When I arrived at work today, the special treat du jour was a fresh-from-the-oven Otis Spunkmeyer cookie, one with every full student lunch purchased. Tried one - they were absolutely delightful. Warm and soft, with the chocolate chips still just a little melty.
As luck would have it, I had to serve today, and the cookies were quite popular. And why not? The cookies were essentially free; they did not count as one of the two side dish choices. Out of several hundred children, I had perhaps three or four turn down their cookie.
Then, as the shift wound to a close, I ran out of cookies - with ten children left in the line.
These ten children looked broken-hearted. "We're the LAST kids," one of them said to me. "Can we get anything special?"
And I looked. All I could find were leftovers from our most recent debit card reward giveaway - a practice started last April by my previous supervisor to encourage children to remember their cards, but which has largely become a way to give away stuff we need to get rid of. This last time it was a box of individually wrapped cinnamon grahams nearing expiration. Their unhappiness was understandably unassauged by the substitute offer...and even so I only had six.
I was at an impasse. These ten had done nothing to deserve being sent away empty-handed, and though I'd heard Rosie would be returning from the elementary school momentarily with her leftover cookies, I didn't want to leave them waiting in line indefinitely as their short lunch break ticked away. As the grumbling increased, I told the kids "Let me check one last time" and disappeared into the kitchen without much hope, wondering with vague bemusement whether I was going to have a mini-riot on my hands. And suddenly there she was, still apple-cheeked from the bitter cold outside, bringing in empty serving trays, boxes of Uncrustables...and the very last tray of cookies.
As I returned to my serving station with cookies in hand, the kids actually cheered. It felt a little theatrical, like a cheesy commercial. You could almost see the camera just over my shoulder, catching a little of my profile and my two arms outstretched with the tray of moist delicious chocolate-chip cookies, and just beyond that point of view the cheering faces of the children as my profile passed through the doorway and into the brightly-lit lunchroom.
So there you have it folks, I got a standing ovation today for cookies. And I didn't even bake them!
As luck would have it, I had to serve today, and the cookies were quite popular. And why not? The cookies were essentially free; they did not count as one of the two side dish choices. Out of several hundred children, I had perhaps three or four turn down their cookie.
Then, as the shift wound to a close, I ran out of cookies - with ten children left in the line.
These ten children looked broken-hearted. "We're the LAST kids," one of them said to me. "Can we get anything special?"
And I looked. All I could find were leftovers from our most recent debit card reward giveaway - a practice started last April by my previous supervisor to encourage children to remember their cards, but which has largely become a way to give away stuff we need to get rid of. This last time it was a box of individually wrapped cinnamon grahams nearing expiration. Their unhappiness was understandably unassauged by the substitute offer...and even so I only had six.
I was at an impasse. These ten had done nothing to deserve being sent away empty-handed, and though I'd heard Rosie would be returning from the elementary school momentarily with her leftover cookies, I didn't want to leave them waiting in line indefinitely as their short lunch break ticked away. As the grumbling increased, I told the kids "Let me check one last time" and disappeared into the kitchen without much hope, wondering with vague bemusement whether I was going to have a mini-riot on my hands. And suddenly there she was, still apple-cheeked from the bitter cold outside, bringing in empty serving trays, boxes of Uncrustables...and the very last tray of cookies.
As I returned to my serving station with cookies in hand, the kids actually cheered. It felt a little theatrical, like a cheesy commercial. You could almost see the camera just over my shoulder, catching a little of my profile and my two arms outstretched with the tray of moist delicious chocolate-chip cookies, and just beyond that point of view the cheering faces of the children as my profile passed through the doorway and into the brightly-lit lunchroom.
So there you have it folks, I got a standing ovation today for cookies. And I didn't even bake them!
1 comment:
I want to say something crass about your cookies and my standing ovations...but I will digress.
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