Cookie

I recently bought another in a long, long line of oatmeal-raisin cookies. Yes, raisin-oatmeal are far superior, but the establishment had provided me a sublime chocolate-chip cookie experience the month before, and I was hopeful that their being referred to as oatmeal-raisin was not a sign that raisins were being restricted to a minor role.

Some nut people think I’ll enjoy being surprised by a secret nut, so I asked the guy behind the counter, “Do the oatmeal-raisin cookies have nuts in them even though you don’t call them oatmeal-raisin-nut cookies?”

The clerk, whom I’ll call Butch, said hesitantly, “Uh … I don’t know. No, I don’t think so.”

I said, “But you’re not sure.”

Butch said, “I don’t think they have nuts in them. No, they don’t have nuts in them. I know what you mean, though.” He then told me an anecdote about somebody who’d had an allergic reaction and gone into shock and nearly died and bought a nut-sniffing dog as a preventive.

I asked him, “Are you sure there are no nuts in the oatmeal-raisin cookies?”

Butch said, “I’m sure. There are no nuts in the oatmeal-raisin cookies.”

The most interesting part for me is that I didn’t call him on it. I didn’t say, “Butch, you obviously don’t know shit from Shinola, so give me a chocolate-chip cookie instead.” What I said was, “You’re sure?” as though he might reconsider. He said, “Yes, I’m sure.” I paid him and left. Yes, I did.

Fortunately, I can Believe in Everyone without actually believing everyone, and I did not stuff my fresh oatmeal-raisin cookie in my mouth. Although I could almost taste the raisins and hear the crunch, I knew I could easily be the star of Butch’s next story about anaphylactic shock.

My fresh oatmeal-raisin cookie could surpass a marvelously chewy then melt-in-my-mouth chocolate-chip cookie purchased at the very same counter, and it could kill me, presumably in that order. In my kitchen I broke the cookie and a big hunk of walnut fell onto the counter. Yum.

I had asked Butch specifically if the oatmeal-raisin cookies contained nuts, he had no idea whether there were nuts in them, he knew the potential consequences of an allergic reaction, and he told me that he was sure that no nuts were involved. In less than a minute he somehow convinced himself of something he knew nothing about with no input whatsoever. Butch could be in Congress.

So the screenplay then takes us to the office of my attorney (I’m thinking Danny DeVito) because I’m suing the outfit that sold the blatantly misrepresented cookie to me, then I win, and Butch (Jeff Perry) has to work for me. Madcap fun ensues.

Actually, Butch wasn’t around when I went back, and the woman I spoke to gave me a nut-free chocolate-chip cookie as a replacement. I’d rather have a raisin-oatmeal cookie than an employee.