A 28 Cent Gobstopper

The Story Behind A Tweet

I just bought a 28 cent gobstopper from cute little girls operating a candy/lemonade stand in their driveway

— Carl (@trx0x) April 6, 2012

I was driving along, and I saw these two little girls at the end of their driveway, waving at me. Of course, I pull the car over. Why the hell not? I saw cups and other stuff, I had no idea what they were selling, though. With the engine still on, and Stan Getz blasting on the stereo, I rolled down the passenger side window. “Uh, how much…?”, I said. And then I started laughing*. The one girl shouted “50 cents!” Of course, I have no change on me. Don’t you take Square?? Still sitting in my car, I searched my pockets while Astrud Gilberto whispered sweet nothings for everyone to hear. I had 3 cents in my pocket. “I only have…I don’t have any change…I’ll have to come back. I need cash.”, I told the little girl. She looked incredibly disappointed and sad. Oh no! Disappointed/sad girls! That’s my kryptonite! Then I remembered there was change in my ashtray. I found…a quarter.

“Hold on! What can I get for…28 cents??”

“You can have this Gobstopper!”

I got out of my car, and handed the little girl 28 cents. A quarter and three pennies seemed like an absolute handful in this girl’s hand. The other little girl handed me the Gobstopper. I got back in my car, which I realized was really loud in this quiet neighborhood. Damn you sport exhaust†! I was almost thinking a mom would come running out, wondering what all the racket was, and catch me handing a little girl some change. Then again, I’m sure the mom was okay with the whole thing…or wasn’t even home at the time. Kids are sneaky. Anyway, the girls waved as I drove off, and I unwrapped the Gobstopper and put it in my mouth…and crunched it, because that’s what I do with all hard candy.

*Years ago, I would drive to my girlfriend-at-the-time’s apartment to pick her up when we would go out. She would always wait behind her building, in the alley, because there was usually no parking on her street. The running joke I had was that I would pull up in this alley, roll down the window, and yell “Hey! How much?!?” Because, you know, that’s what guys do when they pick up prostitutes. Of course, it was all in good fun, as she would tell me either “SHUT UP” or “More than you’ve got.” And I can’t believe I told you this, haha. I know, it just adds a whole other element to the “buying candy from little girls” story.

† By sport exhaust, I mean that I have no muffler.