How the Cookie Crumbles - An Addiction Story

It’s dark. The only light creeps into my hiding place from the crack under the door, threatening to touch me, as I curl my toes under to avoid it. I can hear the rain, the thunder, and I wonder, how did I get here? How did this happen?

I should have recognized her, that day at the store, for the monster she was. I was blind to her disguise. Her sweet smile, her clean, pressed uniform, even the pigtails, all gave her an aura of innocence that masked the evil within. I had walked past so many others like her with little more than a passing glance and a smile, but she drew me in, for reasons I still don’t fully understand.

"Good afternoon. Would you like to try our new Caramel Delights?"

She held out her hand, guilelessly offering me not a bite, not half, but a whole cookie. I admit, I was touched by her generosity. Even the store employees inside would only allow me a taste of their toaster-oven and Crock-Pot prepared wares. Here she was, offering me the whole thing. Without obligation.

I stopped, smiled. Reached out...and entered my nightmare.

"Thank you," I smiled.

She returned my ardor. "Our troop is raising money for a trip to Chicago, to see the art museum. Would you like to help us out?"

Her words resonated inside my head as the sensation of caramel, coconut and chocolate overtook my senses. Every motion of my jaw created a new colossal pyrotechnics display of flavor and goodness and warmth and love in my soul.

"...special sale. Only three-fifty a box."

A small price to pay for this kind of pleasure. And who could resist this little darling and her group of sweet little friends, hoping to earn their way to a cultural experience?

How could I turn away?

"I don’t suppose you have any Thin Mints? They’re my favorite."

She winked at me. "They’re the most popular." She reached under her tabletop display and slowly pulled out the familiar green box. I handed her a five dollar bill, she gave me change, and presented me with the box. "Thank you very much," I said.

She flashed the smile again, but this time, something caught my eye. Was it...a glint of something sinister? Or merely the sun? "I’m sure I’ll see you again soon."

I didn’t think about her again until a few days later, when I noticed the green box was empty. I needed some shampoo and an onion anyway, so I headed to the store. And there she was, with her table in front of the automatic glass doors, slightly to the left, opposite a display of pumpkins.

"Hello again." I approached her with an easy smile. She did not return it. Instead, she looked at me almost suspiciously, with a hint of...boredom?

"Can I get you something?"

I didn’t understand. She had been so kind, and so giving, just a few days before. It took me aback. "Um, yes--please. I’d like--do you have Thin Mints?"

With a roll of her eyes, she reached under the table and tossed a green box on the tabletop. "Four bucks."

"Four? But the other day you said--"

Again, the eye roll, this time accompanied by a heavy sigh, as one might offer a small child who really doesn’t know any better. "Okay. This time. Three-fifty."

I took the box and my change, somehow feeling like I’d done something wrong. What had I done to offend her? I finished off half the box contents while selecting my shampoo and onion and chalked it up to her just having a bad day.

The next afternoon, I had to see her. It was Friday, after all, and I didn’t want to have the weekend ahead of me without reinforcements. I pulled up to the storefront just as she was loading her goods into the back of a mini-van.

I jumped out of my car and tried not to look desperate in my approach. Smile. "Hi. Guess I caught you just in time."

She didn’t even look at me. "We’re closed."

Panic began to seep into my chest. "Closed?" I managed a small laugh. "It’s not like you have to lock the doors or anything."

She turned and gave me a cold, hard stare. "What do you want?"

I held out a ten dollar bill and felt sheepish. "Any chance I could grab a couple boxes of Thin Mints, and maybe a Thanks-a-Lot?"

She glared at me with a mix of what could only be curiosity and contempt. "That’s a lot of cookies."

I looked quickly at the ground. "It’s just, you know, with the weekend and everything..." I couldn’t believe what I was saying. Was I making excuses for myself?

She set her jaw and looked me in the eye. "I suppose I could work something out. Twelve bucks."

"But I only have ten--"

"Look, lady, that’s how it works, okay? You want the goods, you got to have the green. Simple as that." She crossed her arms, standing between me and the mini-van full of that which I desired most. "So what’s it gonna be, grandma? You gonna ante up the cash? Or you want to take your chances on what they got in there?" She motioned over her shoulder to the store.

I swallowed hard. "Will you take a check?"

She did.

The three boxes barely got me through the next two days. On Sunday, I drove to the store, but she wasn’t there. I watched "Flavor of Love" and tried not to think about crisp, minty goodness, or soft, buttery caramel. I tried to ignore the sweat beading on my forehead.

On Monday, she wasn’t there, either.

Tuesday, I drove home from the store with a twelve-ton weight on my chest. What was I going to do? The store cookies weren’t enough anymore. They couldn’t even touch my yearning. I had to find her. I just had to.

As luck--or fate--would have it, she found me.

Wednesday night, I answered the knocking on my front door, and there she was. Smiling the same sweet smile that had drawn me in the first time. "Good evening. I was wondering if you’d like to place an order with me?" She held up a cardstock order form, which prominently displayed the hastily scrawled names and addresses of her other victims.

I snatched the form from her hand and began to add myself to her list of doom. "I don’t suppose you’re carrying, are you?" I tried to hide the sound of urgency in my voice.

"I might be able to get you a few boxes in advance of the order," she said, "but it’ll cost you."

I stopped writing. "How much?"

Again, the sweet smile. "Five dollars a box."

The little bitch had me by the balls, and she knew it. She could easily have said ten or fifteen, and I would have given it to her. She knew it. And we both knew that, eventually, ten or fifteen it would be.

I slowly handed her back the order form and pulled my wallet from my purse. I held her gaze as I slowly made out a check. "How do you sleep at night," I asked as I handed it to her.

She smiled. "I don’t know what you mean. I’m just doing you a favor. You should be thanking me." She rummaged through the backpack slung over her shoulder and handed me three boxes--two pink, one purple.

My heart stopped. "No Thin Mints?"

She smiled. "Maybe next time. If your attitude improves." With that, she turned on her heel and sauntered into the night.

The three boxes could have been one snack, so out of hand was my habit. I tried to hide them from myself, rationing out one or two every few hours or so, but to no avail. It was no use. And I had no idea when--if--she was coming back.

I stopped going to work because I had to sit by the door in case she came. I stopped sleeping. I sat in a huddled heap on the floor next to my front door, crying softly and willing her to return. Once I tackled the mailman in a case of delirium-driven mistaken identity. (The Post Office will no longer deliver mail to my house.)

Eventually, the light of day became too much for me to bear. I live in my closet now, as my only escape from her sweet smiling face and unassuming pigtails is total darkness. I spend my hours in and out of fitful sleep, filled with dreams of chocolaty, minty goodness, and nightmares of what my life has become at the hands of one girl, a box of cookies, and a goal.