It’s anecdotal, but Gina made the cookies.

The other day I was at conference with defense-related members hailing from about two dozen different countries.  A quick scan of the amphitheater revealed that everyone was caucasian, and only two of the attendees were female. The only other notable demographic was a single obese man who came in late after the break. Upon sitting down and pretending to listen to the speaker, he proceeded to slowly but forcefully paw open a tightly packed cellophane packet of Biscoff cookies that were put out for the coffee break. It would appear that he missed out on the tray of cookies that were available at the start of the pause. The tray containing Gina’s triple chocolate chip cookies.

Most days I really don’t consider myself much of a minority in the United States military.  As a white female, on the whole I believe that my subordinates, co-workers and seniors treat me in a way that is commensurate with my workplace production. I can’t speak for others, but with some exceptions, this has been my experience over 16 years in the Navy. But still. At that moment as I listened to the fat guy “quietly” unwrap his Biscoff cookie, there was something that had me irked. It was the fact of Gina’s cookies that remained lodged in my craw.

Gina is a woman who is probably ten years my senior and is the chairperson of an important multinational agency in Europe. I met her last week when she visited my office and accordingly, I had a chance to review her impressive CV.  As the only other woman at this week’s conference, her presence immediately stuck out to me.

In my organization, most folks live for the coffee break. I love coffee too.  As I tucked into the conference’s protocol room in search of my afternoon caffeine hit, I found my boss standing alongside Gina. I filled my plastic coffee cup, and as I did so I spied a dwindling platter of gorgeous-looking chocolate chip cookies. The kind that only an American knows how to bake— slightly thick and chewy with seemingly frozen waves of dough encircling big chunks of chocolate. Just off to the tray’s side, a stack of airplane biscuits lay neglected and unremarkable.

Normally I pass on the lousy food offerings found at these types of events, but on this occasion I could not pass up on the chance to score one of the remaining beige and buttery pucks that I knew would taste delicious. I picked up the cookie and joined in the room’s conversation.

“Oh wow those are homemade!” said my boss as soon as I walked over, cookie in hand. “I’ve gotta get me one of those.” He excused himself for a moment as I smiled at Gina.

“You know,” said Gina as my boss returned, “they really need to get a woman to do coffee breaks- these guys just can’t seem to get it right.” It was a light-hearted remark that had an undercurrent of truth to it.

I scanned the long, polished wooden table and could see what she meant. Only the far edge had anything put out and even then it was pretty scant. A handful of water glasses but no water in sight, tea bags and a small kettle, the cookie offering, and one jug of coffee. No napkins…and then where was the trash can? The used stirrers and creamer cups were as I mentioned just sitting on the table with no better place to go. Sure it was bare bones but everyone seemed happy to have at least something— and besides we were here for the subject matter, not a 20 minute coffee break. But then again this event was for senior leaders (I was there as a back bencher) and everyone had paid a 25 euro conference fee.

“Well they got the cookies right,” said my boss as he took a bite into the chocolate studded dough. I was already most of the way through mine and had happily discovered a big chunk off white chocolate that paired really well with my tiny cup of angry coffee.  Gina, not really caring either way, casually mentioned that the cookies were because of her— a response that prompted my boss to ask, “You made these?! They’re great!”  He was right. They were fantastic.

“Well when the New York Times says that you have to refrigerate the dough for 24 hours…” She was suddenly cut off because time was called and we needed to get back to the briefings.

And with that the subject of the cookies was over. The contribution, to her, was clearly no big deal. Me, I was left standing there, scanning the room of men, the now empty platter, and tried to piece together the storyboard of Gina holding down a high ranking job while also cheerfully helping to cater this conference.  And she didn’t just opt to bring in a packet of Oreos— or worse— those round tins of Danish butter cookies— she whipped up a batch of freshly made crowd pleasers that came from a recipe in the New York Times. I don’t think her efforts were saw any of that 25 euro conference fee.

But the moment had passed and this really wasn’t a big deal to anyone at all. And maybe it shouldn’t be a big deal to me, either (I can’t say that I’m exactly surprised by the revelation).  Back in the conference room, as I looked down at Gina sitting in the front row, I watched how she focused quite intently on the subject being briefed, taking careful notes along the way. Other senior ranking folks could be seen doing ‘touch and goes’ in their seats. Not Gina.

The rational, more stepping back version of myself knows that it’s not only women who know how to do a coffee break, just as I know that there are men who have on numerous occasions brought goodies into work that were absolutely delicious. Gina was under no obligation to bring anything in to the conference— and perhaps like me she simply enjoys baking and didn’t want to leave a massive plate of temptation in her home kitchen. I really don’t know.

I guess what the brief exchange did was underscore that we women in the workplace continue to extend ourselves in ways that go beyond what is written on our annual evaluations. Call it nature, a sense of duty or perhaps just a desire to make a bland conference more palatable— but it still caught me off guard that we’ve got woman in the senior ranks pulling a sort of double duty that will go unnoticed by most of the guys as they stand around and happily chomp on better than average cookies.  And there’s something to be said about needing to be better than average in order to pass through the workday seemingly unnoticed. I may believe that I’m treated pretty much the same as the guys, but on a deeper level I do believe that the cookies mean something.

As a woman, what I also struggled with was letting Gina know that her output— both on the “public service” as well as the “thoughtfulness” front— was appreciated…but at the same time I fought to repress the urge to turn her into a cliché. Rather than asking for the recipe she used, I felt that I should instead be asking about her career path in order to see what I could take away and use for myself. I felt like an asshole for even wanting to know more about the cookies. In the end I asked her neither question and simply went back to my seat.