Sit down, boys and girls, and let me tell you a story. It’s about someone you know, or at least someone like someone you know. Let’s call him “Our Hero.” “Superman” is already taken. He lives in the big city. He likes cookies. He dresses in grownup clothes. He rides the subway. He sits at a desk. And he works… for now.

His job is freelance. Many mommies and daddies have jobs like this. If he works, he gets paid. If he doesn’t work, he doesn’t get paid. The job doesn’t come with health insurance, which is what he needs to see a doctor when his tummy hurts. And it doesn’t come with a 401K, which makes him think he won’t have to work when he’s old. A freelance job, and the paycheck, can go away at any time. Our Hero wants a full-time job instead. But he likes money and needs more of it now. So he works. And he works. And he works.

One day he’s sitting at his smaaaaall desk in a BIIIIIIIIIG office when his computer makes a noise. “PLUNK!” He has a new email. It’s from someone he doesn’t know. The sender works in the Human Resources department at a company he’s heard of. His mommy always told him to never talk to strangers. Taking candy is fine. Email is okay too, because people who email can be trusted. The sender found Our Hero’s resume on LinkedIn. She wants to hire someone like him. The job is full-time. She sends him a description.

The job is perfect for him. He has every skill the company wants, and some more that they need. He even had the same title at his last full-time job. And that company was just like this company. Ms. HR thinks Our Hero could be a good fit. She wants to talk. They arrange to meet. He’s happy.

The first round of interviews goes well. He meets Ms. HR in person. She is a nice lady with brown hair and a big smile. They get along well. He also meets the person who would be his boss. She is also a nice lady. She is younger than Our Hero, and very smart. They also get along well.

The second round of interviews goes well too. He gets to meet the two men who run the company. They ask lots of good questions. They are very interested in what Our Hero has to say. He asks lots of questions too. He is very interested in what they have to say. The meetings go well.

Ms. HR says that she will call next week. Our Hero has a good feeling. This could be the one. This could be his next job. He tries not to get excited. He thinks about other things, poopy things, such as bills and Republicans. This makes him sad, and then angry. He waits for his phone to ring. What sound does the phone make? No not, “Ring-a-ding ding-y-dong, ring-a-dong ding ding dong.” Our Hero’s phone goes “Bzzzzzz, Bzzzzzz,” like a bumblebee with hiccups. It’s set on vibrate.

Ms. HR doesn’t call, and doesn’t call some more. Our Hero calls her and leaves a message. She doesn’t call back, and doesn’t call back some more. He calls her again a week later and leaves another message. Nothing. Our Hero gives up. He’s sad. The biggest cookie in the WHOOOOOOLE world couldn’t make him happy again.

He calls one last time a week later. “Three is a charm,” his mommy always says. He receives an email later that day. What sound does his computer make? That’s right, “PLUNK!” It’s from Ms. HR. This is what it says…

Dear Nrom,

Thank you for your interest in the XXXXX XXXXX position at XXXXX Company.

Although your experience and accomplishments are excellent, we filled the position with another candidate whose experience and background seemed better matched to our current needs. We invite you to visit our website for continued employment opportunities.

Your interest in XXXXX Company is appreciated. We wish you success in your job search.

Best,

Ms. HR

Our Hero calls his mommy to make sure he’s been spelling his name right all these years. He has. Our Hero tells himself not to take it personally. He does.

Norm - 1, Cookie - 0

Jackson Heights is known for great food, and much of it inexpensive. Four of New York Magazine’s top five food carts set up near my apartment. Some of the city’s best Thai food is within walking distance. And Pio Pio, what the food Gods envisioned when they made chicken edible, is also just a jaunt away. But the baked goods around here are terrible. A decent cookie, until recently, was more scarce than a seat on the 7 train at rush hour, during the US Open, a Mets home stand, periodic track maintenance and a sick passenger delay.

I moved to Jackson Heights in 2004, chasing dreams of ever-rising apartment values in New York’s housing hinterlands. That I’d planted my stake in a cookie wasteland didn’t even occur to me. One evening, giving in to my ever-present cookie craving, I set out after the chocolate chip variety. The neighborhood is teeming with Colombian bakeries; my search would no doubt be short and, ahem, sweet. It ended over an hour later in a local bodega with a prepackaged cookie. Ten bakeries, within a five-block radius, and not a single chocolate chip cookie.

What I did find, over and over, was the same damn stale, crumbly cookie that every grocery store in every city sells in prepackaged form. Most of the bakeries didn’t have space to actually bake anything. They were bakeries in name only. What a scam! What a cruel trick! I broke down outside the bodega, sobbing on my knees on a busy street corner, rain falling as the camera looked down from above. Where was I? What had I done? “Nooooooooooooooooo!”

I set out again a few nights later for a place I thought I maybe saw something almost passable. Thar be cookies in them thar hills. The semi-sweet biscuit-type impostor (sprinkles… you don’t fool me) satisfied my craving, sort of. I checked back regularly after that, peaking through the glass door and into the display case as I walked by. Sometimes they had the cookie impostor, sometimes they didn’t. If they did, I’d get one with a cup of coffee. Colombian bakeries around here generally know coffee. I’d sit at the counter munching and slurping and reading flyers in Spanish for nightclubs and cell phones not requiring social security numbers. I don’t know Spanish. The cookie impostor became good enough after a few visits, though it sometimes tasted slightly of pepper. Who knows what was going on there? For wont of a better option, I returned time and again, year after year. This was my sad existence.

I took 8 pictures, and every one has that damn homeless guy in it.

One evening last Fall my wife and I were suppressing the vague guilty feeling brought on by yet another delicious and woefully under-priced meal out. We strolled down 82nd Street past the movie theater and 47 nail and eyebrow places toward home. I stopped short on the sidewalk. My wife turned a few steps later to see me staring into the adjacent store, a thin line of drool hanging from the corner of my mouth. I slowly raised my arm and pointed. Behind the glass doors, shiny silver trim and oppressive neon was a huge display case filled with actual baked goods. It seemed to go on forever.

I only sampled one cookie from Tulcingo that night—a thick, chewy sugar cookie with a cherry-flavored center. Any more might have short-circuited my brain beyond repair. We returned a week or so later for a sampling of baked goods to serve at a small election-night gathering. A glorious night got that much better.

The cookie place has since become an almost daily stop in my travels through unemployment. My energy starts to fade along about 3:00 every afternoon. That means it’s snack time. I put on a pot of coffee or lately visit the local Dunkin’ Donuts for an ice beverage large enough to bathe in. Then it’s on to Tulcingo. I generally gravitate toward the same cookie I got that first time. But options abound—jelly-filled sandwich cookies, sugar cookies with pineapple-flavored centers, half-chocolate cookies, half-strawberry cookies. Being indecisive (and a glutton), I sometimes plop two on my round, tin serving tray and walk them up to the counter. The cashiers recognize me—the cookie-loving gringo.

Last week Tulcingo took their game to a whole new level. They came correct. They got straight-up gangsta in the 718 Jackson Hizz-eights. Word… and s**t. Since I’m out of Hip-Hop lingo, we’ll just leave it there. You get the point. Their latest baking innovation is a cookie split into four sections—chocolate, strawberry, lemon and sugar—with a jelly center. My head almost exploded upon first sight. It was phat and fly (if gravity allows that). Any chance of me going back to those stale pepper cookie impostors went right out the window with my first bite. Unemployment, or at least my mid-day break, just got a little better. And maybe one day soon I’ll be packing them for lunch at my new job.

Please help me buy more cookies…