keith

I work at the front desk of a mid-size, mid-range hotel. Despite our circa-average nature, we do try hard to do nice things for our guests. One of these nice things is to set out free cookies on the front desk on weekday afternoons.

Now these aren't just any cookies. They're Otis Spunkmeyer cookies. They come to us as pre-made frozen doughballs, and we bake them at the hotel in an oven provided by the cookie company. When cooked properly, they're absolutely delicious: just the perfect mix between chewy and crunchy, fresh, and fragrant.

But these cookies drive people insane.

In order that you should appreciate this rant properly, I must reiterate that these cookies are provided completely free.

Our regular customers view them as an entitlement. If they aren't out at the usual time, or have all been eaten, some of them act as if they've been cheated! "Where are the cookies?!" Your humble ranter happens to be what might be described as a larger than average man, and is often subjected to glances at his belly area and joking accusations that he ate all the cookies! Many even demand, in that situation, that I make a few more cookies especially for them and call them in their rooms when they're ready.

The cookies also serve as something of a lithmus test of character. These cookies, dear readers, inspire more than one of the seven deadly sins. Quite often people try one, get that disgusting-in-strangers quasi-orgasmic look on their faces, and then proceed to grab as many as four or five more!

Others immediately rush in and cram a cookie into their face before they've even said so much as "Hello," forcing me to wait for them to finish their chewing and munching and swallowing [shudder] right in front of me before we finish our transaction, or to have myself and my work area subjected to a hail of saliva-moistened crumbs [vomit] as they attempt to tell me what they need with their mouth crammed full of cookie. Especially disgusting are those obese members of American society who come in panting from the sheer herculean effort of heaving their mass out of their driver's seat, up one step, and ten steps into the lobby -- and then cram a cookie in their mouth while they're still huffing and puffing. Quite often what I need to know from a customer includes their whole name, phone number, address, number of nights, number of beds, smoking or nonsmoking, etc, etc, which is quite a lot of talking for someone with one or more cookies in their mouth.

Worst of all, some people cram a cookie into their mouth and then hunch over the tray while they eat it. Were they, to borrow the expression, born in a barn?

I've been thinking about all this for a long time, but was actually inspired to write this by a customer I had just a few minutes ago who bent over and put her nose millimeters from the tray of cookies and took a great deep inhalation through her nose. Gross!!