The Oracle: If you give an insomniac a cookie…

They say the beauty of life lies in the details.

For this installment of “The Oracle,” I’d like to take a step out from the Zoltar box to recognize someone I found myself drawn to in my time at USC — my own oracle. I think there’s something very special about thanking the people in our lives and hope that you’ll be spiritually guided to honor these people in your own life.

Throughout my college experience, I’ve felt as if I’m not really there for all the good parts of life, as if my brain can’t handle it. To compensate, I try my best to find joy in the small things in life: the finally-fresh air after a classic Los Angeles downpour, seeing a frat bro fall off their skateboard after being too enraptured in bothering a passerby, a triple shot of blonde espresso over ice.

One of these small — yet undeniable — joys has been the Insomnia Cookies store in the USC Village. Ever since the store first opened on Feb. 26 of last year, I’d make my 2 a.m. trek every night after finishing production in the Daily Trojan newsroom just to grab my daily CookieMagic subscription cookie. More often than not, it’d be a Snickerdoodle, and even more often, one of my favorite employees would be there.

If you’ve ever been to the store, you know which employee I’m talking about. He’s got kind eyes, a friendly demeanor and a wicked grin, the kind that makes your whole day. I’ll never forget the first time he remembered — and dismembered — my order. I had probably walked in half-stumbling from sleep deprivation — oh, the joys of freshman year — and before I even opened my mouth to ask for that dang Snickerdoodle cookie, he interrupted me.

“We’ve got new cookies.”

I stared at him. How dare he break my long-standing tradition of getting a Snickerdoodle cookie? But I decided to entertain that option tonight and ask which one he recommended. “Lemon Poppyseed. Trust me,” he said.

And by god, he was truly deserving of that trust. How dare he. That Lemon Poppyseed cookie marked the beginning of our nightly exchanges. As we began to get to know each other through scattered snippets, our conversations grew in length — much like my belt size from all those pastries he supplied.

In the summer after my freshman year — three months I spent alone in a subleased apartment — he would be the sole human interaction of my day, and those few minutes would make up for a whole day of silence. He’d always ask me how I was, and he’d remember everything I told him. As someone who’s worked in food service for a long time, I understood what it meant to bond with a regular customer. A secret, unspoken acknowledgment of the other’s existence and a slow building of a relationship. And a Blue Ribbon Blueberry cookie.

During the fall, I’d come in far less, and he would ask why while handing me a classic Caramel Apple Pie cookie. I’d answer that life was getting too busy, and he would nod in a knowing, comforting way. Sometimes, I would run into him on his off-hours or see him balancing trays of Starbucks refreshers to bring to his coworkers during his breaks. We’d make eye contact and smile, both of us knowing I’d visit that night for my daily cookie.

This winter, I’d begun to realize that I wasn’t the only one who had been frequenting the store less. When the new Deluxe Filled Hot Cocoa came out, he wasn’t the one to hand me my first one, and I was left wondering how he was doing. When I was lucky and got a chance to see him, I’d cherish those moments — though I’d never be able to tell him.

These days, I’ve gone back to my daily Snickerdoodle. Sure, I’d try out some of the new seasonal flavors, but some of the magic — the CookieMagic, a PR person would say — was gone. Though he was someone I knew virtually nothing about and saw for mere minutes each day, I felt almost indebted to him. These small acts, these details had made my college experience better in an inexplicable way. Tonight was his last night at Insomnia.

Even now, I still feel frozen, stopped in my tracks. This loss, one that not many other people would ever truly understand, was a great one for me.

To that Insomnia employee, thank you for everything. Each night, each seasonal cookie, every hello and goodbye meant so much to me. My nightly Insomnia runs used to be such an inconspicuous detail for me, but you’ve made them the highlight of my day. I hope that the people in the next step of your life will see how truly caring and genuine you are and give you everything you deserve. You’ve been my staple, my Snickerdoodle cookie and I can’t even begin to verbalize the impact your kindness has on each person you meet.

Goodbye, friend.

The Oracle is a sophomore offering celestial solutions to the plights of USC students. Their advice column, runs every other Thursday. Got a story or need some advice? Submit to this form for a chance to be featured.