Cookie Cards and Free Cookies

Chocolate Chip Cookies that tasted almost as good as the memory

When I was a child, going to the neighborhood grocery store with my mom was a real treat — literally. There were things to see, things to do, and maybe most importantly, things to eat.

Growing up Gen X was so different from what kids today experience that our stories must seem like ancient works of fiction. Yes, we went unsupervised for hours at a time. We jumped off roofs and hunted snakes and built skateboard ramps out of stolen wood and rusty nails and as long as were home in time for supper, all was right in the world. We didn’t wear bicycle helmets because we literally didn’t know anyone who owned a bicycle helmet. One time during recess a classmate fell off the monkey bars and hit his head on the pavement so hard he knocked himself out. After he woke up and stopped throwing up we walked him back to our classroom where our teacher put me in charge of “making sure he doesn’t fall asleep.” That’s what growing up Gen X was like; ten-year-old kids in charge of making sure their classmates didn’t slip into a coma and die during library time.

I’m telling you this to tell you that when I went to the grocery store with my mom, the first thing she did was turn me and my sister loose. Every mom did. In the grocery store there were moms pushing their carts and shopping, and kids off doing their own thing. We had all heard the story of Adam Walsh, the six-year-old kid who got abducted from a store and murdered, and because of that our moms all gave us the same advice: “if a stranger tries to take you, don’t go with them. Oh, and scream.”

Inside our local grocery store, my sister and I were expected to be in one of four places. The first was near the arcade games. Arcade games were everywhere in the 1980s — the skating rink, laundromats, gas stations, and even the grocery store. Our grocery store had a couple of machines right next to the exit door: Zoo Keeper, Moon Patrol, and maybe Galaga. None of us had any money or if we did it was only a quarter or two, which didn’t last long. After our money ran out we would just hang around and watch other kids play the games, which was almost as exciting.

The second area we were allowed to hang out in was the magazine area. The magazine rack was wooden and gigantic. While the top section displayed copies of boring magazines for adults like People and US Weekly, the bottom section was a library made for kids with new copies of Sesame Street, The Electric Company, 3-2-1 Contact, Highlights, and of course, Mad Magazine and Cracked. If you shoved a few magazines to the left and pushed a few more to the right, the bottom shelf had just enough of a ledge that you could sit while thumbing through the latest issues.

And then there was the toy aisle, right there in the middle of the supermarket. I don’t remember them having a lot of toys, but I’m sure there were a few Star Wars action figures and Hot Wheels cars hanging on pegs just in case someone needed to pick up a last minute birthday gift. My mom used to tell us “look with your eyes, not your hands,” and we always kept our hands in our pockets when visiting the toy aisle although not all kids followed the same etiquette.

The last area we had permission to be in unsupervised was the bakery. The bakery had a large glass display full of cookies, and next to it was a cooler with a few decorated cakes and cupcakes on display. Hanging from the counter was a laminated book containing pictures of cakes you could order. There was a race car cake and a Batman cake and a pink princess cake. None of us ever got one of those cakes, but our moms probably got a few cake ideas from that book and just made them at home.

The main reason to visit the bakery was not to drool over cakes you could not eat. It was to present your Cookie Card to the employee behind the counter. Our local grocery store, like many others across the country, issued Cookie Cards to kids. I think for a while you had to show your report card to get one and then that went away and they would just give them to anybody. Every time you visited the store, all you had to do was present your Cookie Card and the person behind the counter would give you a cookie.

For free.

To us, Cookie Cards were as valuable and precious as an adult’s driver’s license or social security card, and for that reason we were not to be trusted with them. My mom kept our cards safely tucket away in her purse. I don’t remember how long it took her to do her grocery shopping — half an hour, maybe a bit longer — but the goal was to spend a few minutes at the arcade games, a few minutes reading magazines, a few minutes looking at toys, and time it so that by the time she came up that last aisle, the bakery aisle, everything — you, your mom, and your Cookie Card — would be in the right place at the right time. And when it all came together, your mom would hand the baker your Cookie Card and they would pretend to look at it real intensely like a bouncer at a club checking your ID and then hand you a warm, soft, chocolate chip cookie, sometimes right from the oven.

There’s a paradox that comes with nostalgia, a never-ending bi-directional pull of missing the past while appreciating modern conveniences. It took me a long time to reconcile the fact that it’s okay to like them both. I love Instacart, and Walmart’s curbside delivery. I love touching pictures of food on my phone and having that food magically appear on my doorstep. Love it. But in the same breath I can still wane for those simpler days of childhood, back when we had a local grocery store (Walmart eventually priced them out of business) and you saw your classmates there (eventually a bunch of them got jobs there) and the owner knew your name and if you showed the nice lady in the bakery your Cookie Card, she would give you a free cookie.

I miss those cookies, and cookie cards. But I miss those times even more.