It's that time again!...is how every one of my e-mails this month have started.
It IS that time again. Time for Camp Fire Candy sales, a right of passage for every red and blue b-vested child enrolled in my favorite youth organization, Camp Fire USA. Time again to stand in the cold outside Haggen harassing strangers, walking door to door begging for cash, and quietly threatening a negative performance review if someone doesn't buy just ONE box of freakin' mints.
The theory behind the candy sale is that the children will take an active role in supporting their organization, learn interpersonal and business communication skills, give Camp Fire a fantastic once a year PR boost. This, is not reality.
Reality is that Mom and Dad are schlepping candy to and from work, calling relatives, placing said child uncomfortably on the phone and forcing them to beg Auntie Muriel to shell out 5 bucks for a box of almond roca and sitting outside for 2 to 4 hours at a time in front of the neighborhood grocery store hoping beyond hope that the kid sells enough that we don't have to endure the shame of returning unsold product to the ever watchful eye of the "Candy Captain" *shudder*
All this before cutting a big ass check yourself to pay for the 2 or 7 boxes of clusters you had to have at 2am and the 17 missing bags of peanuttles that seem to conincide all too closely with the new, self satisfied smirk upon a certain pugglet's face.
I get fundraising. I really get it. I busted my ass when I was b-vested, and then b-gowned schlepping the candy up and down the street. I uncomfortably asked every distant relative I knew of how many boxes they wanted and how I could get it from them, and yes, the weather had been unseasonably warm, and no, I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up yet, and no, I did not in fact have a boyfriend (haw haw). Even then I understood the importance of the candy sale. This is the major revenue stream for CampFire, it's incredibly important that every kid at least shill SOME candy so we can keep programs going. I didn't mind it so much (though I'm sure my mother would tell you differently)
I still get it, and for the most part, it isn't unbearable since my kid isn't in school yet and I only have one fundraiser to shill for a year. So as I sit here pondering my frustration over my morning box of pilfered Carmel clusters I wonder, what changed?
I'll tell you.
Stuffed animals and patches.
Thats it.
Mommy doesn't get a stuffed animal to work for, or a patch to put proudly on her vest/gown. Mommy has to do 85% of the work (98% when the pink one is involved)
Camp Fire, are you listening? Mommy wants a series of stuffed gorillas increasing in size to work for, or better yet, a series of tequila bottles. Mommy wants a nice red, white and blue patch to sew proudly on her Mommy sized vest.
Mommy wants an award system. or a Spa day. Whichever.
In all seriousness, I don't mind dealing with Candy Sale for a month every year, seeing as we aren't the Girl Scouts and we have to actually WORK for a living (more on that during another drunken youth organization themed diatribe) candy is what we have to work with. For all the gifts Camp Fire has given me, and given my daughter over the years, I guess I can stand outside of Haggen for a couple of hours every Saturday for a month and not bitch too much. It is fun to watch the try to remember how to say "Creamy Smooth Mint Patties" and "Thank you for supporting Camp Fire!"
Though seriously, consider the tequila reward system, its gonna be big. HUGE, and will definitely get the parents pounding the pavement smiles on their faces!
Also Parents, please be warned, Almond Carmel Clusters are like crack, if you eat one, you eat 5. Just don't do it.
