies are only sold seasonally, meaning often find myself having a Girl Scout cookie Jones in mid-May and there are none to be had. It’s then hear myself yelling, “I shoulda bought Somoa!”
Then, it seems you have a freezer full. Let’s make a date. I’ll bring the milk.
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