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    Posted on Jan 18, 2013

    A Day In The Life Of A Girl Scout

    Cookie Season is upon us. And it's no joke.

    School's out! Time to get ready for your troop meeting.

    Oops, not that outfit.

    That's more like it.

    You recite the Pledge.

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    "On my honor, I will try, to something something something mumble."

    Your troop leader hands out new badges.

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    Ugh, Jenny has SO MANY BADGES. Whatever, Jenny.

    Hey look! Dolly Parton's here.

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    (She was made a Girl Scout in 2007.)

    And now the moment that officially kicks off Cookie Season: you get your (unbelievably complicated) order form.

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    SO MUCH EMPTY SPACE TO FILL. A blessing and a curse. The first thing you do is put your own family down for thirty boxes.

    If your troop's extra savvy, you sell cookies directly to your customers.

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    You procure them via witchcraft.

    But otherwise, you go door-to-door in your neighborhood...

    Harass your friends and family...

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    Each of them should order at least three boxes, including the babies.

    Before losing all interest and sending one of your parents to work with the order form.

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    They'll strong-arm their coworkers into ordering at least three boxes of Thin Mints each. You can sit back and watch the money roll in. Thanks a bunch, Mom and Dad!

    Thanks to the 21st century happening, chances are you now take cash AND checks AND credit cards.

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    Thereby enabling your customers to spend more than a month's rent on your goods.

    When you're done selling, you hand over the money to your troop leader.

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    I'm sorry, I know it was really really fun to have. And stupid Jenny won't stop bragging about how she sold 400 more boxes than you; it's only because HER mom works at a big accounting firm and made her assistant go around the entire neighborhood with the order form. Jenny.

    Weeks go by.

    Months.

    Years.

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    You enter high school, pass all your APs, head off to college, meet the love of your life, divorce him in a messy settlement where neither of you gets the cat, find yourself renting a studio apartment in San Francisco from where you run an Etsy store.

    Finally, the cookies arrive.

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    What is even up with these new boxes?

    Time for heavy labor!

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    You'll need to transport all the cookies to their respective sales-scouts. Jenny's going to try and get out of it by claiming she "has her period." There is no way Jenny has her period yet.

    Your mom or dad spends their entire Saturday driving you around, dropping off cookies.

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    Only half the customers are home, of course. And at least three "don't remember ordering quite so many Trefoils." It's not your fault shortbread sucks.

    Finally, you can enjoy the fruits of your labor.

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    You eat a sleeve of each kind in one sitting, get unbelievably nauseous, and vow not to eat any more for at least a month. You open the freezer to store the remaining boxes and are instantly hit by an avalanche of forgotten Do-Si-Dos from years past. Oops.

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