It was apparent when I walked into the bakery at 4:50 p.m. yesterday that it was going to be a bad night. I try to get in a little early when I start at 5:00 because whoever is on is desperate to get out. The hope is that they will say, “all that’s left is cleaning” but not this time.
My cake counterpart, who was supposed to leave at 4:00, was covered in icing and had a crazed look in her eye. She was still doing special orders. “I had eight cakes, two full slabs!” she cried.
My boss was still getting stuff out the freezer for ‘break-outs’; all the breads and buns that will be baked the next morning. “Grab a pen and paper to make a list of all the stuff that needs to be prepped!” That is putting toppings on breads and buns once they are slightly thawed.
“Get out a chocolate and white cake and make a 1/4 slab half and half!”
I couldn’t get into the fridge without kicking aside all the cardboard boxes that were not broken down yet.
Have I mentioned lately I’m sixty-three years old? I had worked the night before and took this shift for a teenager. The day before that, my boss phoned me on my day off and asked if I could ‘come in right away?’
Today is day four; I’m working 1:00 to 6:00. I’m so tired.
It’s apparent to me that I am getting old.
I didn’t mop the floors last night and I don’t even care!