Cookie

It was his favourite part of Friday afternoon. In the station, he could sit in peace and wait for the train that would take him away from his idiot boss, annoying coworkers, and the other problems he had with commuting into the city to earn a living. He could make it to the Wednesday – the beloved Hump Day – without wanting to punch out anyone in his office (paperwork kept him at his desk, but they knew where it was, or where he would sneak off to when he thought that they did not need him around to be annoyed with extra work). But through that Thursday…

That Thursday…

He had to attend a private meeting that should have been on a Monday (a very bad sign). There was a new speaker he did not recognize; nobody recognized him or his haircut or his smile (a truly bad sign). There was news that no one wanted to hear (a lousy and ugly sign). The problem was…he knew what was coming. All that paperwork he knew that no one read (a worrying sign)… The numbers were ugly and the graphs were stomach-hardening. He knew that things were going badly for the company and that most of the assholes he worked with would probably be laid off or have their pay cut. That was their fate…

Their fate…

He knew a lot about the company; too much. Far too much to be let go without making a lot of noise about what they had done to be in such a lousy state. And seniority and spite were on his side, anyway, so he was going to enjoy a small pause before heading to the second-last train. The café was open until 9. The last train was at 7. His usual trip home would be a 6. So, he had at least one hour of peace at a shared polished white marble counter top with…no one.

So, it was a Friday, a day after the terrible news had come down. There were tears and anger, but nothing too dramatic or actionable. Very smart, he thought. Give them the weekend and they can sort their thoughts and look forward to a little break before going back on the hunt. And he had the counter…

Well, no, he did not. There was someone else sitting there who seemed to be settling in for a while. Gordon’s Café was a stop in the station that had seen better days, and many owners, and often he chose it because it was neglected and ignored after the chain stores came in. Well, great. He would keep on coming in…for one big reason.

The cookies.

They had different owners, but seemed to keep the same recipe. The cookie choices hit you as you walked in and the odor was heavenly on certain difficult days. This Friday had been difficult..for the others. But a part of him still felt bad. He would still have to walk through the floor on Monday, counting down the number of faces that were still considered important. He would have a lot of extra paperwork to do to cover the ones lost. And they would be merging with… Well, that was a difficult one. The documents were never clear when these things happened, but he knew the deal. But that was three days away…

He wanted his cookies.

The young lady at the counter recognized him, smiled, and asked if he was going to stay and “eat in or eat out”. No, he was not going to take the bait. Innuendo was in the air and it was all on her (name tag was smeared chalk). He thanked her, asked for his usual to stay, and waited as she took out the tongs and placed his choices on a tray. All dark chocolate; all marshmallowy and nutty. A perfect trio. He did have a brief thought about what the woman did when she was not here (a student; college or university; subject...). She took his money and told him to enjoy his day. The man let her keep the change and turned around.

The man at the main counter top was gone.

Well, he was gone, but his things were still there, taking up space on part of the counter and over one stool. He could have chosen a different spot, but this was his place; this was his special day. The seating looked out on the traffic of the station. You could stare out at the people passing by on the mezzanine level, but you could also look down at the lower level and the crowds gathered at each train entrance underneath the main message board and the stained glass on the sunroof. It was glorious to see it from this angle after a very long day and note how the light played across the tiles and other shops and restaurants nearby. The chain cafés were not wise enough to open up shop on Gordon’s level (they seemed to go for the rush by the exits and entrances). He could sit here and stare out at a happy accident in a rather ugly station and stay amazed at this brief moment before heading home.

That was probably why he was surprised when the man returned and sat next to him.

And he was very surprised when the gentleman picked up one of his cookies, broke it in half, and ate it.

Time seemed to move very slowly then… He looked around, noting only one security camera over the front counter, not near his space (no eyewitnesses; he was not being noticed). The odor of soap and disinfectant trailed in as the other man sat quietly, chewing the macadamia-marshmallow snack. Was this really…? Was this man…?

It would be wise to look him over before responding. Reflecting in the window in front of them, he was older, heavier, dressed in a full suit and tie (all seemed a bit dated and liable to pill up on the sleeves and shoulders); a slight haze of dandruff in his periphery; a briefcase, quite old-fashioned and leathery with its odor, rested next to his stool, and he could see that the raincoat he had left on the counter had not been worn. It was a burden now. It was something the stranger had to take with him, whether he wanted to or not.

He had another thought…

He picked up the broken piece and ate it.

Right, that was a good response. The man had those types of eyes that you had to call “bug-like”, or “bugging out”. He had seen this sort of thing in comic books but never thought about it being a real condition (maybe some of the ones who were let go at the office had it). The stranger stared down at the tray, gave him a side look, but…he did not speak. He seemed to be considering the something, looking around carefully, noting the now bored girl at the counter, and waiting to something to happen.

Let’s see what this old guy does next, he thought.

He picked up the next cookie, looked at it carefully as if it were a spreadsheet or specimen in a lab, and popped the whole thing in his mouth.

In any other situation, he would not have been so childish, but this was an enjoyable moment. The man in the suit was still staring hard at him in the glass, perhaps wondering if he just sat still he could still take one more bite of the last one in front of them, but not daring to put his hand on the plate beneath them. He found it difficult to chew the sticky mess next to the old man. And he made it seem like he was preparing to bite something else. The stranger, his coat now in a tight grip, reached down for his briefcase.

A perfect moment.

As the stranger was in motion, he picked up the plate, leaned his head back, and tipped the entire biscuit into his mouth.

Despite some of the crumbs getting into his eyes, he could see everything next to him. The man in the suit nearly fell over, catching himself on his stool, and backing up toward the entrance without taking his eyes off of him. He knew who the alpha was, he thought, staring at the window as the reflection of that stranger got smaller and smaller, and finally disappeared into the mezzanine.

Yes, he was in charge.

Maybe it was a bad idea to smile with all that sweetness and mush in his mouth and stuck on his teeth. Maybe Mr. Suit and Tie from the Fifties would head over to a chain place and get his fix. Maybe he would tell them all about the lunatic who ate his food.

Maybe, just maybe…

He was near to choking on laughter and needed to get up for a moment with his tears and…

He looked over at the now free space.

He needed milk...a lot of it.

A small tray of cookies was on the counter.

Down below, the trains began to call for their passengers.

*

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