Halloween around our place is a lot of fun, and not just because we like drinking goat’s blood while standing in a pentagram. No, it’s actually because when I was little, I usually got horribly sick and had to stay at home while others got to trick’or’treat. A few times I actually went out sick, so there are some fond memories of having free run of a neighborhood late at night, collecting candy from households.
It didn’t take long, however, to realize that the cost/benefit ratio wasn’t working in my favor. The amount of work it required to collect a plastic pumpkin of glucose was pretty intensive. Visiting a grocery store’s candy aisle with a ten spot would result in more quantity and variety than I could deal with. Somewhere it became much more fun to dress up at home, make a haunted house, build a talking pumpkin, or just scare the kids silly. In later years, with more resources, we’ve had raging fires in the front yard, mist machines, special effects, and other things that draw the kids.
This year, however, was different. No costume. No special effects. No party. Not even a carved pumpkin. Just me and a bucket of candy.
And it was great. This year the name of the game was social engineering; in what ways could I mess with the kids, psychologically, to get them to accept absurd situations. It turns out the answer is… a lot.
Role Reversal
For this one, when I see the kids, I step aside and let them ring the door bell. When I go to answer it, they yell “Trick or Treat!”
I pause, pondering seriously, as if they’re offering me a choice and say, “I’ll have a Treat please!” and hold out my hand.
The look on younger kid’s faces is priceless. Some look to each other for validation. Some tentatively start to reach in their bags. Older kids challenge me on my misunderstanding, to which I offer the bowl of candy behind me as evidence of prior contributions.
Things eventually get sorted out, but they go home with stories of the nice guy who didn’t quite get how this was supposed to work.
What Was I Doing?
While sitting on my stoop, I watched as a two trick’or’treaters were running full pace from door to door, clearly trying to maximize their gains. My goal, as soon as they arrive on my door step, is to see just how long I could keep them there by interaction alone. Could I make them forget they were on a critical mission?
It didn’t take much to hear which households were the best candy givers, why they picked their costumes, what candy they liked, to eventually unrelated to Halloween topics, and ending with this year’s personal favorite, a chronological list of all their grossest personal injuries.
Eventually their parental escort came looking for them, nice for him to take so long to notice, and they actually told him to wait. We talked for another five minutes beyond that.
Clearly they were having far more fun talking than trick’or’treating. Feeling guilty, they each got a massive pile of loot before I sent them on their way. Yeah, that’s me, keeping inspired kids from earning candy.
Let’s Trade
My favorite interaction with kids is something I invented that helps me get rid of candy fast, while at the same time diversifies what I have to offer, and makes the kids feel like they’ve found the best house on the block. It works like this: I tell the kids as they approach “You can have a piece of candy, OR, I’ll make you a deal, trade me a piece of candy you don’t like, and you can take two of any you do.”
Kids jump all over this. They’re quick to dump something, anything, to get the larger take.
What’s cool is that the picky kids all out score, while the greedy kids get stumped and have to go searching for what they don’t like, if there’s anything at all. No one’s been smart enough to put done one, then pick it back up with another — which is perfectly legal.
What’s funnier is that the next group of kids will come by and snag the discards.
Horrible Flavor
Every once in a while, you’ll catch a discussion of kids coming up the walk lamenting what a neighbor is giving away. Coconut, butterscotch, and mints are flavors that should be banned in the eyes of a child, especially on Halloween.
That’s why I offer worse choices, to help them appreciate what they’ve got.
I palm some candy, and as they approach, I say absolutely gleefully, “Would you like Broccoli or Spinach?” This puts on some pressure, as they don’t want to rude, and each child picks the lesser of two evils. Then they feel something drop in their bags.
Older children realize what’s going on, and it’s a game they can join in on. Back at home, no one’s disappointed — the icky candy has turned into something wonderful.
What you’re after here to appreciate is the intonations in their tone of voice; it’s fun to hear a kid try to sound excited about bitter leafy greens. This is not what mom said it would be.
The out here, should there be tears, is “Oh, I’m sorry… I seem to be all out. All I have left is chocolate, you can have that if you want.” They’re usually pretty happy about your misfortune.
The Scariest House on the Block
This one works when there’s a group of kids. They arrive in a group, and I tell them “I’ll give you a piece of candy, but if you all scream on the count of three, I’ll give you each two pieces. If it’s real loud and I can still hear you with my fingers in my ears, then three. Deal?”
Group peer pressure gets acceptance, and I plug my fingers. At that point the loudest screams come out, and I pay out. They leave happy, if not hoarse.
However, the next group of kids are really hesitant about approaching, and hyper paranoia sets in — they’re all expecting something to jump out and scare the willies out of them. And then, …nothing. Which makes departing all the more creepy, because there has to be something lingering. Yes?
Turns out this effect was even more chilling on the neighbors, who want to know what’s going on over next door, not to mention the adults standing at the street who have the (bleep!) startled out of them when all their kids scream in unison for no perceived reason. It also adds a nice mood to the neighborhood and shrills pierce out of the darkness unprompted, apparently these can be heard the next street or two over.
Revenge on the Greedy Kid
Of course, ever so often you’ll get group with a kid who can’t keep their hands out of their candy and arrives with their mouth full. At that point I quickly start throwing out questions!
“Who wants candy, say me!” All but the greedy kids can speak, and I start dropping into their bags.
“Who wants seconds? Say Trick Or Treat!!!” The kids all scream out, and I drop into their bags.
…meanwhile, the kid with the full mouth is chewing like crazy trying to swallow, for they did not get any, because they did not answer.
Often the other kids start to run off, and I get the lone child chewing rapidly on my doorstep, trying to race through. You’d be amazed at the hoops this kid will jump through in order to catch up to what the others got. I sometimes get my best screams this way.
Dinner Time
We ordered Chinese food, so I’ve got a big bowl of noodles in my hands. When I see the kids coming, I turn my back and wait for the doorbell to ring so they “catch me off guard.” At this point, the entire dialog is visual and not a word is spoken.
I turn around, as if they caught me having dinner. Then I look down at their bags, then at my dinner, and then back at them. With all sincerity, I use a fork full to gesture offering them a little bit, with a slight questionable but compliance look as if that’s what they came knocking for. I try to look really concerned about how I’m going to divide all this up fairly and if I’ll still have enough to finish my dinner.
Eventually someone catches sight of the candy bowl off to the side. I look down at it, then at my meal, and a burst of understanding happens in a Oh-You-Want-THAT kind of look, followed by a wash of relief that they actually don’t want my dinner.
I grab the bowl and pass out treats, and at this point they are all in giggles at how I almost really messed things up.
Glass Door
Our storm door is made of glass, and if there are three or more kids on my stoop, then when I go to open it, at least one child gets trapped behind it. So, I pass the bowl in front of the kids at the opening, and then pretend I can’t see the glass and pass it in front of the others. Perhaps my door is too well polished.
By placement of the bowl, and politely offering seconds, I can keep the other kids rooted in their spot, while I keep affirming though the glass with body language that it’s okay, go ahead and take one. But they can’t.
Eventually someone will actually try, but, no, the glass is there. Only after I hear the thump do I catch on that they can’t. Then I look at the blockers in a get-moving-along glance, as if they’re the ones being greedy pushing the others out of the way; I sympathize with those who were trapped.
Amusingly, I’m never blamed for the glass door; after all, I tried. It’s the kids that were blocking their way that get the blame. If there are relations, I usually get an under the breath comment which tells me how they really feel about their siblings and this kind of injustice always happening.
Closing Time
This one works around eight o’clock in order to be plausible. A group of kids arrive, and I pass out candy to all but the last kid, looking at my watch as I skip him starting to put the bowl away.
“Uh, you missed me,” I’ll quickly be corrected.
At that point, with a straight face, I check my watch again, and say, “Sorry, we just closed. Could you come back tomorrow when we open?”
Depending on age, this gets different reactions varying from “How can you close, you’re holding a big bowl of candy?!” to “I don’t think my mom will let me.”
After a little exchange, I bend the rules and give some candy, but I ask them not to tell anyone cause I don’t want to get fired. Of course, he runs off and that’s the first thing he blabs.
