Cindy

Droog

Read Cindy's bio and previous columns

July 14, 2008

Searching For, and Trying to Be, the Perfect Cookie Jar

I’m in the market for the perfect cookie jar.

When I was growing up, the cookie jar was an exciting staple. I never knew what I might find in there. Sometimes, chewy oatmeal cookies my mom made while I was out riding my bike. Other times, random leftover treats that her coworkers had set out in the break room that day.

And still other times, it’s where she’d hide the Ho-Hos she just bought.

And occasionally, there’d be a receipt or a bill stuffed in there that I’d find interesting. Looks like Mom went to Kmart. Hey! How come I didn’t get anything? I don’t see any toy department line items on here!

Not only did I not know what I’d find, I never knew where I’d find it.

My parents would hide the cookie jar in random places, most likely, to entertain themselves rather than to pose any challenge to me. I’m sure they avoided looking at each other in fear of cracking up laughing when I’d climb on the counter, pretending to look for something I’d hidden from my little brother.

I decided to embark on my own search for a cookie jar this week, when I saw a funky, 1930s owl cookie jar on a coworker’s desk. My son loves owls, but we need to find “our owl,” the perfect one for hiding behind the couch, under the tablecloth on the deck or behind the olive oils.

All of this thinking about cookie jars got me thinking that while I’m at it, I’d like to be more of a cookie jar in my job, too. First, I’d have a very unique design. There wouldn’t be another one like me, which isn’t necessarily how I feel when I wear the same Ann Taylor navy blue suit that my coworker in marketing has.

When I was growing up, we had a big goofy jar with a chef’s hat on top. When that one broke – my little brother’s fault to be sure – my mom must have found her next one, a ceramic cookie with an insanely goofy smile, at some neighborhood garage sale. All I know is, I’d never seen one like that at the department stores.

I don’t think I should start garage sale-ing for my work clothes, but maybe a bright scarf or some of this blue eyeliner that’s making a comeback could work. Maybe I should wear my sparkly silver shoes more often, or learn how to do that thing where I braid my hair upside down.

Also, I’d always have something good or interesting in my bag of tricks, so much so that people would try to find me all the time. Just like I risked life and limb to get to the top shelves in the pantry, coworkers would be looking for me in conference rooms. Trying to run into me in the employee cafeteria. Asking my cube-mates if they’ve seen me.

Instead, most days I feel more like the dough as it’s being kneaded, with the big rolling pin of red tape making sure I’m being worked into submission.

Sure, every once in awhile a good idea will get stuck on the rolling pin, scraped off and eaten with delight. But for the most part, I’ll get a little sprinkle of flour – just enough kudos to smooth me over for awhile.

In the end, I guess that’s OK. Because I’m actually not ready to get slid into the super hot oven of top-tier leadership. Too many get there right before getting bitten. It’s a risk I’ll be more than happy to take someday, sure. But for now, I’ll be the utensil drawer instead. Steady. Always there – it never moves. No surprises.

People might not stalk me in the cafeteria, but at least they’ll know which cubicle to hit when they need the perfect tool to get the job done.  

© 2008 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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