Cookies by Douglas Adams is a beautiful story by the English writer Douglas Adams, well-known for his wonderful The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, a collection of five books sold in more than 15 million copies worldwide. The story is real and happened in 1976.

 

This actually did happen to a real person, and the real  person was me. I had gone to catch a train. This was April 1976, in  Cambridge, U.K. I was a bit early for the train. I’d gotten the time of  the train wrong. I went to get myself a newspaper to do the crossword,  and a cup of coffee and a packet of cookies. I went and sat at a table.

I want you to picture the scene. It’s very important that you get  this very clear in your mind. Here’s the table, newspaper, cup of  coffee, packet of cookies. There’s a guy sitting opposite me, perfectly  ordinary-looking guy wearing a business suit, carrying a briefcase. It  didn’t look like he was going to do anything weird. What he did was  this: he suddenly leaned across, picked up the packet of cookies, tore  it open, took one out, and ate it.

Now this, I have to say, is the sort of thing the British are very bad at dealing with. There’s nothing in our background, upbringing, or education that teaches you how to deal with someone who in broad daylight has just stolen your cookies.

You know what would happen if this had been South Central Los  Angeles. There would have very quickly been gunfire, helicopters coming  in, CNN, you know. . . But in the end, I did what any red-blooded  Englishman would do: I ignored it. And I stared at the newspaper, took a  sip of coffee, tried to do a clue in the newspaper, couldn’t do  anything, and thought, what am I going to do?

In the end I thought, Nothing for it, I’ll just have to go for it,  and I tried very hard not to notice the fact that the packet was  already mysteriously opened. I took out a cookie for myself. I thought, That settled him.  But it hadn’t because a moment or two later he did it again. He took  another cookie. Having not mentioned it the first time, it was somehow  even harder to raise the subject the second time around. “Excuse me, I  couldn’t help but notice . . .” I mean, it doesn’t really work.

We went through the whole packet like this. When I say the whole  packet, I mean there were only about eight cookies, but it felt like a  lifetime. He took one, I took one, he took one, I took one. Finally,  when we got to the end, he stood up and walked away. Well, we exchanged  meaningful looks, then he walked away, and I breathed a sigh of relief  and sat back.

A moment or two later the train was coming in, so I tossed back the  rest of my coffee, stood up, picked up the newspaper, and underneath the  newspaper were my cookies.

The thing I like particularly about this story is the sensation that  somewhere in England there has been wandering around for the last  quarter-century a perfectly ordinary guy who’s had the same exact story,  only he doesn’t have the punch line.

 

Cookies by Douglas Adams