Writing Prompt: One Day you come into work and find a cookie mysteriously placed on your desk. Grateful to whoever left this anonymous cookie, you eat it. The next morning you come in and find another cookie. This continues for months until one Day a different object is left—and this time there’s a note.
I work at a big conglomerate in sales and marketing. I’m pretty good at it and it’s more than a job for me. It’s my life. I never saw myself as a traditional housewife—that was my mom. I pictured myself running the show, deploying troops of sales people, on stage recognizing the good works of my team.
I have a private office, but it’s not in the corner. There’s nice wood furniture, a matching filing cabinet and a bookcase. Today is special because I am meeting with the ad agency on a new campaign. I’m wearing my power suit—black with a stark white shirt, pencil skirt.
On my desk there’s an unexpected item. I gaze at it, wondering if it will move. It doesn’t. It looks like a sugar cookie with fancy frosting that has a pink tinge. The kind of cookie people (not me) pay two or three dollars per cookie. I look for a note, but there is none. I look around the area outside my door. The Admin Assistant is at her desk, as are all the program managers.
I walk up to Cheryl and ask, “Did you put a cookie on my desk?”
She looks at me blankly. Clearly she has better things to do. She returns her gaze to her computer screen and just shakes her head.
I eat the cookie. I don’t even wait to get my morning cup of coffee. I savor the sweetness of the cookie, the smooth buttercream frosting, thinking sprinkles would have made it perfect. I lean back in my executive chair (a bit too big for me, but standard issue for executives and most of them are men). The last bite melts in my mouth. I prolong the experience.
And then I get to work.
The mysterious cookies continue to come. Every day when I arrive a variation of that first cookie waits for me. Sometimes sugar, chocolate, ginger, peanut butter. Sometimes flavored with vanilla or almond. The occasional chocolate chip, macadamia nut, refrigerator cookie. Drop or cookie cutter shaped. One day a rum ball appears. My mysterious cookie monster knows my schedule. He/she knows when I will be out of the office. There are never cookies left when I’m not in. I try to come in extra early, but the cookies always precede me.
It’s three months later. Every day I have savored the cookie de jour. I have given up trying to find out who my cookie monster is. Now I expect a cookie. I look forward to the surprise of what kind of cookie awaits me. I get my coffee before going to my office so I waste no time letting the sugared delight melt in my mouth.
Today I have a meeting with senior management. We are going to review next year’s plan.
I put on my power suit, the black one with the white shirt. Except today I can’t zip the skirt. I suck in my gut, the zipper makes its way up. “What happened,” I wonder?
I park my car, thinking about what cookie will be at my desk. As I go up the elevator, I am thinking it will be a red velvet chocolate with crème cheese frosting. Or maybe it will be an extra large Snickerdoodle. I detour to the break room for my coffee. I swing left towards my office door.
But there is no cookie. “What?” I think. “Where’s my cookie!!” I’m indignant. I want my cookie. Then I notice a note. It looks like a gift card. I don’t want a gift card. I want my cookie.
I open the card, thinking it will reveal who the mysterious cookie monster is.
One year’s membership to Weight Watchers Anonymous.