First of all, it’s not personal.  You seem very nice and cute, and you may grow up to be a wonderful, accomplished person, such as a teacher or an astronaut.

On the other hand, you may grow up to be an embezzler, or a serial killer, or a hooker--not the good kind who do their jobs honorably, mind you, but the kind who cut the time short while filching my wallet.  The fact that you’re standing there asking me for money tends to suggest the latter.  I simply don’t know whether my monetary support today will encourage you to grow up to be the next Hitler, so I’m making the morally appropriate decision to take no action whatsoever.  And although using Hitler in a rhetorical discussion is usually bad form, it’s very appropriate when discussing girl scout cookies.

Second, remember when I said it’s not personal? That’s true in regards to you.  It is, however, personal, in regards to your mother, who is standing behind you and beaming proudly.  Why is your mother proud?  You’re not doing anything.  You’re not engaging in any kind of true, risky commercial enterprise. When I was your age and I was selling things for school, I went door to door in my neighborhood.  Doors slammed in my face and dogs chased me.  You’re standing here in my place of work, and your mother knows that the professional environment we’re in will prevent me from displaying uncivil behavior.  And she’s right to extent; it’s only our location that keeps me from using a stapler on her forehead.  In protest of your mother, I cannot engage in a business transaction with you.

Third, I’m forced to protest your product’s misleading marketing.  On the box it says “Girl Scouts: Where Girls Grow Strong.” The photos show girls exercising and playing basketball.  Which is all fine and good, but the product is Peanut Butter Patties.  Am I to draw a connection between Peanut Butter Patties and healthy young girls?  Let’s look the side of the box.  It says “You’d be surprised what a Girl Scout Cookie can build: Strong Values.  Strong Minds.  Strong Bodies.  Strong Community.” And yet, on the other side of the box, it lists the ingredients: “riboflavin, folic acid, partially hydrogenated vegetable oil.”

I never got around to reading Hilary Clinton’s It Takes a Village, but I bet that Chapter Three wasn’t titled “Partially Hydrogenated Vegetable Oil.” I know you’re young and these concepts are new to you, but I need to you seek out your den mother, or whatever they call your upper management, and say these words: “My moral code prohibits me from selling additional cookies until the marketing message is aligned with the product itself--even if that means we’re unable to finance our volunteer work for the senior center.”

But let’s say you succeed, and let’s say that the next time you come see me, the box shows a lot of fat, acne-ridden children sitting around and stuffing their face--with no basketball net in sight.  Even then, we will not be able to come to terms: girl scout cookies taste terrible.  If you want to engage me in a commercial exchange, you will need to have a product that compels me to action. You will need to show value.  You will need to present a business case.  This is no free pass for you.  This is no hand out.  I cannot be your “sugar daddy,” by way of buying your “sugar cookies.”

I hope I have made my position clear.  This is no random, cruel brush off.  I have given the matter thought, and I also hope I’ve shown you the path to follow so that, at some point down the line, we can come to terms.  When that day comes, as long as you’ve taken my feedback into full account and incorporated it into your service model, I will be happy to reconsider your business proposition.

Now get the hell out of my cube.