He's Just Not That Into You. Or Your Cookies.

ACT ONE: A while back a barista at my favorite coffee shop on Capitol Hill encouraged me to bake cookies for his friend who just opened a coffee shop on Capitol Hill. He apparently had great coffee but no baked goods. "Maybe you could sell them some," he suggested.

The next day I went in, introduced myself as Matty's friend, and handed them a very full jar of warm cookies. The first thing out of the owner's mouth was, "Where'd you bake these?" I got nervous and started talking too much and too quickly and explained that I had baked them at my house and was interested in baking and wanted to sell my baked goods, if they were interested. He looked at me like I was a fool and said, "You can't do that. Health department violation."

Then I got even more nervous and explained that he should try them and if he liked them I could get access to a commercial kitchen. (Big. Fat. Lie.) He looked at me like I was a crazy lady, took the cookies and nodded in agreement when I told him I'd be back for my jar.

The next day I went back for my jar. (I brought Clay with me so they could see that I do have friends.) He recognized me and handed me an empty jar and said nothing. NOTHING! He doesn't say, "Thanks for the cookies." He doesn't call me an asshole. He doesn't comment on my shoes. Or my friend. He says nothing. I gather up my cookie jar and hand him my sad and very dated little business card, which has a bird on it and an AOL email address.

I tried to hold my head high as Clay and I walked out to the car. Once inside, I looked at Clay and said  "He's never going to call." And Clay sadly agreed, "Nope. He's never going to call." And he didn't. END OF ACT ONE