Random (And AWESOME) Short Stories

The Dark Side of Cookies

Beep! Beep! Beep!

I slam a random button on my alarm clock, annoyed. Why does school have to start so early? "Zoey, get up!" Mom bellows from downstairs. "Remember, you need to bake cookies for your class this morning!"

I leap out of bed, suddenly ecstatic. How did I manage to forget that today is my birthday? I hastily yank on my favorite outfit and race downstairs, taking two steps at a time.

I skid into the kitchen, where my mom is busy attempting to put on a jacket and eat a bagel at the same time. "So, what do I do?" I ask, watching her struggle.

"Figure it out! Bye!" She hustles out the door so she can go to the super sale at Wal-Mart. For one hour, they're pricing things insanely, and Mom had better get there quick. Ten minutes have already gone by, and everybody is shopping there today.

I have forty-two cookies to bake before the bus comes in half an hour. Plus, I have no recipe to follow. Great. "Well, I may as well get started," I say to nobody in particular.

I fire up my laptop computer and look up a "fast and easy" chocolate chunk cookie recipe. According to it, I have to preheat the oven and grease a cookie sheet before I do anything else. So I swirl some vegetable oil around a cookie sheet, set it on the stovetop, and supposedly turn on the oven. Little do I know that I accidentally turn on the stove instead.

I look at the ingredient list and dash around the kitchen, scrounging the cupboards for things I'll need. Two minutes later, all of the ingredients are on the counter - except for the chocolate chunks, eggs, and vanilla extract. "Oh, crud!" I exclaim. "Now I'll have to go to the store!"

I walk my bike out of the garage and strap on my helmet. The cold December air bites at my bare arms. I would bring a jacket, but there isn't any time to spare. Pedaling hard, I make it to Hy-Vee in about three minutes.

Trotting through the aisles, I pick up all of the required ingredients. I enter an empty shopping lane, where a peppy-looking clerk is waiting for a customer.

"Hello! How may I help you?" she says, flashing a brilliant smile. It seems like she took some sort of happy pill, but I don't have time to criticize your mien.

"I'll just buy these, please," I reply, loading my food onto the conveyor belt.

"Okay." She scans the three objects and says, "That will be five dollars and forty-two cents, please."

I reach into my pocket, expecting to feel the roughness of my sequin-coated wallet. But, to my dismay, all I touch is air!

"Oh, no! I forgot my wallet! Be right back!" I'm out the door before the cashier can respond.

Seven aerobically challenging minutes later, I re-enter the store, panting. I stroll back into my lane, where some guy is unloading a cart packed with junk food. No wonder he has a weight problem.

I glance at my food, now on a counter behind the clerk. I try to wait, fidgeting with anxiety. This dude reminds me of molasses being poured through a sieve. Hurry up, I silently urge. When he doesn't, I groan quietly. He shoots me an ice-cold glare and goes even slower.

When it's finally my turn, the lady futs my food on the counter, exactly where the last guy's Cheese Puffs were a minute earlier. She starts to say something, but me throwing a ten-dollar bill at her head cuts her off. "Keep the change!" I yell, grabbing my consumables and sprinting out the door.

I'm almost home when my eggs just have to fly out of the bike basket and splatter all over the sidewalk. So, of course, I have to go back and get more.