Who knew that a cookie booth could be just like an Alfred Hitchcock movie.
It all started one evening around 6:30 at a high-selling booth location. The girls had plenty of room to roam and customers to greet. Everything was great until the black cloud appeared on the horizon, and the bird apocalypse began. Like the scene in World War Z where zombies scale the Jerusalem wall, the black feathered hoard came roiling toward us through the sky. The grackle noise was annoying, but nothing compared to what lay in store. When the flock moved from the trees in the parking lot to the roof’s edge, my partner mom and I realized we might be in for trouble. We were.
“Bombs” began to fall from the sky. Exploding on cookie boxes, our storage bins, the sidewalk, and even passersby. I hurried to the car for umbrellas and wipes while she covered the table with plastic. Both girls hid under the awning of the store and wouldn’t come out even for a sale.
They laughed as we ran around screaming like Tippy Hedren in The Birds, but when a grackle landed a direct hit to my fellow mother’s jacket, things escalated. “Get it off! Get it off,” she shrieked, dancing around. Oh man, I like nature as much as anyone but bird poop is the worst. Not even a 100+ box sale is worth this. Finally, we demanded that our Scouts come help. With umbrellas in hand, all spent the next 15 minutes wiping down cases, individual boxes, the table cloth and each other. Satisfied it was clean and ready for business again, the girls went back to their posts and immediately scored a customer. She was excited about Peanut Butter Patties and eagerly grabbed the box only to recoil with her hand covered in, you guessed it. Amazing how people find the only one you missed. A big apology and a few wipes later, she still bought a box, selected from a sealed case under the table.
Breathing a sigh of relief around 7:30 when the grackle offensive ended, my partner mom looked at me and said, “This is the shittiest booth I’ve ever had.”