One of these is not like the other

People, jealous petty people, are fond of saying Los Angeles doesn't have seasons like real cities do. As someone born and raised here, I can tell you we most certainly do have seasons.

We have two. Construction, and Girl Scout Cookies.

If you've been to a market, home improvement store, mall or gentrified shopping district, you already know right now we're in the thick of Girl Scout Cookie season. And the cuteness is definitely in full bloom.

Tonight the wife and I had a dinner date. The kids were out at a rehearsal for a school show, so we took advantage of the alone time and went to a local place called the Deli News, which is neither a deli or a newsstand.

Anyway, in front of the restaurant was a GSC table being manned (womanned?) by two parents. In front of them, close to the curb so cars could see her, was one of their daughters - about eight years old - jumping up and down with the energy of a cheerleader on Red Bull and holding a stop-sign shaped sign that read "Please buy cookies!"

The wife and I exchanged a look, and we walked up to her. I said, "Excuse me, you know where I can get some thin mints around here?" She thought for a moment, then a big smile came over her face and, pointing at the table, she said, "Right over there!"

The wife and I went up to the table, and made the purchase you see in the picture. Now, I was willing to stop at the two boxes of Thin Mints. My needs are few, and two boxes meet them just fine. However, the wife had a hankerin' for something in the peanut butter family. And since Mr. Peanut wasn't available, she opted for the do-si-dos.

Here's something you don't know about me: I'm not a peanut butter guy. Never liked it, never will. For me, the only reason peanut butter exists is to get my dogs to take their pills. But if it makes the wife happy, I'm glad to pony up the fin.

Besides, you know what they say - happy wife, happy you won't get killed in your sleep over something you said three years ago.

The problem with Girl Scout Cookie season is once you buy from one cookie pusher, you're pretty much stocked up and have to say no to all the other ones. As they learn all to quickly, it's a first-come-first-sold world out there. But I hope they all sell out their entire cookie inventories, and get all the badges their little hearts desire. They've earned it.

I also hope they do it before construction season starts and makes it harder to get to those tables.

Standard issue

Wander around agencies today - especially those on the west side, not that I'm making certain assumptions - and you'll see a lot of similar accoutrements.

There is of course the open office seating plan, designed to increase communication, stimulate creativity, create departmental interaction and drastically lower agency overhead and reflect better on the annual P&L audit by not having to build out offices for everyone.

Guess which one of these it does best.

You'll probably also see the Peet's Coffee machine, offering lattes, extra shots of vanilla and chocolate, hot chocolate made with water (just like mom used to make), as well as dark, strong coffee's bastard red-headed stepchild, tea.

There'll be no shortage of hipster planners with knit caps, tight jeans, iPhone 6's, piercings and piercing insights into the clients business. Things like "People buy (CAR NAME HERE) because they want an innovative, reliable car."

You'll see The Meeting Place. This can be a basketball court, an inside park or even a large centrally located staircase where staff meetings can be held for any number of reasons. Winning a client. Losing a client. Pep talk. Annual work review. Birthdays for that month. The reason isn't really the important thing. The important thing is it's usually about an hour no one has to do anything except eat bagels and pretend they're listening.

More often than not, what you'll also see is a foosball table. It's usually located near the vending machines, or in a former conference room along with a well-worn leather couch and some leftover swivel chairs.

Riddle me this: what's the deal with foosball?

I can count on one hand how many times I've actually seen anyone using them. Of course, I can also count on one hand how many times a planner has given me an insight worth a tenth of what they're being paid. I might be getting off topic here.

The point is, how about 86'ing the foosball table for something people actually use to blow off the stress of coming up with outdoor headlines like, "The 2015 (CAR MAKER) (CAR MODEL)."

Sure, we make it look easy. But it's not.

I'd like to suggest a pool table, because everyone likes holding the cue and pretending they're Paul Newman in The Hustler. Since there's no smoking allowed within twenty feet of the building, you won't be able to let a cigarette with a burned down ash dangle from the corner of your mouth the way Newman did. But maybe if no one's looking you can get away with a vape e-cig.

Or a ping pong table. The ball makes a nice sound, and it's easy to ace the other player if you're serving. Plus you can take that half crouching, swaying side-to-side stance that, combined with the creased brow and intense stare, makes it look like you're playing a game that really matters.

I believe foosball tables have seen their day. The time has come for them to be relegated to history's scrapheap of agency furnishings we once thought we couldn't live without: The bean bag chair. The cork wall board in offices (when they had offices). The oversized Lichtenstein print.

Classic foosball tables can run over $5,000. If an agency is going to spend that kind of money, it may as well spend it on something more meaningful and worthwhile.

Like a higher quality pizza at the 2 a.m. regroup.