Monday, October 26, 2015

the cookie incident

There are a certain number of truths I carry around with me in life to help me maintain my sense of equilibrium in this crazy world - the kind of comforts I can lay my head on at night.  Things like 'the Kardashians are mostly made of plastic', 'chocolate is good', 'baby pink does not suit my colouring' and 'you can never have too many pairs of earrings', so on and so forth.

FACT: I can cook a kick-ass choc-chip and pecan nut cookie. Anyone who tries aforementioned cookie, loves it, and me - by way of the heart route via stomach phenomenon.  I could hang my hat on that certainty.

I recently had my first year anniversary at my not-so-new job. Baking seemed appropriate, it seemed like the kind of thing Jesus might do if he had earned his one year badge with an employer. I went to the recipe - I carefully, perhaps even lovingly sifted, chopped, weighed, measured, mixed, spooned, baked and packed, to perfection, said kick-ass choc-chip and pecan nut cookies. This morning I took them in; I even hand wrote a kooky-yet-charming sign inviting my co-workers to partake in the cookie eating.  I didn't expect a fanfare, I just wanted to say, you know "thanks" (read: "thanks, for not being complete assholes all of the time") and perhaps hope they would enjoy them as much as every other human who has ever encountered them before.

Tasting got off to a VERY slow start.  None of this pre-10am business.  "Pussies" I thought. Pfft - I had one at 7.25am. My boss finally tried one, and seemingly loved it, reaction was baseline kick-ass cookie - grateful and kind. Someone else tried one, after I suggested it a couple of times, said nothing - may as well have been eating dirt I guess. Someone else tried one, told me I did "well" (like - what the fuck?) and kept moving on. Someone else gave them a go on her lunch-break and also indicated her enjoyment, even went back for a second in quick succession. By the end of the day, there was one lonely cookie left. As I walked out the door, picking up my box with it's single lonely kick-ass cookie, I asked my old supervisor, knowing she hadn't tried one yet, if she wanted it, "No thanks" she said. Then, I turned to the only dude that works in my department and asked if he would have the last one. "No thanks, I already had one". "Fuck you" I said (in my head). I'm not a pretty face, by no means can I sway and seduce with any form of charm or charisma - but no man - no man has ever declined my fucking cookie before.  It hurt. It hurt real bad.

Maybe I expected too much. My previous bunch of coworkers loved the absolute shit out of these cookies.  I'd get baking requests, recipe sharing requests.  The damn container was always empty at the end of the day, and if there happened to be one morsel left out of politeness, I wouldn't have to ask more than once before a taker or two quickly appeared.

Had I lost my baking prowess?
Had my faithful recipe betrayed me?
Had I asked too much of the great cookie Gods?

I've been trying really hard not to hate the people I work with. (It's really challenging some days). I've had some frustrating setbacks, and experiences this past year and I've just been wanting to accept, and carry on like the good soldier I can be. Sometimes there are tears, sometimes there is sniping and there is always swearing - but Jesus, I try! And I made these people my prize fucking cookies!

I smoldered on the drive home. What is wrong with these people? What did I do to deserve this? How DARE they? I just couldn't reconcile the days cookie intake, or reaction. By the end of my short drive, I concluded that they simply must be queer.  It also occurred to me after some venting, that it had been quite important, that they like my offering. This result did not meet my expectations, and I must own my part in wanting that acceptance to transfer to me. The person, not the kick-ass cookie.

It shits me to tears, but it is an undeniable truth that, right or no, all I ever want of people is for them to like me, accept me, appreciate me. Learning that this isn't always possible, is a lesson hard-won.

But seriously, who in their right mind says "no" to food offered by a half-blood Sicilian? It's unheard of. Work dude better watch out. He's going to have to work seriously hard for my throwaway laughs now. Fucker. And just as I was starting to like him too.

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