COOKIES

COOKIES

My boss brought some cookies back from Hawaii with him, and he wants the whole office to bow down and kiss his feet for the bounty he’s provided us. He’s been going around telling everyone the completely uninteresting story of how he found the cookie shop, just a mile away from some waterfall. (His real point: “I bought you cookies. Please love me.”)

He made me run over to Gelson’s to get three gallons of milk — one whole, one skim, one 2% — so we’d have something to wash them down with.

And it’s not just people in the office. He’s been bragging about what a generous dude he is all day long on the phone — to clients, friends, his wife. “Yeah, they were such good cookies, I bought some for the whole office. (Please love me.) It was such a little out-of-the-way shop that they didn’t even take credit cards. I didn’t have cash on me, so they sold them to me on the honor system.” (Nevermind that this small, out-of-the-way cookie shop is hip enough to ship their cookies in preprinted packages with different labels for each kind of cookie and a store logo on the box.)

What he’s not telling anyone is that he’s expensing the whole thing — cookies, milk, every penny. He’s not paying a dime for his gift to the office. Yeah, real generous.

On another office-related note, it turns out the men in my company have been playing basketball every Wednesday night for as long as I’ve been working here, and no one has ever asked me if I’d be interested in joining them.

Okay, I wouldn’t be interested. Any one of a million things might’ve given them that impression and led them to assume I wouldn’t be interested. But Jerry has feelings, people.

Maybe I need to order some cookies. Then they’ll love me.

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