Monday, March 26, 2007

I'm Not a Village, Idiot

The Samster is a Brownie. For those of you unfamiliar with Brownies, they're like miniature Girl Scouts. She'll bridge over or fly over or whatever they call it nowadays to become a Junior Girl Scout after this year. She's done this Brownie thing since first grade, and she adores it. There are many great girls in her troop -- den? group? cabal? -- and many of the parents are wonderful, too.

As part of the Girl Scouts, the Samster sells those tasty Girl Scout cookies. The cookies even have their own web site, where you can meet the cookies or go to their MySpace page. She went door-to-door in the immediate neighborhood (i.e., to the six houses of people we know, not counting Crazy Eddie with all the cars). We also signed up for two booth sales because, while, Samster is nothing if not cheap-stuffed-animal crazy, and the prize for reaching the 125 box level is a cheap stuffed rabbit.

I chose wisely for our booth sales, requesting a Blockbuster on a Friday evening and a Safeway on a Saturday afternoon. Two hopping places, I'd say. The wonderful woman arranging it all noted that the person requesting that primo Safeway spot couldn't be there with her daughter. In fact, she couldn't be there at any of the possible times for cookie sales. She was busy preparing for her upcoming wedding.

So I'd have to supervise the two girls alone. I wasn't real thrilled with it, frankly. And I made some comments to that effect, adding that I realized it wasn't very "Girl Scout" of me. But I'd been saddled with another girl -- alone -- last time. And I'd been saddled with this particular girl a few times. And, again, not very "Girl Scout" of me, but she's kind of a bully and I'm not a big fan of hers. But, hey, we're all Girl Scouts, I could deal with it. (To myself, though, I decided in case of any emergency, I'd be saving Sam, then the cash box, then Girl X.)

It was made clear to all of us that if we couldn't make our shift, we'd need to find a replacement. Again, the wonderful woman arranging it all -- hereafter called WWAIA -- sent out the entire list of shifts and assignments, along with everyone's phone numbers. The shift at Safeway with Girl X was for 3 p.m. to 4:30 p.m. Saturday. We were running around all day, as is our modus operandi on weekends, and I didn't get to my email until 2:30. And here's the email from Girl X's mother, sent at 9:51 a.m.:

"Girl X will not be able to sell cookies today with Sammy. Sorry. "
I was livid. Truly. Because we're all adults, right? And WWAIA had made it clear that if you couldn't make the shift, you'd find a replacement. And what dough head could possibly think that sending an email on a Saturday is going to count as notification? [Yes, I know, in normal circumstances I am OCD about checking email and would have stumbled across it in less than the 4.5 hours it took me this time, but she doesn't know that. And the fact is that I didn't check it.]
My immediate response? To send an email right back at her. You know what it said?
"Who did you get to replace her?"
So Samster and I did it ourselves, and we sold more than 75 boxes in that 1.5 hours. And it was easier to not have that kid there. (As WWAIA said when I told her, "It's like not being invited to a party you didn't want to go to. Your feelings are a bit hurt, but you're more thinking, 'Phew!'")

1 comment:

Kathy said...

Love this post! Who hasn't been in a similar situation? Wish I had thot of such a snappy email comeback. Oh, and can I borrow that acronym ~ WWAIA? Love that!!


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