The Cookie Thief

Morning Story and Dilbert

Vintage Dilbert
August 4, 2013

A woman was waiting at an airport one night, with several long hours before her flight. She hunted for a book in the airport shops, bought a bag of cookies and found a place to drop.

She was engrossed in her book but happened to see, that the man sitting beside her, as bold as could be. . .grabbed a cookie or two from the bag in between, which she tried to ignore to avoid a scene.

So she munched the cookies and watched the clock, as the gutsy cookie thief diminished her stock. She was getting more irritated as the minutes ticked by, thinking, “If I wasn’t so nice, I would blacken his eye.”

With each cookie she took, he took one too, when only one was left, she wondered what he would do. With a smile on his face, and a nervous laugh, he took the last cookie and broke it in half.

He offered her half, as he ate the other, she snatched it from him and thought… oooh, brother. This guy has some nerve and he’s also rude, why he didn’t even show any gratitude!

She had never known when she had been so galled, and sighed with relief when her flight was called. She gathered her belongings and headed to the gate, refusing to look back at the thieving ingrate.

She boarded the plane, and sank in her seat, then she sought her book, which was almost complete. As she reached in her baggage, she gasped with surprise, there was her bag of cookies, in front of her eyes.

If mine are here, she moaned in despair, the others were his, and he tried to share. Too late to apologize, she realized with grief, that she was the rude one, the ingrate, the thief.


By Valerie Cox in “A Matter of Perspective”
  1. good one…many things are a matter of perspective!


    • Thanks for your comment!!!! You are right about the perspective and I see the “First Impression” thing going on here too!!!!

      Take Care and God Bless 🙂 Kenny T


  2. If it was my coffee I’d hate to split it if it were Costa Rican or Guatemalian. But if it was the instant coffee that seems to be drunk by the buckets in offices; pour it on me instead thanks.


  3. Somewhere I have a “version” of this story which has circulated for years. I first saw it posted by a columnist in the Minneapolis Star and I clipped it out, glued it on a notebook page, but have never used it an any official way. I have used it as illustrations with in conversation. It seems to me that story tells and writers have taken lots of liberty in the telling of this story over the years, but the beginning and ending are usually the same. The ending is so human, so probable. I need to dig out my dusty copy!


  4. dsimpsonj said:

    This would totally happen to me. Teaches me a lesson.


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