Around New Years of 1999, my friend Alex visited me in Vermont. One morning, we were sitting around reading the paper or something, and little kids kept ringing the doorbell. No one ever rings our doorbell (we live a little off the beaten path), and so each time we heard the ring it was somewhat of an event. My mom would race to the door every time to answer.

The kids were fifth graders on a bottle drive for school and wanted any empty cans we had. Unfortunately, my mom had given all our empties to the first group of kids that came by that day. She had no more bottles to give.

After listening to my mom turn away at least three groups of kids – every time with the same apologies – I had an idea.

Alex and I snuck around to where we keep all of our coats, hats, gloves, and sundry other winter garments. Silently, we put on layer after layer until we were completely unrecognizable. Then we slipped out the side door and walked around to the front.

“DING dong” I pressed the doorbell. A flurry of footsteps. My mom opened the door. Alex, mumbling in a ludicrously lame falsetto, asked my mom, "Do you have any bottles?"

She looked at us without even a trace of suspicion and politely explained how she already had given away all of the bottles to the other kids.

"Well, good luck!" she said, already shutting the door. Alex and I stood there, dumbfounded, unable to speak.

With nothing left to do, we left empty-handed.