Buns of Steal*

I used to work at a bakery. No one should go to a bakery every day, especially not the people who work there. All they do is clean and eat and clean the stuff they tried to eat but dropped on the floor. And quickly (before their boss notices that they dropped an entire cake on the floor and are now eating it straight from a fork in the back room). 

The people who work at bakeries invented the five-second rule. You know, the one that says it's okay to eat something that fell on the floor as long as it was only down there for five seconds or less. Dust it off, blow on it a little, and on the tray, it goes. Good as new! Here's hoping the baker doesn't have a suspicious cough. 

I loved working at the bakery – the 6 am wake-ups, the weight gain, the rats. Kidding, they were just mice. But what I especially loved were the people. 

Ruthie, a local jeweler with bangs and lipstick stuck perpetually between her teeth, used to limp in wanting to know my star sign. She asked me every Saturday. And every Saturday, I would turn around to slice her whole wheat loaf, knowing Ruthie was stuffing day-old scones into the reusable grocery bag she used as a purse. Once, as she stole straight off the shelf, she looked at me and said, "Aries are so corrupt."

So there I was, a 15-year-old standing in my Relay for Life t-shirt, working hard for my $9-an-hour wage, being called corrupt by an unconvicted felon. 

I was fifteen. I probably didn’t even know what it meant to be corrupt or dishonest or double-dealing. I mean, I hadn’t even kissed a boy yet – where else was I supposed to learn it from? I still wore my retainer every single day. I didn’t even take it out once I got to school because I didn’t want to lie to my mom. And this 60-year-old business owner who stole 3-dollar scones every day of her life was calling me corrupt. 

And for what reason? Because I was born in April? 

I don’t believe in astrology. How could celestial objects dictate a person's entire life? I mean, today my horoscope said, “The good news is this - it gets better.” First of all, that isn’t a horoscope, it’s the headline of a pamphlet you’d find in the middle school guidance counselor’s office after you’ve been called in for typing “kill me now” into your graphing calculator. And secondly, bullshit. It doesn’t get better. When you grow up, there won't be a guidance counselor to make sure that your hatred of math isn't a cry for help. You can either pay someone to listen to your deepest feelings or get drunk and force people you kinda-sorta recognize from the Starbucks line to listen to them. In any case, being a Scorpio-rising or a Taurus-moon won't make you more likely to be just as fucked up as any character in any Tim Burton movie ever. And at least if you are, Starbucks-line guy will have a great plot for a new claymation. 

Bakeries seem like the happiest places on Earth. Better than Disneyworld, anyhow, because the people that love them don’t wear creepy mouse ears well into their adulthood. But if working at one has taught me anything, it’s that they’re not the happiest places, they just attract the people who need a lot more happiness in their lives. My bakery, for one, attracted Ruthie. 

Gemini bitch. 

Haikus: A Restless Hobby

Enjoy these haikus I write in my head on the daily. Will add as they come up.

January

Together we lay.

A twin sized hospital bed, 

Two packs of Mentos.

February

White wine, glass of ice.

Around the table,

Wiping tears with our napkins.

Erie Blvd Sex World

The world went silent,

But the highway adult store 

Stayed lit like a torch.

Class via Zoom

My poor professor.

Everyone’s cameras

Permanently off. 

Twenty-Two

Birthday number two

With a limited guest list.

Let. Me. Pop. Bottles!!!!!!

Timothée

Timmy Chalamet,

How quaffed art thou locks of hair?

Love you, skinny boy.

Friends are Better for Dancing Than Conversation

I am friends with them…

Usually in the dark.

Don’t like them in light.