We’re currently in the thick of Girl Scout Cookie season, that time of year when those adorable little girls in uniforms who look like they could sell Donald Trump the Brooklyn Bridge marshal their ranks into the cutest sales force on the planet to sell us drugs.

Don’t stare at me like that. How else can you describe the effects these cookies have on grown adults? Geez, the way some of you consume Thin Mints, it’s like you think the word “thin” will apply to your waistline.

But let’s break down how Girl Scout cookies work for you, as I’m sick of them already and am in a mood to ruin them for everyone. Here we go!

We start with the baking and packaging of said cookies. They are limited in quantity each year and supply is basically limited to whatever the year’s “harvest” brings. Yes, they’re not constructed from anything illegal, but I contend the bakers of Girl Scout Cookies operate like moonshiners. You ever see a baker making Girl Scout Cookies? That’s why you never see a moonshine still operating either.

Now if you personally want Girl Scout Cookies, you need to know someone who knows someone that’s got access to the supply the harvest yields. You then tell your dealer—erm, contact—what you want and then they go to their dealer—erm, scout, and place the order.

On the other side of the transaction, Cookie sales usually begin with the moms in a troop playing a game of “Not Me” until someone’s saddled with the job of handling cookie sales. Unless some mom’s just the alpha take charge type, and then they’re the one that does it all.

After the girls get initial orders from their neighborhood, family and friends, the order goes to the troop mom/moms who volunteered to do distribution. This is where the cookies are brought to a centralized drop off point for all the troop moms and dads so said cookies can be widely distributed to the community.

If you are lucky enough to go to distribution, you will be amazed. The volunteers will fill your SUV or minivan to the gills with cases of cookies at speeds that would make the Flash blush.

If however you’re a humble humorist like myself, you will be spared the beauty of this sight because you’re taking your nine-year-old son to the dentist for a cleaning.

Anyway, that night when the cookies came home with Dr. S, I was asked to put them all in the garage for later sorting. I did as I was asked and quickly found out my back isn’t cut to hauling around a garage full of cookie cases.

Saturday was spent arranging the cookies into various amounts each Girl Scout planned to distribute for sales. If you’re not around a Girl Scout troop during Cookie Season, you don’t know these girls make plans to sell certain amounts and set goals for success.

From the pile that was in my garage last weekend, my daughter’s troop set some very lofty goals.

Anyway, Dr. S, my logistics queen who’d taken this year on as a favor to a friend, found herself short eight boxes of Trefoils Saturday night. You’d think those little shortbread cookies would not be a big deal. You would be incredibly wrong with the amount of time I spent searching Saturday night for those goddamn cookies.

Those searches did not bear fruit. This meant on Sunday my wife went full-on weight house boss mode. Everyone who arrived to pick up cookies had to go over their entire order with Dr. S, sign a form stating they’d picked up their entire correct order, and then given a total to bring back in two weeks. I was amazed at the cold efficiency of it all.

And since Girl Scouts at my daughter’s level are a “girl led” troop, I stayed outside long enough to make sure I wasn’t needed and then played on my son’s Nintendo Switch.

Monday I had my marching orders: distribute cookies to the neighborhood and collect any money due. Fortunately this was the one time in my adult life people were actually excited to give me money. Shit, I even got tips for delivering.

Stop staring. The money went to the troop’s overall total. I’m an asshole, but not THAT big of an asshole.

Anyway, I handled all my deliveries in one day, which means the customers get to do what drug users inevitably do. They eat a couple, swear they’ll freeze the rest, and then wonder at 2 AM how that many disappeared so fast. Then they plot to get more.

And that’s why Girl Scout Cookie Booths exist, but that’s another story for another day.

Happy Friday, y’all! See you next week!