Minting a Whole Different Kind of Girl Scout

This troop defies the cookie-cutter definition of scouting

I discovered a new-found passion this year for my politics — and for Girl Scout cookies.

No, I haven’t changed my love of Thin Mints, nor embraced a new flavor. Our family has always been divided between Samoas and Thin Mints. Now that I’m in charge of ordering, we’re a distinctly Thin Mint household.

I have to say that since we moved 400 miles away from our long-time dealer, I was a tad concerned about getting my supply of those chocolaty discs of pure Heaven.

I’ve been hooked on Thin Mints since I was a 1st-grade Brownie in suburban New York. My then stay-at-home Mom volunteered to be our troop’s “Cookie Mom”. That meant not only that our dining room was chock-a-block full of hundreds of boxes of Girl Scout cookies every year about this time, but the math didn’t always work out and our family was inevitably stuck with a dozen or so extra boxes to balance the books. I always prayed — seriously, I did — for one of my troop-mates to make a bookkeeping error so that we would be able to tuck a few (often more than a few) boxes of cookies away in the freezer for a rainy summer day. Because everyone knows that Girl Scout cookies — especially Thin Mints — are best when eaten right out of the freezer on a crazy-hot mid-July afternoon.

Mom continued her Cookie Duties for a few years, which only solidified my habit. And I was not a happy camper — Girl Scout or otherwise — when she finally passed the torch along to another troop mom.

When my kids were of age, I signed them up for Girl Scouts. I was never a troop leader, but I did a lot of chaperoning. On an overnight to the Virginia Museum of Science in Richmond; to countless campouts near home and far away. One of the girls hung in there and was a Girl Scout through her senior year in high school. The other quit in 5th grade, even though I warned her that it would be more difficult to obtain cookies if she weren’t still a member of her troop. Some kids just don’t listen. Or, more to the point, they understand when Mom is bluffing

But I was that desperate to keep my yearly fix flowing.

Politics — of course, we lived in the D.C. area when the kids were growing up — entered the equation in a big way about 20 years ago. In the pre-Amazon era, when Borders Books was still in biz, our troop would set up a sales location outside the local emporium — a prized corner for cookie table placement. I always volunteered to supervise sales for a couple of hours each weekend day Troop 108 was out there. It was during one of those shifts that we experienced what would have to be termed “An Only in D.C. Moment”.

Temps hovered in the 40s. I’m quite certain that the sun didn’t come out that day. And maybe some rain — that nasty, drizzly, D.C. kinda precipitation—more acid rain than the cleansing variety — was involved. Between the mist and begging passers-by to engage with our girls, we noticed a large, black, shiny Suburban cruise down the road near the parking lot where we were perched. It was soon joined by several others, in what could only be a motorcade.

It may have been my imagination, but the official-looking SUVs (you get the hang of recognizing VIPs when you live in the D.C. region) each made those “whoosh, whoosh, swoosh” noises as they circled the almost-empty parking lot at different intervals in what looked to be a choreographed ballet of brawn and might.

After the metallic chorus line swooped to a halt, several of those — I kid you not — tall guys in power suits and sharp, short haircuts alighted from the first two vehicles, and walked with precision toward our table. A few of them appeared to be talking into their watches, just like they do in the movies. The Secret Service was upon us.

OK, we’d pretty much established that a politico of some stripe must be in search of Samoas, Trefoils or even the aforementioned Thin Mints. A balding, bespectacled, older man, of medium height and boxy stature, got out of the third SUV. He was wearing a black trenchcoat and seemed in a hurry.

Dick Cheney — the recently (this was February 200l) elected Vice President — was there to buy a book. And, we hoped, perhaps purchase some Girl Scout cookies, too.

Depending on who you talk to about this event all these years later, you’ll get a slightly different recollection. We can confirm, however, that the Veep went into Borders and two of the girls — including mine — tailed after him, only to be turned back by his Secret Service detail. Someone remembers that few of the security squad went into the store to clear it of customers so the VIP could browse in peace. Cheney may or may not have emerged with a book. He may or may not have greeted the girls, and purchased a box of cookies. One of his agents, though, for sure bought at least one box. And had an extended conversation with the members of Troop 108 about how much he loved Thin Mints.

I think about this up-close-and-practically-personal encounter whenever it’s time to get my cookie on every February. This year I worried about how I would feed my obvious addiction. But I recently found a supplier who will go above and beyond to feed a hardcore habit.

Meet Girl Scout Troop 6000 — a group of scouts whose members all live in the New York City homeless shelter system. Troop members — who meet in the 20 shelters located throughout NYC — take part in all of the activities that Girl Scout Troops always tackle— badges, community service, even camping and, of course, cookie sales.

I learned online (how else?) how I could support the mission of Girl Scout Troop 6000, and I got right on it. I ordered my annual 10 boxes (they go into the freezer, to be consumed mostly in the summer months — duh) from these entrepreneurial NYC kids. No fuss, no muss. My Thin Mints were delivered over the weekend and all is right with the world as far as I’m concerned — Girl Scout cookie-wise, at least.

I’d like to say that Vice President Cheney’s visit to our troop’s weekend cookie table helped to boost sales. Not that they needed much help. You see, Girl Scout cookies pretty much sell themselves — unlike back in the day, when my family took it upon themselves to make sure the cookie books were balanced. And I imagine the eight cookie varieties that Girl Scout Troop 6000 offers for sale online will sell like hotcakes — or at least like Thin Mints. And I hope this digital initiative teaches those girls hard work and perseverance can propel them to greater heights. That’s the lesson of scouting — whether one is living in a New York City homeless shelter or in a comfortable suburban community just outside D.C.

Yes, I got my fix this year. I sometimes wonder about Mr. Cheney and his predilection for cookies of the Girl Scout variety. He’s had some heart trouble, including shortly after we met him in front of Borders Books, so there’s that. In any case, someone should tell him he can procure a box — or two, or three — from Troop 6000. Perhaps our contributions will help these special scouts find their place in the world.