Bedlam at the Bakery

I have had a couple weeks hiatus from writing due to a travel schedule and some St. Patrick’s Day weekend obligations consisting mainly of finally trying to rid myself of that pesky liver of mine by consuming mass quantities of Jameson. My experience today warranted me to detour from my in-progress blog to write about the Bedlam at the Bakery I experienced.

If you ever stay at my hotel and I know you, I love to put an amenity in your room, champagne, snacks, beer, soft drinks. I want you, my friend, to feel welcome when you visit my hotel. About once a quarter my bosses come to town to visit. I love the company I work for, I love my employers. I love to get creative when they come and try to change up what I put in their room as an amenity each time. Today they are visiting for a quick stay over. They are from Houston, so I decided a nice little display of NJ pastries and a small aperitif to accompany would suffice.

Bakeries traumatize me. I get this crazy uneasy feeling whenever I go into a bakery, it’s a bit chaotic. You’d think being overweight I would be excited like, well, like a fat guy in a bakery. But nope.

A prelude to today’s apprehensive visit started some 6 months ago. I will not name the bakery because the bakery is a good location for baked goods and I’d hate to tarnish their hard earned solid 4 star reputation.

Six months ago I entered said bakery I ordered an assortment of delights to serve at a function, all went well. However as I exited the bakery, got in my car and proceeded to drive to the exit, the baker or baker assistant steps in front of my car and asks me which way I am heading, confused I said “I’m going that way…” nodding to the right, he proceeds to walk to my passenger door and says “cool gimme a ride to the bus stop” I’m no slouch in self defense, but I had no intentions of getting out of my car to pummel this little man, so as politely as possible for a NJ guy I told him “F*ck off, I ain’t no taxi” and rolled away slowly for affect thinking ‘I’m gonna give this bakery a break for a bit.’

Fast forward I’m in the same bakery anxiety level at about an 8 thinking ‘if someone asks me for a ride I’m gonna have to write a Yelp review.’

There are 12 cars in the lot of 13 spaces and it’s 11am so I’m already thinking this is going to be chaos, there is never civility in a bakery. I walk in and its me and 1 other patron in the bakery along with no less then 6 counter attendants. The other patron is in an in depth conversation ordering a birthday cake. This leaves 5 other counter people as I approach the sign that specifically states “ORDER HERE.” The woman attendant standing right in front of me looks right at me and says “can I help who’s next?” I spin to look to see if someone is behind me, I look up to see if perhaps I was supposed to take a number, maybe I missed a step. But no, I was officially the only other person in the bakery. I raised my hand and said “I guess that’s Me?”

“What can I get you?” The woman asks. I respond “I need a dozen pastry please.” “Cookies or pastry?” She rebuts. “Um, pastry please” I respond, to which she counters “the boxes are different…” Befuddled and on the verge of calling an emergency session with my therapist I respond with finality “pastry box please, I need pastry.”

“Which ones?” I am asked. I start my order by responding “I’d like 4 of the chocolate mousse with the whipped cream on the bottom tray here” as I am hunched over pointing at the glass completely aware she cannot see me pointing. From my huddled position I hear “You want any cannoli, we fill them in the back.” I rise, I am now at a precipice, I can lose my sh*t, I can walk out or I can ride this out. I choose to engage in the confection chess match and play on, “No…no cannoli today, I’d like to start with the chocolate mousse with the whipped cre…” “These?” I am cut off as she rises with a vanilla cream filled something…”No, no ma’am, these with the chocolate on the bot…” “I can’t see what your pointing at…” she interrupts again. “I know ma’am the glass counter seems to have us at an impasse, perhaps if I come around and serve myself we could get this done more efficiently” I smile and say. She responds by retrieving the chocolate mousse, with whipped cream cups. We do this dance for what seems like hours, a joust of finger pointing at glass and a plethora of “no not that one, this one please.” Twelve pastry and 9 minutes later, now the sole patron, I am ready to pay. I walk back to the register as the woman who assisted me meticulously wraps my box in bakers string, an art only comparable to a spider building a web. I stand at the counter when out of no where another attendant pops up and says “can I help whose next?” I look around, shrug and say “I’d like a dozen cookies please…”

I’m gonna give this bakery a break for a bit.