The results are in. My 7-year-old daughter has triumphed in her quest to sell the most cookies in her Brownie troop. She’s Lara Croft and Joan of Arc combined, holding a sword high above the vanquished competitors as cheering townfolk clamor for her Thin Mints and Samoas.
She sold 138 boxes with a little help from cookie addicts at dad’s office. It was double what the next highest-seller in her troop sold, but it’s really not all that much. I’m sure there are troops that have cookie-selling strategy meetings, where the girls are threatened: Sell less than 250 boxes and your little brown vest will be stripped from your back and burned on the ground in front of you.
Most importantly, my daughter sold double what she told last year. That’s a good lesson for living in the United States. Always be closing. It’s Glengarry Glen Ross: “We’re adding a little something to this month’s sales contest. As you all know, first prize is a Cadillac Eldorado. Anybody want to see second prize? Second prize is a set of steak knives. Third prize is you’re fired.”
In fact, my daughter could be Alec Baldwin:
My daughter: You got leads. Mitch & Murray paid good money. Get their names to sell them. You can’t close the leads you’re given, you can’t close &*$%, you are &*$%, hit the bricks pal, and beat it, ‘cause you are going out.
Rookie seller: The leads are weak.
My daughter: “The leads are weak.” The &%$*-ing leads are weak? You’re weak. I’ve been in this business fifteen years...
Rookie seller: What’s your name?
My daughter: $%&* you. That’s my name.
Rookie seller: [laughs]
My daughter: You know why, mister? ‘Cause you drove a Hyundai to get here tonight; I drove an eighty thousand dollar BMW. That’s my name.
Only it’s not a Cadillac Eldorado for the daughter. It’s a $^&*-ing dog radio and a patch.