On The Waterfront

My apologies to the great Elia Kazan for using the title of his fantastic 1954 film, but it immediately came to mind as I was helping "Wife" today. No, I wasn't a down and out boxer working as a longshoreman. My brother was not a mob figure (that I know of) trying to get me to "take a dive". My parish priest was not trying to help workers on the dock unionize and fight the corruption of the mob, and I didn't get to make out with Eva Marie Saint. Truth be told, the only thing my day has had in common with "On The Waterfront" is boxes. That and the fact that, like Marlon Brando, I look cool in a knit hat.

"Wife" volunteered again to be "cookie mom" for "Daughter's" Girl Scout troop. Normally, I have no problem with "Wife's" good deeds, and involvement in outside activities, but once I'm forced to sweat, things get a little hairy. Last night, "Wife" asked me in her best little girl way if I would be available to help pick up the troop's cookies. Figuring there might be a chance for some smooching as a thank you (which is always my main motivator) I said sure. I took the trusty Trailblazer over to the firehouse and found myself in the presence of other cookie moms scurrying around like a bunch of squirrels hiding nuts for the winter. "Daughter's" troop's boxes were piled up and after setting up a "bucket brigade" I had the truck loaded and was headed to the casa.

I spent the next half hour unloading the truck and sorting the cookies into pile. Our living room now looks like the warehouse for a Weight Watcher's nightmare. Thank God nobody here has the habit of firing up a bong or two , or the munchies would surely decimate the stock pile. I must admit, there's something pretty cool about hundreds of cases of cookies stacked neatly in my living room. I feel like the cookie king, able to distribute tasty snacks to my loyal subjects, or to hoard them for my personal use. This would be a great time for a blizzard. If we were trapped in the house, we wouldn't be without yummy cookies to sustain us until civil defense came to dig us out. The only problem would be the inevitable escalation in our blood sugar. Being that jacked up on sugar might prove difficult, but I'm willing to take that chance.

Now we wait for the parents to come to the house and pick up their daughter's orders. This is that part that makes me mad. Some people realize that "Wife" and the other moms who run this are volunteering their time and working hard so that the Girl Scouts can have the money to participate in various fun programs. Those people are OK in my book. It's the selfish, self important moms that get my goat. These women give "Wife" attitude every step of the way. They bitch about having to drop off their orders, they complain about having to bring over the money and they gripe about picking up the cookies. "Wife" is quite accommodating as far as scheduling goes, but there are always people who think they are so much more important than the rest of us. It takes all my strength not to snap. I want to tell these hens to shut their yaps. The worst ones are the moms of the girls who sold the fewest boxes of cookies. Look, you don't want to volunteer, at least respect the people who do. Everyone is busy, but you're not helping, so you have to do things when the volunteer can do them. If that's not good enough, you be cookie mom next year. This is why I stay out of youth activities. Later...Brian