What Employees Want

I mentioned in my first post back from hiatus that I'm in the new manager-training program at work. What I didn't mention is that I was also elected by the staff in my store to be their new union representative. This is a volunteer position and most of what I do is conflict resolution, which means the staff complains a lot about anything and everything that has nothing to do with the contract that we all have to sign in order to work there. If they would actually take the time to read the contract before coming to me with their nonsense, they would know that I can't do anything about 99% of their complaints.

Needless to say, not only do I have to explain the collective agreement to everyone, but I also have to tell them that their claims are not justifiable or worth the embarrassment. I wonder when they approach me if they have put any thought into the request they are about to hand me. I think not!!!

Anyway, I was sent to take a course to get my steward certificate to be on the negotiation committee for our new contract that takes effect this month. Afterwards, the head union steward told me to come up with five or more important negotiation items that the employees should receive in this new contract, so I did and he approved my suggestions. We then nominated one person in every department to speak to their staff and write down some suggestions that they wanted us to consider and possibly discuss when we sit down with the company to start negotiating terms. Well, as you can probably imagine, what they asked for was nowhere near realistic.

Check out this list:

1. A couple of sofas, a TV and an Xbox in the lunchroom

Right, so you guys can find other ways not to do your jobs? Not gonna happen.

2. A window in the lunchroom

FYI, our lunch room is in the middle of the store, so unless we tunnel through to the outside, this can't happen either.

3. A bigger men's bathroom

Seriously, guys? Exactly how many of you are in there at one time? Are 2 urinals and 2 stalls really not enough??

4. Three extra 5 minute smoke breaks

WTF? They already take smoke breaks whenever they h*ll they want without clocking out, so why even bother asking for this??

5. A Tim Horton’s coffee machine so we don't have to walk across the street to buy coffee

As if we can get an actual Tim Horton's coffee machine. WTF, people? How about you guys buy some Tim's coffee and brew it in the lunch room yourselves, idiots!

6. Weekends off

Sure, the customers can serve themselves on Saturday or Sunday. Genius idea, morons!

7. Casual Friday’s... no uniforms at all

The words "at all" were underlined 10 times, so I guess this one is really important. LOL

8. A choice between hairnets and hats, or no hairnets at all would be preferable.

We work with food, people. You guys seriously think this is going to be approved?

9. More heat in the store because it's really cold

Believe it or not, I actually agree with this one, but it won't happen. Wear more layers, people!!

10. Free shoes

Never going to happen. Besides, the free uniforms they give us are crap, so can you imagine what kind of shoes we'd get if they went for this idea?

11. Store closed on Sunday

Hahaha!! In case you guys forgot, the government decided stores should be open on Sunday's, not us.


- JB

Customer of the Week: Baguette Squeezing Lady

Do you guys remember Touchy Tart Lady?

Well, some woman came by the other day who could give TTL a run for her money. At first, I had no idea this woman was even there because I was busy concentrating on the cake I was decorating, but OWC (i.e. Older Woman Co-worker) spotted her and was quick to bring her to my attention.


OWC: (tugging like crazy on my uniform) JB! JB!

Me: (trying to shrug her off) What?! Would you stop pulling at me!

OWC: (still tugging at my uniform) Look at that woman over there!!

Me: (with what, the eyes in the back of my head?) OK, but please let go of me so I can turn around to see what you're talking about.

OL: (letting me go) LOOK AT HER!!!

Me: (a little direction would help) Where is she?

OWC: (pointing) There, at the bread wall.

Me: (turning my head to look) OMG, is squeezing the baguettes?!

OWC: Yes!! I’m going to yell at her.

Me: (grabbing her arm) No, calm down. You can’t just walk over there and start yelling at her.

OWC: But look at what she is doing to them!!

Me: (releasing her arm) I know, but yelling plus fingering pointing equals a trip to the office and a write up.

OWC: Well, I can’t just stand here and watch her ruin all the baguettes.

Then, before I could grab her arm again, OWC took off like a jackrabbit with its hind legs blazing. Naturally, that was my cue to go after her before she started in on Baguette Squeezing Lady and caused a big scene. OWC might be older than the rest of us, but when she sees someone doing something wrong she kind of loses it.

OWC: (making her way to BSL seconds before me) Mam, what on earth are you doing?

Me: (arriving just in time to interject) Hello, Mam. Can I hel...

OWC: (cutting me off) It's OK, JB, I can handle this.

Me: (that's what you think) OWC, can you please go back to watch the counter while I help this woman.

BSL: (looking at both of us, totally confused) Oh, no, I'm fine. I don't need any help.

OWC: Why are you squeezing all of the baguettes?

Me: (turning towards OWC, eyebrows raised) OWC, I really need you to go back to the cake counter, please.

OWC: (turning on her heel and walking away) Humph!

Me: (looking back at BSL) Sorry about that Mam, but you have been standing here for the past few minutes touching ever single baguette that we have, so that is why we came over her to see if you need help.

BSL: (acting like she wasn't doing anything wrong) So?

Me: (uh, seriously?) Mam, you have crushed the ends of almost all of them. How are we supposed to sell these now?

BSL: (getting worked up) Well, I’m a customer and I can squeeze however many I want until I find one I like!

Me: (what a frickin' nut job!) Mam, if you touch another baguette, I will be forced to call management.

BSL: (reaching for another baguette, with a smug look on her face) Is that so?

Me: (die!!!!) Mam...

BSL: (nothing, just squeezing the baguette she just grabbed)

Clearly, I wasn't going to get any where with BSL, so I made my way back to the cake counter where OWC was looking at me with eyes on the verge of falling right out of her head.

Me: Can you call the director, please? (if anyone could put BSL in her place, it was going to be him)

OWC: (nothing, just a mad dash for the phone)

A few minutes later I see the Director coming towards me, so I start walking back over to BSL (who's still squeezing baguettes) to meet up with him there.

Director: (approaching me and BSL) Is something wrong?

Me: Sir, this women insists she is within her rights to squeeze the baguettes until she finds one she likes.

Director: (looking BSL square in the eyes) Madame, do you intend to buy a baguette today?

BSL: (tilting her head to one side) Maybe?

Director: Well, Madame, in my store, if you touch it, you buy it. So, I suggest you take one now and be on your way, or find a store that will actually let you feel up all the baguettes you want.

Me: (OMG, did he just say that??!! "feel up"??!!)

BSL: (nothing, just glaring at the Director)

Director: (glaring right back at BSL) Are we clear, Madame, or shall I place all of the damaged baguettes in your cart and take you to the closest register to pay for them?

BSL: (hands on hips) I am a customer!!!

Director: (mimicking, i.e. hands on hips) My store, my rules, Madame.

BSL: (spinning her cart around to leave) I will never shop here again!!

Director: (relaxing his stance & smiling) Excellent! Good day, Madame.

BSL: (nothing, just furiously pushing her cart away from us)

Yes, good day, indeed, you baguette squeezing biatch!!

- JB

Letters To My Bakery Customers - Part 3

I was looking through some of my older posts and I can't believe it's been almost 2 years since I wrote Letters To My Bakery Customers - Part 2. With the number of wackadoodles that show up at my counter, how can that be? Well, today I'm going to share a few letters that I've had in mind since last month. I was too busy to write them over the holidays, but I'm good to go now. :)

Dear Snowman Cake Guy,

Did you slip on a patch of ice and bump your head since we last saw you? Let me remind you then that the Snowman cake we made for you was based on the one that you saw in our display case. You said, "I want a Snowman cake that looks exactly like that one," and you pointed right at it, poking at the glass with your stubby index finger. Well, we made you a Snowman cake that looks "exactly" like the one that you saw, so what's this bullsh*t about the colours being "all wrong" and the snowman "too fat"? Seriously, dude, a snowman that's "too fat"? WTF? Go get your eyes checked and your head examined, and then buy or rent a copy of Frosty the Snowman on DVD so you can watch it and see what a snowman is supposed to look like, duma**!

Peace,
JB

Dear Date Squares Lady,

I think that you might also need to have your head examined because you can't seem to get it through your thick skull that we do not have, or have ever had, date squares for sale in our store. Seriously, how many bloody times must one of us personally escort you to the table out front to prove to you that there are no packages of date squares? I mean, for the love of God, it's like f-ing Groundhog Day every time you show up!! No wonder my employees run and hide when they see you coming. Unfortunately, I must lead by example, so I can't do the same, even though I want to, believe me. So, in case I'm not making myself clear, we don't give a rats a** if you supposedly saw date squares on that table before. Either go find yourself a bakery that gives a crap, or buy yourself some dates and make your own damn squares!

Peace,
JB

Dear Hot Bread Lady,

Guess what? You made my list of Stupid Customer Questions. Yup, that's right, I said STUPID!! I tried to be nice and explain that the only way you're going to get hot bread is if you are here when we pull it out of the oven, but you just don't get it, do you? Want to know why? BECAUSE YOUR STUPID!!!!! You're stupid and I am done with you --- done, done done!! I'm so done, I want to come to your house while you're sleeping and stab you with hot bread. Of course, any intelligent person would know that the bread would no longer be hot by the time I got there. You're probably sighing with relief right now, but that's only because you haven't realized that I can always heat the bread back up in your oven and then stab you with it. I bet you didn't think of that now did you, STUPID??!!

Peace,
JB

Stupid Customer Questions

Happy 2012, everybody!!

Did any of you make New Year's resolutions? I think most people do, but it's sticking to them that's the tricky part. We start out with good intentions, then life happens, and suddenly we're back into the same old routine again. Oh, well... :)

So, in my last post I mentioned that I was going to put together a list of stupid questions that customers dared to ask me during the holidays. There were a whole bunch of them, but I'm only going to list ten and ask that you promise never to ask your local Bakery clerk these questions, ever.


1. Do you sell bread?

~ Are you f-ing making fun of me? This is the Bakery department. WTF do you think we sell, soap??!!

2. Did you bake today?

~ Again, are you f-ing making fun of me??!!

3. Do you have a cake counter?

~ Considering that you are standing right in front of it, yes, moron!!!

4. Is your fresh bread hot?

~ Yes, somehow it stays nice and hot all day long. Uh, no, stupid!!

5. Will you be baking hot bread on Christmas Day?

~ Oh, yes, just for you. NOT!!!!! We will be eating Christmas dinner with our families while you stand outside like the stupid idiot that you are waiting for God knows what!!

6. Do you slice baguettes?

~ FOR THE MILLIONTH BLOODY TIME, NOOOOOOO!!!! BUY A KNIFE, DAMN IT!!!

7. What time do you open on New Years Day?

~ OMG, seriously?? HAHAHAHA??? WTF is wrong with you??!!!

8. Can I have 200 grams of ham?

~ Sure, and would you like a cheesecake to go with that?? Wrong department, dumba**!!

9. Do you sell wedding cakes?

~ Look, I know Christmas time is stressful, but you really need to stop sniffing pine scented Glade so you can think straight. I mean, for the love of God, does it look like we make wedding cakes??

10. Where can I find sliced bread?

~ Really?? Seriously, really?? LenseCrafters, idiot!! GET SOME GLASSES!!


- JB

Customer of the Week: Blueberry Bran Muffin Man

This past Sunday I started out my morning at work alone. There were a couple of employees scheduled to come in around Noon, but for the first few hours I was on my own. It's kind of eerie being there all by myself at such an early hour. The store isn't actually open yet, so all you hear are the fans humming overhead.

Anyway, there was plenty to do, so I started preparing what needed to go out. As I was going about my business, I came across a cart of muffins that my night baker (who's a good two sandwiches short of a picnic... I've got a story about her you won't believe) had set aside. Of course, this meant that the muffin table was probably close to empty, so I stopped what I was doing, and got to packing and labeling the muffins. When I was done, it was almost 11am. Customers were going to be coming around any minute, so I quickly went to restock the muffin table. As I was organizing the different kinds of muffins by row, a guy built like a football player approached me. He wanted blueberry bran muffins, and just like that my day had officially begun. I had to tell this huge guy that we don't have blueberry bran muffins, and I knew that wasn't going to go over very well.

Me: Good morning, sir.

Blueberry Bran Muffin Man (BBMM): I was told by a boy over in grocery that you guys have muffins.

Me: (sweeping my hand across the muffin table like I was Vanna White) Yes, sir. Here they are. What kind would you like?

BMM: I want blueberry bran.

Me: (of course you do, big boy) Sir, I'm sorry, we don't carry blueberry bran. In fact, we never have.

BBMM: Well, I bought them here before.

Me: (when?? 150 years ago when cavemen where dragging their women by the hair across the frozen tundra of Canada?) Sir, I can assure you that we've never carried blueberry bran muffins.

BBMM: (tilting his head to the side & looking at me) Listen, I don't want to tell you that you're not doing your job, but this is bad customer service. The customer is always right. I used to work in this business, so I think you should do your job by getting me the muffins I requested.

Me: (requested? seriously??) OK, hold on. Let me go see what I can do for you.

As I made my way back behind the bakery counter to make a phone call to absolutely no one, I looked over at the muffin table to see BBMM looking through all of the muffin packages. While I watched him make a total mess of the muffin table, I picked up the phone to make it look like I was having a conversation. When the guy finally stopped tearing apart the muffin table and looked my way, I smiled at him and pointed at the phone to indicate that I was talking to someone about what we could do for him. After a few more seconds, I hung up the phone and made my way back to BBMM.

Me: Sir, I just talked to the store manager (not!!) and he confirmed that we've never had blueberry bran muffins for sale in this store. We do have carrot bran muffins, as well as plain bran muffins, if you like.

BBMM: (tilting his head to the side again & folding his arms across his chest) Well, it seems that I can't get what I need here. I should have gone to the store next door. They have what I want.

Me: (holding back on the sarcasm as best I could) Do they? I didn't know that. Well, that's great. I guess the competition really knows how to do their job.

BBMM: Yes, they do, but I had to come here today because they open at noon and I didn't want to wait.

Me: (of course not... big boy wants his blueberry bran muffins, and he wants them NOW!) Right...

BBMM: (suddenly leaning towards me & lowering his voice) Can I tell you something?

Me: (just don't hurt me) Uh, sure, go for it.

BBMM: (looking around to make sure only I could hear him) I only like blueberry bran muffins because all other muffins... well...

Me: (OMG, out with it already) Yeah...???

BBMM: (whispering) ...taste like a**.

Me: (WTF???!!!!!!!) Huh?

BBMM: (standing back up to his full height & speaking his regular voice) Not to be rude, or anything.

Me: (forget rude, how about GROSS!!) Uh, sure.

BBMM: Seriously, they just have this taste...

Me: (OMG, please don't tell me how you know this) Oh, OK.

BBMM: (grinning) That probably sounded really strange, didn't it?

You only like blueberry bran muffins because all the other kinds taste like a**.

No that's not a strange thing to say, not at all, you big WEIRDO!!!

- JB

Customer of the Week: Pita Man

There are mornings I get up hoping that the day will be uneventful... the kind of day where no one comes to my counter and asks me "Is this bakery?" -- as if the cakes, doughnuts, tarts and other pastries aren't a dead giveaway. Yes, I hope for simple, easy going days, but my customers are complicated. They can't just come in get what they want and leave. No, they have to drive me to the brink of insanity first. For instance, there's this guy who's got a thing for pita bread. He shows up pretty much every other day wanting to know if the pita bread is fresh and if we have the brown (ie. whole wheat) kind. I can't tell you how many times I've told him that fresh pita bread comes in daily around 2pm, but still he comes back asking the same questions. I should probably mention that he is a Lebanese man who doesn't have the greatest grasp of the English language, but I don't know how to explain things to him in a way that's any easier for him to understand.

Pita Man: Hello.

Me: (here we go, AGAIN!!!) Hello, sir.

Pita Man: (smiling) Hello, pita fresh today, yes?

Me: (sigh) No, we didn't get the pita bread yet.

Pita Man: (still smiling, like it's going to help) Hello, pita fresh today, yes?

Me: (is there an echo in here?) No, not yet, OK? Come back at 2 o'clock for the fresh pita, OK?

Pita Man: Yes, pita fresh today. Yes, me need pita. You show me, brown, yes?

Me: (what part of "no" did you not understand?) Sir, we only have white. Brown comes at 2 o'clock, OK?

Pita Man: Brown, yes.

Me: (YES, DAMN IT!!!!) Yes, at 2 o'clock. You come back, OK?

Pita Man: You show me now brown, OK? I need brown now, so you show me, OK?

Me: (sure, I'll play stupid & escort you to the pita table) OK, come with me.

Pia Man: (very happy) Brown, yes?

Me: (nothing, just walking over to the pita table)

Pita Man: (standing with me in front of the pita bread table) Brown, yes?

Me: (pointing at what we have on the table) See, no brown. Only white. We get brown at 2 o'clock, OK?

Pita Man: No brown.

Me: (OMG, I think he's got it) No brown.

Pita Man: (pointing at the white pita bread) This fresh today?

Me: (F**KKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!) No. We get all fresh at 2 o'clock.

Pita Man: Me come back, 2 o'clock.

Me: (Hallelujah, Jesus, Mary and Joseph!!!!) Yes, 2 o'clock you come back for fresh brown pita.

Pita Man: OK, me come back 2 o'clock, brown, yes.

Me: (nothing, just nodding)

Pita Man: I take white now, OK?

Me: (and go away, please!!!) Yes.

Pita Man: Thank-you. Brown 2 o'clock, yes?

Me: (for f**k sakes, man) Yes.

Pita Man: Thank you.

Me: (no, thank God I take my lunch break at 2pm today & Drey will have to deal with you when you come back... thank God for that teeny tiny miracle) Sure, bye now.

I swear, my head is still spinning.

- JB

Meat

As most of you know, I don't just have crazy customers showing up at my counter on a daily basis, I also have crazy employees I have to deal with. Well, these people aren't all crazy, but they sure are special, and I obviously do not mean that in a good way. Anyway, what I am about to share with you is one of the more bizarre conversations that I've ever had with a couple of my employees. The whole thing came about because a girl who works with me gets a lot of bladder infections. Now, if you're a woman, then you've probably had at least one bladder infection in your life. (If you're a guy reading this and want to go read something else right now, I totally understand.) Well, I swear this girl has one a month, and I'm so damn tired of hearing her complain about how much her vah-jay-jay hurts. She's twenty something, likes to party and have random sex with guys. It's none of my business what she does on her own time, but her calling in sick all the time, or having to leave work early because she's in pain, means that I have to cover her shift 9 times out of 10. So, when Party Girl recently asked to go home because of yet another bladder infection, I told her that she would just have to suck it up, but then an older woman co-worker said something, and the conversation took a turn that was totally unexpected.

Party Girl: I really have to go home, JB. I'm in major pain.

Me: (you're a major pain...) H*ll, no! Too bad this time. Stop getting plastered every other day and doing the deed with God knows who. Go get some cranberry juice and suffer through it.

Older Woman Co-Worker: Come on now, JB, don't be so hard on her.

PG: Yeah, JB, it really hurts.

Me: (glaring at PG, and then turning to speak to OWC) Why not? She does it to herself and we are busy here. I can't do everything myself, you know.

OWC: But, JB, her meat hurts.

PG: (practically screeching) MY WHAT????

Me: (OMG, WTF??????) Excuse me, what did you say?

OWC: I said her meat hurts.

PG: What????

Me: (holy crap, I did hear right) Her meat???

OWC: Yes, I don't like saying the word.

Me: What word?

OWC: You know...

Me: (maybe...) Come on, tell me.

OWC: V... v... you know...

Me: (omg, seriously??) Are you telling me that you refer to a woman's vagina as her meat??

OWC: (practically cringing... the poor God fearing woman) Yes, meat. I... I don't say the "v" word. My mother told me when I was young that it was a bad word.

PG: (nothing, just a wide eyed look over at me)

Me: (trying not to laugh) OK, explain to me why you call it meat.

OWC: Well, if she (referring to PG) would stop washing her meat in hot water, she would get less infections. Hot water is not good for the meat.

PG: (flabbergasted) Excuse me??

Me: (OMG, is this old woman for real??) You don't honestly believe that, do you?

OWC: (pointing to the left) Look over there, JB.

Me: (the only thing over there is... OMG...) You mean at the meat counter?

OWC: Yes, exactly.

Me: (O... K...) Now what??

OWC: Well, you see the meat over there?

Me: (where the h*ll is she going with this??) Yes...

OWC: Well, the guys over there wash it all in cold water and that's why it's clean.

Me & PG: (nothing, just a quick look between us, eyes bugging out our heads)

OWC: Cold water stops infections, but hot water makes them spread.

(Note: Just so we're clear, I have no frickin' clue where OWC got that idea that the meat department guys wash the meat to keep it clean. Meat is for sale as long as it's fresh. If it doesn't sell, it gets thrown out... not washed.)

Me: (it's too crazy... I have no words... just laughter)

OWC: (very serious) I mean it, JB! My mother always washed my meat in cold water.

Me: (TMI... TMI!!!) I... oh... my... hmmm...

PG: (speaking to OWC) I don't know what the h*ll you're going on about, but my meat, as you call it, hurts because I have sex a lot. You know, sex??

Me: (OMG, she did not just say that!!!!) Uh, PG, that's not...

PG: (interrupting me) You remember, sex, don't you? So, that's why my meat hurts, OK? Not because I wash it with hot water.

Me: (oh, h*ll...) Alright, PG, enough.

OWC: (practically in tears) You... you young people.. you don't know anything... you don't... I am going on my break!!

Me: (ah, sh*t...) Wait...

OWC: (practically running out of the bakery) No, I'm going!

PG: Do you really think she washes her vah-jay-jay with cold water, JB?

Me: (turning to look at PG) Enough! Enough, or I'll end up having nightmares about that old woman and her meat.

PG: I'm in soooo much pain, JB.

And I will never be able to look at meat the same way ever again.

JB

Strange Cake Messages... For Real

Last month I told you guys about the old man who wanted me to write "Happy Berth-day 92 my wife" on a cake. I mentioned that his birthday message got me thinking about some other weird things people have asked me to write on cakes for them, and that I was going to make a list of strange cake messages for a future blog post. Well, I'd like to share some of those messages with all of you now. Most will be hard to believe, but I promise they're all for real. What you folks have to ask yourselves is how the heck I manage to keep a straight face when people come to my counter and ask me to write these things.

* To 20 more years of fist pumping action bros!

(my blog rating is PG, so I'm not even going there...)

* I hate all of you equally

(oh, come on, surely you hate one of them just a teensy bit more than the rest)

* I know last week was your birthday. Guess I'm sorry.

(you guess?)

* This cake was never meant for you

(so, you spent 25 bucks just for fun?)

* Good luck at your new job 'cause your going to need it

(wow, way to boost someones ego, buddy)

* Happy 16 birthday to my daughter/son

(I guess some parents aren't sure??)

* I never really cared much for birthdays

(but you cared enough to buy a cake?)

* Why happy birthday?

(um, maybe because it's better than sad birthday)

* To all the birthdays I missed, I'm sorry for this one

(what? only this one?)

* Birthdays suck and so do you sista!

(nothing like getting a cake to tell someone how you really feel)


JB

Customer of the Week: Old Man With Heavy Accent

Days at the bakery are pretty long, so when it's time to get the h*ll out, we all run for the door. The other day, however, I was taking my sweet time for no good reason at all, and I ended up serving this old man with a really heavy accent. Now, when I say old, I mean old. He literally looked like he was dragging his legs towards the bakery. As for the accent, I don't know what it was. German, Russian, Czech... Beats the heck out of me. What I do know is that I couldn't understand him.

Anyway, when he finally made it to the counter, he grabbed onto it with both hands, steadied himself as upright he possibly could, looked me straight in the eye and said...

OMWHA: I vant a vife zake.

Me: (holy frickin' accent, dude!!) I'm sorry, sir, you want a what?

OMWHA: I vant a vife zake!

Me: (hmm... a vife zake... a wife zake... a wife cake... A WHITE CAKE!!) Sir, would you like a white cake?

OMWHA: (annoyed) No, no, no! D'you no lizen me!

Me: (oh, I hear you, alright, I just can't understand you) I'm sorry, sir.

OMWHA: (tapping his tattered fingers on the display case) I van dis zake.

Me: (looking down & spotting a white birthday cake) Sir, you want a white birthday cake?

OMWHA: (annoyed, again) Dis vat I zay!

Me: (uh, not exactly, but OK) Right, that's what you said. Would you like me to write something on it for you?

OMWHA: You vite happy berth-day nine two.

Me: (wow, I actually understood that... guess he practiced saying it before he got here) OK, so you want Happy Birthday 92? What about a name?

OMWHA: (angry) No, no, no!!!

Me: (sh*t, this guy's gonna have a heart attack) I'm sorry, sir. Please tell me again.

OMWHA: No, I vite down, z'ok?

Me: (it's z'ok with me, but will I be able to read it?) Alright, sir, just a moment.

I quickly grabbed a pen & a piece of scrap paper and made my way back to the counter.

Me: (handing OMWHA the pen & paper) Here you go, sir.

Ever so carefully, OMWHA started writing down what he wanted on his cake. This is going to take a while, I thought to myself.

A couple of minutes later, OMWHA handed the piece of paper back to me with the words "Happy Berth-day 92 my wife" scrawled on it. OK, not only did he practice saying it, but he practiced writing it down too? Seriously, how can he write in English better than he can speak it?

Me: Sir, is this (pointing at "berth-day") how you want me to spell "birthday" for you?

OMWHA: (nothing, just shaking his head like he can't believe how dense I am)

Me: Sir?

OMWHA: (sighing) Vatz vong vid'you? Vite on zake like paper, z'ok?

Me: (z'ok, man, Z'OK!! Geez!!) Yes, sir, I'll be right back.

As I wrote OMWHA's birthday message on the cake, I thought about some other weird things people have asked me to write on cakes for them. Remember that redundant message Multiple Cake Guy wanted on his son's birthday cake?? Yeah, I think I'm going to make a list of strange cake messages for a future blog post.

Me: (returning to the counter) Here's your cake, sir. I hope your wife has a lovely birthday (and I hope you can walk & carry that cake at the same time).

OMWHA: (nothing, just a grunt and another shake of his head)

Yup, I'm pretty sure the old guy thought I was a complete idiot.

JB

Customer of the Week: Fake Tan Lady

The other day I looked up from the desserts I was working on to see a reddish-orange looking woman making her way to the bakery. When she got to the counter it was clear that she went a little overboard with a self tanning product. Yikes!! If the fake tan wasn't bad enough, she had a young child with her who thought our display case made for a really great drum. The kid would not stop banging his little hands on the glass while his mother browsed the cakes featured inside. You think that she would tell the child to stop because, oh, I don't know, banging on glass is dangerous. Nope, she just let the kid pound away. Since I was busy, Drey (my co-worker) went over to see what the woman wanted & to get the child to stop fooling around.

Drey: Hi, Mam. Could you please stop your child from banging on the glass.

FTL: (ignoring Drey's request) I want a birthday cake with "Happy Birthday, John" written on it.

Drey: Sure, but please stop your child from banging on the glass. It's dangerous.

FTL: (finally pulling her child aside) I want a chocolate cake.

Drey: OK, which one?

FTL: That one on the left.

Drey pulled out a round chocolate cake and made her way over to the table where I was working. She started writing on the cake, got to the "J" in John, when...

FTL: Stop! I changed my mind. I want a white one.

Me: (WTF???? Yell a little louder, lady.)

Drey: Mam, I already started writing on it. I just have to finish the name.

FTL: But I want white one.

Me: (my cue to say something) Mam, you watched her write on the cake. Why didn't you stop her before she started?

FTL: Just scrape off the writing and put it back in the display case.

Me: (gee, thanks for telling me how to do my job) Mam, we can't do that.

FTL: Well, I want a white one.

Me: (and I'd like to smack you silly) Are you sure?

FTL: Yes.

Me: (turning to speak to Drey) Go ahead and get a white one.

Drey comes back to the table with a round white cake and starts writing. Again, she got to the "J" in John, and...

FTL: Stop!

Me: (is she f**king serious?) Mam??

FTL: I want the chocolate one.

Me: (OMG, what the hell is her problem??) Mam...

FTL: You know, I'll take them both.

Me: (both? huh?) Are you sure, Mam?

FTL: Yes.

Me: (right, like the last time) Are you really sure?

FTL: Yes.

Me: (nothing, just a quick nod at Drey who was waiting for my go ahead)

FTL: Hey, can u give my kid a cookie?

Me: (she did not just ask me that) No, we can't.

FTL: Why not?

Me: (leaving the desserts I was working on & making my way over to the counter to strangle her with my bare hands... well, at least I wanted to) Mam, I can't open a package of cookies just to give one to your child.

FTL: (rudely) Why not?

Me: (I'm so going to kill this biatch) Because it's against protocol.

FTL: (taunting me like a naughty child) Oh, yeah?

Me: (why do I have a bad feeling about this) Yes.

The woman didn't even answer me back. She just turned around, picked up a package of cookies on the table behind her, opened it up and handed her kid two chocolate chip cookies.

Me: (nothing, just an "OMG, did you f-ing see that?" look over at Drey as she was boxing up the two cakes)

FTL: (plopping down the open package of cookies in front of me) There you go. Just say I dropped the package and it broke open.

Me: (nothing, just trying to calm the h*ll down)

Drey: (approaching the counter with the cakes) Here you are, Mam.

FTL: (all smiles, like nothing happened) I guess I'll be eating two cakes tonight.

Yeah, and I hope you frickin' choke, you fake tanned fiend!

JB

Customer of the Week: Touchy Tart Lady

Now that it's Summer, I've been making a lot more fruit desserts. I'm sure you've already read my post about strawberries. Anyway, early Sunday morning, I made around a hundred mini fruit tarts, and I was busy getting them into the display case when I was interrupted by a woman who thought that yelling was the best way to get my attention. As it turns out, she wanted to buy some tarts, but not before she touched them all first.

TTL: I'd like some service here!!

Me: (geez, tone it down, lady) Hi, can I help you?

TTL: Well, I'm standing here, so I guess I need help.

Me: (uh, rude much?) What can I get you?

TTL: I want some tarts.

Me: OK, how many would you like?

TTL: I don't know.

Me: (here we go...) Mam, if you can decide on how many you want, I can get the right size box to put them in for you.

TTL: Like I said, I don't know, so just start pulling them out.

Me: (right, all 100 of them... NOT!) Mam, do you want a couple of each kind?

TTL: (pointing) Well, I want that strawberry one with the raspberries on that tray, the blueberry one on that tray, and the two blackberry on that tray there.

Me: (for the love of God...) Mam, each tray has a mixed variety of tarts on them, so I can actually pull out all those different kinds of tarts that you asked for off of this first tray.

TTL: (eyes big and wide) NOOOO!!!! I want the the ones I showed you!

Me: (holy crap, calm the h*ll down) Mam, they are all the same from one tray to the next.

TTL: How do I know that you're telling me the truth?

Me: (seriously???) I just made them, mam.

TTL: (in a commanding tone) Pull the trays out so I can pick my own tarts.

Me: (uh, excuse me??) Mam, I can't pull out all ten trays.

TTL: I want to see them up close.

Me: (let me bash your face into the glass, would that be close enough?) OK, I'll pull out only those three trays with the tarts that you pointed at.

As soon as I got the trays up on the counter, she started pointing and touching.

TTL: I want this one, this one, not that one, or that one. This one, not that one. This one here, and...

Me: (OMG, just touch them all, why don't you) Mam, please don't touch the tarts that you don't want to buy.

TTL: (rudely) I'm choosing what I want.

Me: (easy, biatch) Yes, mam, but you're also touching the tarts that you don't want me to pack for you.

TTL: Fine!

Five minutes later, I had twenty tarts packed up for her and was ready to send her on her way when...

TTL: Are you sure you made these today? I'm taking these to a special dinner party and I do not want to be embarrassed.

Me: (OMG, enough already) Yes, I made them just before we opened for business today.

TTL: Good because I just didn't have time to make anything myself and I want to make a good impression.

Oh, you made an impression, alright. You left a fingerprint on every single one of those tarts that you're going to serve to your friends. Mmm... yummy.

JB

Customer of the Week: Fresh Bread Lady

I'm pretty sure I've told you guys before that we don't do any actual baking from scratch at our bakery. Everything that we put into the oven to bake comes premixed from our supplier. So, let's say we have to make blueberry muffins, for example. All we do is open up a pail of blueberry muffin mix, scoop the batter it into muffin tins, pop the tins into the oven, and 25 minutes later - voila - we have freshly baked blueberry muffins. At least we think they're fresh. They just came out of the oven, after all. Well, when a lady came in looking for fresh bread this week, I found out that "fresh" doesn't mean the same thing to everyone.

Me: (looking up from the cake that I was icing to see a woman pointing at the bread rack behind the counter) Hello, can I help you?

FBL: (nothing, just waving her finger at God knows what on the bread rack)

Me: (for the love of God, I'm not a mind reader, lady) Is there something in particular you're pointing at?

FBL: I want a baguette.

Me: (she speaks!) Oh, those are not baked yet.

FBL: Yes, they are.

Me: (how the h*ll would you know?) No, they're not.

FBL: You don't bake here?

Me: Not from scratch. The dough comes to us frozen, and we just put it into the pans to bake.

FBL: Exactly what kind of bakery are you?

Me: We're a non-baking bakery.

FBL: What's your name?

Me: (pointing at my name tag) JB, I'm the assistant manager.

FBL: You have bad attitude for an assistant manager.

Me: (WTF, lady??) I'm sorry, but did you want me to lie and tell you that we bake from scratch?

FBL: (nothing, just looking at me with a really sour expression)

Me: (great, back to mind reading) Mam, do you still want a baguette (so I can beat you with it)? We did bake some fresh ones.

FBL: Not if it was frozen.

Me: (of course) Alright, sorry about that.

FBL: I guess I'll go to a bakery that makes fresh bread.

Me: (good luck with that, lady) If you find one, let me know.

Believe it or not folks, there aren't too many bakeries around here that still bake everything that they sell from scratch, so finding one isn't easy. Trust me, after being in the restaurant biz for years, I got to know which bakeries were actually making bread and cakes, and which ones were getting their dough and mixes from a supplier.

JB

No More Strawberries!

For the last two weeks, I have been up to my eyeballs in everything strawberry. Strawberry shortcakes, cheesecakes, and tortes. Strawberry pies, tarts, and flans. Strawberry parfait, mousse, and muffins. Chocolate dipped strawberries....



I am so f-ing tired of strawberries!!!!!


Sure, I know they're tasty, but you work with strawberries for two weeks straight and let me know how much you like them. I especially hate the stuff we coat the strawberries with. It's called "shine glaze" and it's made from ingredients that I can't pronounce. Before we can use it, we have to heat it in the microwave for a few minutes. When we take it out, it's bloody hot and ready to pour. When it hits the fruit, it gels right away. Actually, it gels to anything right away and good luck trying to get that sh*t off. It's a frickin' mess!


Anyway, if you've ever wondered how strawberries stay fresh in a counter for seven days, it's all about the "shine glaze."



JB

Customer of the Week: Dirty Old Dude

Last week I told you about the guy who bought three cakes from us on Father's Day. He was a little slow, but he was a nice man. I'd be happy to serve him again. A man I'd rather not serve again is this dirty old dude who also came by that day. He's at least 65 years old, very rich, but very cheap. He's always looking for a deal, yet I never see him without his Bvlgari sunglasses. Morning, afternoon, evening... the guy always comes in wearing those pricey designer shades. The hilarious thing abut those sunglasses is that they aren't men's, they're women's. LOL As for what makes him dirty, it's the way he speaks to us. He's always saying things that are totally inappropriate, and he does it in a voice that's a weird combination of Jack Nicholson and Sylvester Stallone. I think he's under the impression that he looks and sounds super suave, but he couldn't be more wrong. He's totally creepy, and I always feel like I need a shower after he stops by.

DOD: (leaning up against the counter & lifting his shades to rest on his head) Good day, ladies.

Me: (ewww, it's you!!) Hello sir, how are you today?

DOD: (remember, think Nicholson & Stallone combined) Well, I'm great. It's Father's Day, not that I'm a father, but I could have a few illegitimate children around the world that I don't know about. (looking over at Drey and winking) Don't go tell my wife, little one.

Me: (someone actually married you?? gross!)

Drey: (nothing, just a forced half smile)

DOD: (picking up one of the reduced Black Forest cakes sitting on the table out front) Is this fresh, little one, or is it fresh old, and that's why it has $2.00 off sticker on it?

Me: (WTF???)

Drey: Well, sir, it's fresh, but we need to reduce our cakes every few days.

DOD: Is that your fancy way of saying it's old?

Me: (no, you're old, dirty and old) No, sir. We just need to mark items down on certain days.

DOD: Well, that's good for me, not for you. (looking over at Drey) Did you have breakfast?

Me: (wtf does that have to do with 2 bucks off a cake?)

Drey: Yes, I did.

DOD: Did you eat lunch?

Drey: No, sir, it's too early still.

DOD: Well, are you going to have dinner?

Me: (what is this, 20 questions?)

Drey: Yes.

DOD: Well, I think you're too skinny, you should eat some more.

Me: (WTF??)

Drey: I eat enough, sir. This it just the way I am.

DOD: I'm not saying you're fat, I'm just saying you should eat a little more.

Me: (WTF? make some sense already)

Drey: (looking totally confused) Oh, OK.

Putting down the cake, DOD walks out of our sight for about 30 seconds. When he reappears, he's holding a loaf of Italian bread that he pulled off of our bread wall.

DOD: (handing the bread to Drey) Could you kindly slice this for me, little one?

Drey: (taking the bread from him) Sure.

Me: (following Drey over to the slicer and whispering) Could you kindly slice this for me, little one?

Drey: (whispering back) Shhh, JB!! Let me slice this bread so we can get rid of him. He's grossing me out.

Me: (nothing, just walking away giggling)

A moment later, Drey walks back over to the counter and hands DOD the sliced loaf of Italian bread.

Drey: Here you go, sir.

DOD: (taking the bread) Thank you for slicing my bread, little one. Tonight, when I'm eating it, I'll be thinking of you.

Me: (practically gasping... oh-my-frickin'-God!!!!!!!!)

Drey: (speechless and looking like she might vomit)

DOD: (winking & smiling) Good day, ladies.

Drey and I said nothing. We just watched DOD lower his shades back over his eyes, make a quick turn on his heel, and then saunter off with the Italian bread in one hand and the Black Forest cake in the other, totally pleased with himself, no doubt.

JB

Customer of the Week: Multiple Cake Guy

I started work last Sunday -- Father's Day -- at 5:30am. For three hours, I flat iced and decorated cakes. By the time we actually opened for business, my arm was killing me and I couldn't see straight anymore. I really needed a break, but I still had some cakes to finish up, so Drey (my co-worker) went to greet our first customer of the day.

Drey: Hi, can I help you?

MCG: I need a birthday cake?

Drey: Alright, what kind?

MCG: I just need a birthday cake?

Drey: Yes, but what kind of cake would you like?

MCG: Just a birthday cake.

Me: (some people are so dense) Sir, (walking up to the counter) what size of cake do you need?

MCG: Umm...

Me: Would you like a white cake or a chocolate cake?

MCG: Umm...

Me: (pointing to a quarter slab in the display case) Will this do?

MCG: Yes, OK.

Me: (pulling out the cake from the display case) What would you like written on it?

MCG: "Happy birthday to my beloved son, on this day, on your birthday."

Me: (O... K...) What about his name?

MCG: It's Muhammad.

Me: (handing the cake to Drey so she could finish serving the guy) Alright, she's going to take care of that for you.

MCG: Thank you.

When the guy left with his cake, Drey and I had a good laugh at the rather redundant birthday message that he wanted written on it. There's a first time for everything, I guess, including a guy who comes back 30 minutes later for yet another birthday cake.

MCG: (approaching the counter with a young girl) Hi, I'm back.

Me: Was there a problem with the cake, sir?

MCG: No, I need a another one.

Me: (hmm) Oh?

MCG: (picking up a Boston fruit cake from the service counter out front) I need you to write something on this.

Me: I'm sorry, sir, but I can't write directly on a cake with fruit piled on top.

Young girl: Yeah, they can't write on fruit, Dad.

BCG: Well, they can write on something. A piece of cake or chocolate...

Me: (trying not to laugh) Sir, we can't write on a piece of cake to put on a cake.

Young girl: Yeah, Dad, they can't put cake on a cake.

Me: (ha ha, thanks for your two cents, kid) I can write on a cookie.

MCG: What kind of cookie?

Me: (picking one up and showing it to him) It's a wafer cookie.

MCG: There is not enough room to write on that.

Me: (of course not...) Sir, exactly what do you want me to write on it?

MCG: The same thing as the last cake, but to my daughter. Her name is Amira.

Me: (maybe if I had tiny mouse hands) The best I can do is write "Happy Birthday, Amira" on it.

MCG: OK, that's fine.

Again, I have Drey prepare the cake for him and send him on his way, only to see him return a half hour later with the same daughter and an even younger one.

Me: (looking wide eyed at Drey who turned away giggling)

MCG: We need another cake.

Me: (OK, seriously, how many kids does this guy have born on the same day & why couldn't he just order all of the cakes at once?) Alright, what kind would you like this time?

MCG: I want a cheesecake, but not for a birthday cake. I have another daughter at home and she can't eat anything with gelatin on it.

Me: (then you should have picked another cake) I'm sorry, but the fruit on the cheesecake is covered in gelatin.

MCG: Oh... right. Umm... Can you make me one now without any?

Me: (yeah, let me get my magic wand & I'll make one appear out of thin air for you) Sir, I can't make you a cheesecake right this moment. It's going to take at least 30 minutes.

MCG: OK, how about 45 minutes or an hour?

Me: Sure. What kind of fruit would you like on it?

MCG: Can you put mangos, bananas and cherries?

Me: I can put bananas, but not the other two.

MCG: What about tangerines & strawberries?

Me: Yes, I can do that.

MCG: OK, I will come back.

An hour later, the guy comes back and I present him with the cheesecake. He was so happy, he could not stop praising us.

MCG: It's beautiful. Thank you. You are the best, ladies. Thank you for helping me. Thank you. It looks beautiful. Thank you.

Me: (ha ha, he's too much) My pleasure, sir. Enjoy your day.

Two hours and one hundred bucks later, the guy finally had all of the cakes he needed. I thought it would be nice if his wife or maybe one of his kids came in to buy him a Father's Day cake, but that never happened. Maybe they made him one, I don't know. He certainly deserved a cake for making sure his kids were happy on a day when they should have been showing their appreciation for him.

JB

Customer of the Week: Half Cake Guy

Last weekend, a bunch of us gathered at my mom's place for Easter dinner. We ate, had some wine, talked, laughed, ate some more. Yup, a great time was had by one & all. What wasn't so great, however, was having to deal with the two nutcases who showed up at my counter in the few days leading up to that lovely Sunday evening. For today's post, I'm going tell you about one of those two crazies, a guy who wanted half a cake.


Me: Good day, sir. How can I help you?

HCG: I want a cake.

Me: OK, what kind of cake?

HCG: A cake.

Me: (and the insanity begins) Yes, but what kind, sir?

HCG: Just a cake to eat.

Me: (as opposed to one you could what, wear?) Sir, we have many different cakes. What kind would you like?

HCG: A cake... something not too sweet, not chocolate, but chocolate on the inside, and not big, but small, but not too small.

Me: (WTF?????????) Um, well, we have 8 inch cakes. Is that a good size for you?

HCG: I just want a half cake.

Me: (why the f**k didn't you say so in the first place??) Sure, we have those. They're actually right there in front of you.

HCG: Where?

Me: (crazy & blind... fabulous) Sir, just look down in front of you.

HCG: Yeah, I don't want these cakes.

Me: (die, sh*thead) Those are the only half cakes that we have, sir.

HCG: Well, I want (grabbing one of the prepackaged cheesecakes sitting out on the front table & slamming it down on the counter between us) this one.

Me: (OMG, are you f**king kidding me, a**hole??????) Sir, you just ruined a perfectly good cake!

HGC: I want this cake, but only half.

Me: (uh, let me see... NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!) Sir, I can't do that.

HCG: This is what I want.

Me: (calm, JB, calm, calm, calm...) No, sir, I can't do that.

HCG: OK, get your manager.

Me: (it would be my pleasure, jacka**) I'll be right back.

My manager was on his break at the time, so I had to page him. When I saw him making his way over to the bakery, I went to meet up with him so that I could quickly relay the story before he actually got to the counter. After I told my manager what happened, he didn't even say anything to me. He just put on his "you don't want to mess with me" face, walked right up to HCG, and said...

Manager: NO.

HCG: No, what?

Manager: No, we will not cut this cake in half for you. You broke it, you pay for it.

HCG: But I can't eat a whole cake.

Manager: (ignoring HCG) JB, pack this cake back up the best you can & tape the container shut.

JB: Sure thing.

HCG: I only want half a cake.

Manager: Sir, you purposely destroyed that cake, and you are going to pay for it... all of it. I'm going to walk you to the front cash myself.

JB: (handing the repackaged cake to HCG) Here you go.

Manager: Let's go, sir.

Yeah, and have yourself a Happy Easter, sucker!!

JB

Letters To My Bakery Customers - Part 2

How the heck is it the last week February already? When I started writing this post two weeks ago (i.e. before work called me in to replace someone and I had to save my draft for later), I was thinking about how fast January had gone by, and how I was even more relieved than when the Christmas season was finally finished. I know a lot of people love that time of year, but folks hustling and bustling around trying to get their Christmas shopping done only means a whole lot of craziness for me, and God knows I'm dealing with plenty of crazy already. Anyway, since I never got around to sharing some letters to the nutty people who showed up at my counter back in December, I'm going to do that now.


Dear Itty Bitty Picture Guy,

Bringing in a picture of the item that you wanted from our Holiday flyer was a good idea. Of course, it would have been nice if you had just handed the picture to me, rather than waving it around like a flag in front of my face. Were you practicing for the Olympics opening ceremony or something? It also would have been nice if you had bothered to remember the product name, instead of repeating "I want this" over and over, and then having a tantrum when I asked you what it was called. Last time I checked, you're not a child and I'm not your mother (thank the Lord in Heaven), so don't come to my counter acting like a spoiled brat who could use a good spanking because I don't have time to put up with your sh*t. Next time you come across something that tickles your fancy, bring in the entire page that the item is being featured on, so I can at least figure out what the product is by name, and not by trying to make out what it is from a picture that's no bigger than my thumb. I'm not Sherlock Holmes, you know. I don't carry around a magnifying glass in my pocket.

Peace,
JB

Dear Panetone Man,

Have you ever worked really hard on something only to watch it be destroyed by some freakin' idiot? Well, that's exactly what happened when you decided to help yourself to a Panetone from the middle of the towering display that my manager and I spent all day building. Had our carefully constructed pyramid come crashing down on top of you, I would have been satisfied knowing that you deserved it for making such a stupid move; however, since you escaped unscathed, I have no choice but to tell you what a total jacka** you are, and how I'd wished that you had been violently attacked by the boxes and buried beneath them. Why the h*ll couldn't you pick a Panetone that was sitting out in front, you F**KING MORON? Did you think that we had an in store game of Jenga going on? LOSER!!!!

Peace,
JB

Dear Panetone Lady,

You know, when someone buys something the size of my head, eats half of it, and then comes back to the store to tell me that the product wasn't fresh, it's really hard to believe a word that person has to say. So, when you came to my counter with a half eaten Panetone claiming that it was stale, I already knew that you were full of sh*t. I mean, seriously, you had to eat half of it before coming to the conclusion that it wasn't to your liking and that you wanted your money back? The first few bites weren't enough to convince you? As for the lovely (not) story about having eaten a Panetone that was soft & moist when you vacationed in Italy, bull!!!! First of all, the Panetone sold in our store comes from Italy. The words "Made in Italy" are stamped right on the box. Furthermore, as an Italian who's been eating Panetone her whole life, I've never come across one that was moist. They might have a slight spongy texture, but they are still rather dry and difficult to swallow. In fact, I've never seen anyone in my family attempt to eat Panetone without first making some espresso to help wash it down. Seeing as you didn't choke to death eating half of the Panetone that you bought, you obviously knew to prepare some tea or coffee for yourself before having any. So, like I said, you're full of sh*t. I highly recommend an enema before setting foot back in our store.

Peace,
JB

-----------------------------------------------------------

For more letters, check out:

Letters To My Customers

Letters To My Customers - Part 2

Letters To My Deli Customers

Letters To My Deli Customers - Part 2

Letters To My Bakery Customers

Customer of the Week: Cross Dressing Santa

The other day, I was busy flat icing cakes, completely bored out of my freakin' mind, when Christmas came early… sort of. I was by myself at the time, so I had to keep one eye on what I was doing, and the other looking out for customers in need of assistance. At one point, I glanced up, and coming towards the counter was an elderly gentleman who looked a lot like Santa, at least from the neck up. From the neck down, he was wearing a white, billowy button down shirt with a black bra underneath (I kid you not, people, I could see the straps on his shoulders because the top buttons on his shirt were undone) & a full length floral skirt. He was also carrying a cloth purse. Holy sh*t, it's not just Santa, but cross dressing Santa, I thought to myself. And, if that wasn't weird enough, when he reached the counter, he called out 'hello' to me in a voice that sounded a lot like Alvin from Alvin in the Chipmunks. It took all I had too keep a straight face as I made my way over to see what he wanted.

Me: Hi, how can I help you?

CDS: I'm looking for the gluten free bread that you had on that table (points over his shoulder) last week.

Me: Gluten free… we had that???

CDS: (excitedly) Oh, yes, it's my fave!

Me: (did he just say, 'fave'?) Oh…

CDS: It has the name of a man and woman on it.

Me: (racking my brain) Hmm…

CDS: Are you new here?

Me: Yes

CDS: (twirling his hair and batting his lashes) You have a lovely smile.

Me: (OMG, is he flirting with me?) Oh… thanks.

CDS: Do you like making cakes?

Me: Not really. It's kind of boring and it hurts my arm a lot.

CDS: (giggly) But it looks like so much fun!

Me: (nothing, just a vision of CDS decorating cakes in his white shirt and floral skirt flashing through my mind)

CDS: So, do you have any of that bread left?

Me: Let me call the girl who works with me and see if she knows what you're looking for.

CDS: Sure, OK.

I quickly paged Power Ranger to come save me from CDS, and I wish I'd had a camera to capture the look on her face when she showed up because it was positively priceless. I'm talking Master Card commercial worthy priceless.

Pwr Rngr: (looking at me totally wide-eyed, as if to say, WTF??) Hi… what's up?

Me: (doing my best not to laugh) This gentleman is looking for gluten free bread with a man and woman's name on the bag.

Pwr Rngr: Um, yeah, it's been moved to aisle one, the commercial bread aisle.

CDS: (super happy) Ooo, thanks for your help. You're both lovely!

Off he went in search of his gluten free bread, his skirt & shirt flowing out behind him like he was floating away on a cloud.

Pwr Rngr: Holy crap, was he wearing a bra?

Me: H*ll yeah, and I think his boobs where bigger then mine!

Pwr Rngr: OMG, that was weird.

Me: No weirder then the stripper with her pimp.

Pwr Rngr: Oh, yeah. I forget about those two.

Me: Yeah, and what about the lady with the goatee that scared the sh*t out of Superstar a couple of days ago?

Pwr Rngr: Hahahaha!!

Yup, folks, we get all kinds.

JB

Letters To My Bakery Customers

Well, folks, it's that time again. I'm feeling the need to vent, so here's my first set of Letters To My Bakery Customers.

Dear Oatmeal Raisin Cookie Guy,

What's your deal? No, seriously, wtf is wrong with you? On the blog post that I wrote about you, one of my fellow bloggers pointed out that there might be a medically documented reason your idiocy, but I don't agree. I think you're just a wack job who enjoys being a pain in my a** every freakin' week. Well, let me tell you something, pal, cookies may crumble, but you will not break me. In other words, there is no way in h*ll that I'm going to give in to your insanity and ignore store policy just so you can have your 'oatmeal raisin cookies only' fix. Nope, I might be really tired of decorating cakes all f**king day, but you will not be the reason I lose my job. Go find yourself a store that actually sells what you want, or I'm going to beat you senseless with a baguette, drag you over to my side of the bakery counter, and then put you in the oven to bake like your precious oatmeal raisin cookies!

Peace,
JB

Dear Carrot Muffin Lady,

I don't suppose Oatmeal Raisin Cookie Guy is your husband? If not, you two should get hitched and move to a land far, far away. I'm thinking Never Land. You know, where Peter Pan, Tinkerbell, and the Lost Boys live? Yeah, that would be the perfect place since you guys are never going to grow up. Seriously, you two are like spoiled brats who can't get their way. Well, like I told ORCG, I won't go against store policy just so you can have what you want, when you want it. We bake carrot muffins when we bake them, and that's that. It's not my fault that you always come in when there aren't any left. If you're that desperate to have some, come in every single day for a week, and you just might get lucky. Or, you could just get the h*ll over it because, if you don't, I'm going to stab you with the sharpest carrot I can find. Capice?

Peace,
JB

Dear Bread Biatch,

Have you ever heard of a word called 'please'? Have you, you botox binging freak? I mean, do you seriously think that shoving bread at me and rudely asking me to "slice it" is the way to go? Well, let me tell you something, you frozen face fiend, if you plan to come back to my counter, I suggest you sign up for lessons with Miss Manners first. Otherwise, the next time you ram a bread bag in my face, I'll ram it right back at you and take your freakin' eye out!

Peace,
JB
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For more letters, check out:

Letters To My Customers

Letters To My Customers - Part 2

Letters To My Deli Customers

Letters To My Deli Customers - Part 2

The New Girl - Pan(ic) Attack

It's been a week now since the New Girl started working with us, and all I can say is she's really special. I mean it, this girl has to be one of the most special people I have ever met. She's also going to be the death of me. I thought it was going to be cakes, but this girl is killing me slowly with her specialness. On my first day working with her, she was assigned "the breakout" (i.e. prep work for the next days bake), and managed to injure herself before she even got started. I was going on my dinner break at the time, so that meant I was going to be leaving her alone (not a good idea, as I have learned) for a little while.

Me: I'm going to eat now. You should have a good start on the breakout by the time I get back.

New Girl: (looking at the breakout list) The breakout is really big. I mean, look at all of this bread. There are 4 or 5 kinds!

Me: Yeah, there’s a lot to do, but you should be able to finish it all by the time your shift is over.

New Girl: I actually don’t like doing it.

Me: (too bad, so sad) I know it's not exactly fun, but it has to be done.

New Girl: But I...

Me: (calm, JB, calm) I'll be back soon.

Before she could say another word, I turned away from her and took off for the lunchroom. When I got there, the night manager was seated at the table.

Night Mngr: Hi, JB, how's it going?

Me: Good, but what's with teenagers these days?

Night Mngr: Beats the sh*t out of me.

Me: (pulling out a chair to sit down) Man, that new girl is something else. She…

Suddenly, the store speaker crackled, and then we heard: Manager to the bakery, please. Manager to the bakery, please.

Night Mngr: (looking at me) Didn't you just leave there only two minutes ago?

Me: (f**king New Girl!!!!!!!!) I'll be right back.

Off I went to the bakery. When I walked in, there was the New Girl with a hand over her mouth.

Me: (God, what now?) You paged me?

New Girl: (sulking) Yeah, I'm bleeding.

Me: What? Where?

New Girl: My mouth. Look (pulling down her bottom lip to show me the inside), right here.

Me: (wtf, did she seriously call me back here for this?) How did you do that?

New Girl: I hit myself in the face with a pan.

Me: (WTF?) You what?? How?

New Girl: When I pulled the pan out, it slipped in my hand and hit me.

Me: (she hit herself with the pan... hahahahaa!!) OK, so you called me here because you bit your lip when you hit yourself?

New Girl: (totally serious) I need to file an accident report. I'm bleeding and the nerve in my tooth could die!

Me: (Holy God in Heaven, are you f**king kidding me??) You just bit your lip. You'll be OK.

New Girl: (pulling down her lip again) Look, JB, it's swollen.

Me: (it will be if I get my hands on you) Nah, it's not that bad.

New Girl: But…

Me: I'm going back to my dinner now. Finish the breakout (before I f**king grab that pan and beat you with it), and be careful.

Back in the lunchroom, I told the night manager all about New Girl's pan(ic) attack, and the poor woman just about choked on her meal because she was laughing so hard.

Me: I think this chick just might be the death of me.

Night Mngr: If she doesn't kill herself first. Hahahahaha!!!!

Me: Yeah, seriously.

I mean, better her than me, right?

JB