Life in the mailroom wasn’t all bad.
Our craziest season was Christmas time, when our little department would be flooded with packages. But the good thing was that many of the vendors we worked with would send us cookies and candy for the holidays.
One of the vendors sent us homemade Christmas tree and gingerbread cookies. Every year his daughter would spend days baking hundreds and hundreds of cookies for each company they worked with.
The gesture was so sweet, the cookies were not. At least I didn’t think so.
Unfortunately, instead of keeping that to myself, I decided to open my yap and share those sentiments with a co-worker that happened to walk by.
“Would you like one of these cookies? They’re not very good, otherwise I’d eat them myself,” I said with a stupid smirk.
She stopped cold, silent. There was a slight twitch in her right eye.
She stared at me motionless. Time slowed to an awkward pause.
Finally she broke the silence. “I spent all night making those cookies.” Twitch.
What were the odds? Silly Vlad.
It turned out that she was best friends with the vendor’s daughter, and kindly volunteered to help with the massive bake session.
And that’s when I learned not to talk bad about other people, not even about their Christmas Cookies.
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