Sugar and Spice and Not Really Nice

Dear Crabby Old Bakery Lady,

How exactly do you maintain your crabbiness in a bakery?

I look around and see all sorts of wonderful, yummy tasting things. I can just close my eyes and smell the vanilla, sugar and bread. How could you not be infected with the pleasure that working in close proximity with those items must bring? I also see people laughing and happy as they pick up their anniversary and birthday cakes, or their cupcakes and bear claws. Laughing and happy until you start with that particular brand of magic that is truly only yours.

But there you stand, an unmovable bastion of crankiness amongst the smiles, which disappear under your wilting glare. Your pursed lips and squinty, flinty eyes behind your glasses betray your complete and utter lack of mirth. I get it. Or at least I did when I cracked a joke and the look of contempt in your eyes mentally smote me and I just decided right then and there that you weren't going to play and I wasn't even going to try and make you.

I was accepting of you when I placed the cake order. Not the slightest flash of interest when I told you it was for my dad's 60th, and presented you with his school picture from 1953 to scan onto the cake. I'm cool with that, really. In fact, I think you scrunched those lips a bit more, if that's even possible.

When I came to pick up the cake, I'm sure you didn't notice, but I was crossing my fingers that I wouldn't get you to serve me. So, of course, I got you.

You tersely asked me which cake I wanted, then went into the back to get it. You unfolded the box with automaton-like precision for me to view it, then without a word, snapped it shut. Maintaining your robot impression, (really, you should take your act to the stage) you rang up the cake as I was informing Mr. Personality that he could pick out a cookie.

Supressing a sigh of annoyance, you reluctantly retrieved the chosen goodie, and I swear you purposely picked one with the least amount of sprinkles. There was no smile from seeing a young boy thrilled with his cookie. Just the dull, glazed look of someone who wishes with all their heart and soul that they were anywhere but here.

And seriously, would it have killed you to not charge us for the cookie? To be honest, I was surprised when you lifelessly intoned, "That will be $35.30." I mean, you couldn't have just thrown it in there after we spent thirty five bucks for a cake?

But no, I now realize that goes against your philosophy in life.

And really, if you are going to spend your whole life wishing you were somewhere else, do the rest of us a favor and go already.

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