I noticed the boxes first. Dozens of them -- bright green and orange and pink – strewn across two lanes of traffic. I watched as the cookies were further pulverized with each passing car…. crunch – there go the Samoas….thwap – another box of Tagalongs….munch – those Thin Mints never looked thinner. Then I saw the pickup truck with the remaining cases of cookies pull over to the side of the road. A girl jumped out of the passenger side and ran to the edge of the street, hoping to save a few boxes. But the traffic was too dangerous and she could only stand there and watch the road kill. Even though I was in another lane, I slowed down, thinking maybe I could help somehow. But there was nothing I could do, really. It was too late. And sometimes (you knew I couldn’t resist) that’s the way the cookies crumble.
It was just one moment in my very busy day yesterday. A moment sandwiched in between errand number 11 and errands number 12, 13 and 14. But for some reason, the image of the smashed boxes, the speeding cars, and the frantic girl has stuck with me. It was like watching a pitiful mini Greek tragedy, only without the wailing chorus and eye gouging. I wonder who first noticed the cookies were spilling out the back, the mom or the girl? Which one had stacked the boxes too high and left the back of the truck shell wide open? And what will happen now? Is there such a thing as a comprehensive Girl Scout Cookie Insurance Policy or will they have to come up with the money for replacements by themselves? For some reason I feel disproportionately bad about it all. It wasn’t my fault. Heaven knows I would never wish ill on a Girl Scout (or on a Samoa cookie for that matter. Mmmmmm).
should feel it. Even if we can’t do anything about it, even if we just have to watch the cookies get smashed and feel really bad about it, we still have sympathy for the victims. At least I do. And I hope I never get too busy for that.