Toronto karma cookie

This is a story about karma and a cookie. I’m not sure which way the karma goes, if this was a reward for something, or making up for something bad, or if I'm next up for a spontaneous act of kindness, but something good happened, a small thing, and it was delightful. So here it is:

Toronto has a reputation outside of itself of being stuffy, uptight, money-hungry, career-oriented, and maybe even rude—rude for Canada, not New York rude. Let’s not get crazy. Starbucks has a reputation of being also maybe a bit on the uptight side, despite the marketing to make their cafés seem laid back and such, there are people who think of Starbucks as evil. Maybe the same people who don’t like Toronto. I am somewhat ambivalent towards Starbucks as I don’t drink coffee. I like Toronto, though, because I grew up there and it will always be home. I’ve always thought that was kind of a cliché, but it is true. As much as I have no plans to leave Montréal, ever, when I go to Toronto, I’m going home.

So I came home this week, and my first stop after disembarking from the train at Union Station was to meet my brother for lunch. He said he would meet me at Starbucks at Yonge and Adelaide. Never mind that I went to the wrong one—there was a very obvious Starbucks at Yonge and King, just a block away, and the one he was at was hidden away inside some other building—it was good that I did. I got a free cookie.

I was a bit unsure about which one I was supposed to meet him at, and I was half and hour early, so I thought I’d buy a cookie to get some change to call him and let him know I was there. I ordered the cookie and it got put in a bag on the counter. Then, as she was ringing up a sandwich and a San Pellegrino for a woman all Toronto-ed up in her power suit, she casually picked up my cookie, handed it to me and said: “There you go.”

“But I haven’t paid for it,” I protested.

“That’s ok,” she said. “Go ahead.” I thanked her and retreated to the patio to eat my cookie. I didn’t manage to get change, so I sat there waiting for Joe, thinking about why she would have done that. Maybe the $1.35 isn’t worth it—what is the profit margin on a white chocolate macadamia nut cookie?

Later, Joe said, “Was she cute? Did you get her number?” Oh. Well, she wasn’t that cute. I never notice those things. Subtle does not work with me.

There was a guy standing on the street corner wishing the customers a very subtle good day, holding a dirty, empty coffee cup out for tangible evidence of how good a day it might turn out to be. I thought I caught him giving me a knowing look. Then another down and out looking dude showed up on a scooter. He sort of shot me a glance, too. I had had a late night and early morning, I hadn’t shaved in a few days, I was carrying two dusty knapsacks, and wearing a pretty cheap (but actually quite useful) green rain jacket. Maybe they thought I was one of them? Maybe the Starbucks girl had thought I was destitute. But I had pulled out a twenty in order to pay.

I suppose there is no reason to go on thinking about why. People can just be nice, for no reason. I’ve done it. I certainly didn’t enjoy the cookie any less for being confused about its provenance. So, there in the heart of stuffy Toronto, in a stuffy Starbucks no less, a spontaneous act of cookie-kindness (the best kind) took place. Perhaps it was the city welcoming me home, a workaholic parent making up for lost time by buying favours. Maybe that’s an unfair assessment. After all, I’m all grown up, and I can see the city now for what it is, not just what it is to me. The way around all that anti-Toronto propaganda is to come here, and enjoy the city for what it is: still Toronto the Good, if Toronto the Busy. But not too busy to share a cookie.