Piece of Cake
I am twenty-nine by 3 days, and today I tasted komqwats for the first time...so new to me I can't hardly spell it. The orange's little bundle of joy, I loved her before I even knew her christian name. Sweet on the outside and sour on the inside was how they were first presented to me, and I drank one in while taking a lesson on how to cherry pick the tiny darlings. Even the name sounds to me like a flourished sommersault.
The bakery is magnificent, all of us loving it as our own-- and rushing past eachother in an italian cream whirlwind, our egos jabbing eachother in the kidneys in competition for utter perfection. Each of us carries a specialty: the one that binds the cakes, the one that frosts them, the ones that decorate, the ones that dress the tops, the one that manages, and the one that handles the bridezillas.

Mine is managing the Lakewood customers,
who very often times have very definitive ideas on how a cake should be,
and a good deal of fiscal flexibility.
It is not altogether uncommon for a mother to order a 2 tier two hundred dollar cake for a first birthday. It is not altogether uncommon for her to call 4 times following; twice to make changes, and twice to 'check and make sure' we've 'got it'.

We all take turns with customers at the bakery, but somehow, the better you are at your craft, the worse you are dealing with the public. That whole tortured artist mentality is a bitch I suppose, but I wouldn't know since I'm the grunt of the opperation. So, when the crazies walk in, they are asked to pause for a moment while I am prepped with on the anomolie and brought out from behind a baker's rack to soothe an order from beyond their little 'quirks'.

And so Margaret the wedding consultant, well into her 50's and a Sex Pistols fan asks of me, 'What is the most difficult customer situation you've had so far?'

A skinny sun bed and peroxide decayed lady with a nervous disorder who added 75 bucks worth of additions onto her 45 dollar cake in green orange and teal who insisted 'I'd better not see one glimmer of white on that cake.' Upon pick up she stuttered for half and hour uncertain about what 2nd cake she'd choose for the event, devising and revising plans on whether to bake an additional cake and smash the two together. I advised that she buy the 2nd cake and go home and take a good long rest. Eventually, she couldn't get a credit card to pass half and hour after we'd already closed down shop.

But then there are the endearing ones. Like Robin, the woman who faithfully orders her 18 chocolate chunk cookies in a pleading voice always one day after cut off every 10 days. Once she was bedridden and paid by phone so that when her husband came by for pick up he wouldn't be alarmed by the 2 bucks a gram price tag. Her situation so specific and desperate, sometimes devoring more than she can recall in one setting and then accusing us of swindling her...but always back again for more.

For all the Robins out there. My snowflake, I salute.