I was the best Bluebird in my troop, at least when it came to candy sales. I don’t remember most of what I did as a Bluebird, but I have vivid memories of shilling treats, the awards I earned for my sales numbers, and the resulting “jamboree” I got to attend. Some people grow up as a Boy Scout or a Girl Scout, but I was a Camp Fire Kid. Every January, we sold a variety of treats (our big sellers were mint patties, some turtle clusters, and Almond Roca), door-to-door or seated at a card table in front of the local grocery store. My parents—either genius or negligent—allowed me to peddle my goods during a snowstorm, which led to extremely high sales and a staggering quantity of hot chocolate in my belly.
But I also pulled a shift at the Safeway down the street, where I attempted to convince a passerby that she needed some candy. “Oh no, thank you, I couldn’t,” she said. “Have you ever tried Almond Roca? It’s really, really good,” I replied, attempting to appeal to her sense of culinary adventure. “Oh, it’s delicious…” “It’s only $3 a box! Or two for $5!”
“Yes, but if I buy them, then I’ll eat them.”
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