Grandma Said I Could

Remember elementary school fundraisers? Come on, we all did em. Nothing beats selling $10 candy bars to your family, friends, and perfect strangers so that you can win a boom box that will break sometime during its first week of use (goddamn you boom box, we could’ve been something together).

I was never too good at fundraisers. I just didn’t really give a fuck to tell you the truth. I didn’t enjoy bothering people who I knew could give a shit less about my school or little league team, or my inflated candy for that matter. But one year there was a prize that I really wanted to win. It was this dope-ass castle thing that came with all of these plastic Dungeons and Dragons-esque figures. There were archers, warriors, wizards, and a couple of big dragons. Shit, come to think of it, I STILL want it. So I decided to get serious and sell some delicious Crunch bars!

My mom came up with a great idea to help me sell. My Grandparents lived about 30 minutes away from us in a retirement community called Sun City. They may as well have called it Corpse City, since it was apparent that everyone living there just couldn’t wait to up and croak. I mean why else would you want to go live in a City that LITERALLY outlawed anyone under the age of 60 from living there? Wow, you mean I get to live with 25,000 other toothless, incontinent old farts whose idea of fun is watching their Astroturf grow? Sign my saggy Depends-wearing ass up!

Anyway, my mom’s idea was a brilliant one. One Sunday, while we were visiting my grandparents, she told me to travel the neighborhoods of Sun City, selling my candy bars to withered old ladies who just wouldn’t be able to resist my cherubic, 8-Year Old good looks.

“You know, there’s no soliciting in Sun City”, My grandmother chimed in as she choked down her fifth candy bar of the day.

No problem, my mom said. She designed a nifty little sign to wear around my head that said “Grandma Said I Could”. Surely when the kindly old-timers saw this adorable sign, their hearts would warm and they’d buy an entire case of my shitty candy.

It was a fool-proof plan, and as I headed out to sell my wares, visions of helmeted warriors plunging their swords deep into their foes filled my head (get your mind out of the gutter – I was thinking about my prize). I figured I’d start at an easy house first, so I headed for my grandparents’ neighbors’ house. They always let us use their pool to swim in and seemed like really nice people.

As I rang the doorbell, I immediately knew I was in trouble. I heard two voices from inside.

“Get the Goddamn door Harold!”

“You get it! I’m right in the middle of this show for crissake.”

I began to sweat. These didn’t sound like the sweet old people I remembered. I grabbed onto the sign around my neck like a crucifix.

“Oh shit, Harold, it’s that little kid from next door, and it looks like he’s selling something.”

“Doesn’t he know there’s no soliciting around here?”

OK, it was time to cut my losses and run. But before I could turn and dash off, the door swung open and there stood one pissed off old granny. In a form of self defense, I brandished my “Grandma Said I Could” sign in front of me.

“Candy bar?” I warbled.

“We don’t want any. Didn’t anyone tell you you’re not allowed to sell anything in this neighborhood?”

With that, Bea Arthur’s understudy closed the door in my face. My nerves shot and my hopes of ever owning my very own castle shattered, I headed back towards my grandparents’ house, my sign hanging limply from my neck.

I had my revenge though. Let’s just say that later that summer I left a……”chocolate bar” of my own in their swimming pool.