The Dealers

I saw them on my way in to Kroger. They were scary- all three were dressed alike in oversized sweatshirts and plaid skirts, with sweatpants under the skirts. Immediately I thought ‘gang.’
Living in the city has trained me to handle such situations. I kept my eyes straight ahead, looking neither at them nor away, and went straight into the store. The weather was chillier than expected and I was unprepared, so when I got close to the shady characters I just sped past as if I was cold and in a hurry to get inside.
I did my grocery shopping in peace. The store was bright and cheery, and I guess all that food just lulled me into a false sense of security. Honestly, by the time I left I had forgotten they were there.

So I left the store, blissfully unaware of the danger that awaited me, and ran right into the fiercest of the gang members. She was 4’8’’ if she was a foot. I froze.

“Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?” she asked.

I hemmed and hawed, looking for an exit, but her two accomplices were there, waiting. I was out-numbered.

“Nah, man,” I said, trying unconvincingly to impose some street cred in my innocent voice. “I’m trying to keep my nose clean this year, you know?”

She was smooth. “You sure?” she asked. “You look like you could use a pick-me-up. I’ve got some Daisy Go Rounds that’ll fix you up real nice.”

No thanks, I told her. I really had to be running.

Her friend then offered me something called a Tagalong, which she said was great for Friday nights. I guess it must be some sort of amphetamine.

I refused. Then in a squeaky, intimidating voice she said, “Too strong for you? C’mon, then, how 'bout some Thin Mints? They’re pure, I swear. It’s the good stuff.”

I didn’t see any way out, and I didn’t have much cash on me. I looked around for someone, anyone, to help. The security guard was there, not twenty feet away. But he glanced around and looked right through me.
I don’t blame him. He’s not trained for this, and I guess they don't pay him enough to deal with cookie fiends. Where’s a real cop when you need one?

Finally, seeing no other alternative, I let the short one sell me some designer cookies called Samoans.

What little I bought cleaned me out, and I was getting desperate to escape. I backed away, resisting the urge to run. “No really, I would, but that’s all the money I’ve got,” I said, as they tried to induce me to buy something harder.

I got to my car and sped away. The whole incident cost me a few bucks, but I got away with my life. I count myself lucky.

Now, though, I have to find a new Kroger. The dealers told me next time they’d get me some Do-Si-Dos that would make my head spin, so I’m afraid to go back.