The Cookie Incident

Day 4 at Ditto. On the communal kitchen table Monday morning, I discovered a cake pan full of white, puffy cookies with flecks of candy red. To the right, a post-it note: "Chewy meringues with candy cane. Take one!".  Not only did they look divine, they sounded divine. Our kitchen neighbors are nice people, there's no question about that; but, what's yours is yours and what isn't, well, isn't. We do not have neon green post-it notes at Ditto, so I conclude, no one from our office brought these cookie treasures today. I let out a sigh, and walk back into our office. Each time I walk into the kitchen on Monday, I have to pass by these cookies. They look amazing, I want them, the temptation is *almost* irresistible.  Come 4 pm, there are seven cookies left in the pan.

Day 5. Tuesday morning. Still seven cookies in the pan. Friends, the problem here, in addition to these confections not belonging to me or my team, is that the pan is situated in front of the open door to our friendly, fellow start-up neighbors. If I look into the doorway of their office, someone will see me in periphery and wonder, "why is she looking into our office?" or worse, "creeper..." Both bad scenarios.  If I don't look into their office, someone could just see me steal a cookie, and mutter "I can't believe she took a cookie, and with no shame!"  Dilemma. The day progresses, and I almost - (barely) - forget about the cookies.

That afternoon, Kate and I start having a very lengthy discussion about our privacy policy, and how long user information is saved (if at all) on our website. In short, this information is saved for no more than a couple of days, but can be deleted by the user at any time prior by clearing his or her internet cookies. The word "cookies" was used no less than 15 times in 2 minutes. Needless to say, when the conversation ended, I walk into the kitchen to check out the real cookie situation. Feeling bold but still torn, I startle noticeably when I enter the kitchen and find another person standing near the cookies. I wheel around empty handed and head swiftly down the hall to the office.  Two hours later, it's 6 pm, and I hear a vacuum cleaner. This is it. I'm going to get a cookie.

The cookies are gone.
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