The Haunted Lunch Room

The biscuit jar haunts me. Every time I wonder around to fill my cup with Japanese green tea goodness, the cookies some how sing to me and pull my eyes to that jar.


I love cookies. I love the way they crunch. I love the feeling of unexpected chocolate chips mixing with the flour, butter and stabiliser and melting in my mouth.

Everyday tea, coffee, milk, sugar and cookies are delivered to our floor. Fruit is only delivered twice a week. Sweet biscuits every day.

The good ones go quick. Chocolate, short bread and butter cookies are the ones everybody loves.

Then there are the others. The plain, average, no fuss, no frills ones that no one wants. Set to live their lives in the bottom of the jar waiting for someone desperate to pick them up. These are the filler cookies. They are like those kids in your class photo that you never remember. The kid that never got bullied and never made the ball team.

Your friends say “Oh that’s Dave he works at the Kmart”

“You know, I just cannot remember him” is your reply.

You remember the guy that bullies you or the girl that you secretly loved. Maybe you remember being the bully or being the object of someone else s desire. But that guy? Just like the crappy biscuit. He is invisible.

Invisible Dave, the crappy cookie that works at Kmart.

Now that I have given up sugar even the crappy biscuit looks tempting. That hit of carb laced crunch. Mass produced and injected with enough stabilisers and preservatives to outlive anything organic. Calling out “Eat me”

No longer invisible, the bastard is haunting, chasing, trying to get me. I fear it. I fantasise that it is trying to kill me.

I hope Dave is not doing the same thing….

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