My dad told us this story about one of the recent catering events for his business. He was catering for a wedding and he had a chain bakery bake the cake. It was a simple three-tier cake and the picture he showed us looked beautiful. However, the manager of the bakery was not used to delivering cakes, especially tier cakes, and it showed.

When the manager delivered the cake, the third tier had fallen down the back of the cake while in the trunk of the manager’s car. The manager simply handed my dad a tube of icing for “touch-ups” and expected him to fix it.

My dad was furious and took the cake to another location of the bakery chain, showed them the cake, and asked them to fix it. The bakers at this bakery were just as shocked and pissed at the other location as my dad was. 

Instead of just fixing the cake, they threw it out and made a whole new cake from scratch. Thankfully, the wedding wasn’t for another hour or so when the cake was finished; otherwise, the cake would’ve been late. 

I hope the first bakery was reprimanded for their behavior for delivering him a cake like that and expecting him to fix their mistake.

My friend and I are feeling hungry, so we stop in a small bakery. They have a bunch of pre-packaged goods around on stands and some fresh-baked goods that you order at the till. There is only one other man inside, browsing the pre-packaged stock, but we want fresh hot buns, so we head straight for the clerk.

When we get there, however, the other customer speaks up.

Customer: “I was here first.”

The clerk, my friend, and I all look at him.

Clerk: “Oh, are you ready to buy?”

Customer: “In a minute.”

He then turns away again, while we all stare. After a moment, the clerk turns to look at us expectantly.

Clerk: *In a low voice* “What would you like?”

Me: “Two [rolls].”

The clerk wraps them up for us, takes our money, and starts getting our change. The man turns around again.

Customer: “Hey! I was here first!”

Friend: “No, you were there first. We were here first.”

The man paused as he tried to process that, and by that point, the clerk had our change, so we both took it and made our escape.

I work in a bakery and it’s a super-busy Saturday. The whole day has had a queue out of the door, the store manager has called off sick with severe food poisoning, and due to physical distancing guidelines, we’re trying to keep the number of people in the shop down. Despite frequent reminders, they continue to pack in like sardines.

After waiting in the queue for a fair amount of time, a young girl, maybe twelve or thirteen, comes to the till. Her mother is just behind her but says nothing the entire time. She’s holding a Capri-Sun which she places on the counter.

Child: “Can I have a burger, please?”

Me: *Nonplussed* “I’m sorry, we don’t have any burgers. We sell pastries. Did you want one of those?”

Child: “That’s a burger.”

She points at the display behind me, which has a changing screen and some fancy images. I look at what she’s pointing at and realise it’s a picture of one of our common chicken sandwiches in a seeded bun with salad. I can see how it looks like a burger to a kid.

Me: “Ah! No, I’m so sorry, that’s a chicken sandwich.”

Child: “Can I have a chicken sandwich, please?”

Me: “Sure! They’re all in that fridge over there.”

I pointed out the fridge through the growing crowd. The little girl immediately turned and ran through the people to the fridge. Her mother stayed standing in front of me. I couldn’t do anything.

Eventually, the mother seemed to realise her child was gone. She wasn’t on the phone or anything; she was just standing there. She turned and walked through the crowd. I waited for a moment and then continued to serve the crowd.

A few minutes later, the child returned and put the chicken sandwich in front of me with her Capri-Sun. Her mother paid, still silent, and they both left.

I’m still puzzled how they spent that whole time in the queue, very clearly at a bakery, and didn’t communicate once. The child was incredibly sweet and polite, but I spent a lot of time puzzled.

In French, some people will address you in the third person, like, “How is he doing?” or, “Is he done with this task?” Depending on who says it and when, it can be either silly banter or crass condescendence. This exchange is the latter.

My partner and I enter a pastry shop and greet the waitress, who is talking to a friend. She turns her head, looks at us, doesn’t say a word, and goes back to her discussion. We take some time to choose what we want. The waitress finally comes to serve.

Waitress: *Very sour* “So, are they done choosing?”

Me: “No, they are not. She can go back to her discussion. They will call her when they are ready.”

Weirdly enough, she wasn’t impressed with my answer. We/they left without buying anything.

It’s Mother’s Day weekend. I have a standard answer for whoever asks me what I’m doing for Mother’s Day that seems to stop any awkward questions. I just tell people, “Oh, I don’t have a mother,” in a very cheerful voice, and that’s usually the end of that, but a coworker has been bothering me all week about my lack of plans.

Coworker: “So, you’re not doing anything for Mother’s Day?”

Me: “Nope.”

Coworker: “But, nothing? Nothing?!”

Me: “I don’t have a mother, so why would I do anything?”

Coworker: “That’s so stupid. Everyone has a mother.”

Me: *Flatly* “Well, I don’t so—”

Coworker: “Who gave birth to you? She’s your mother!”

Me: “Surrogate mothers are a thing.”

Coworker: *Sputters* “Who raised you?”

Me: “My dad.”

Coworker: “So do something for him, then!”

Me: “He hates these kinds of holidays.”

Coworker: “You’re not doing anything for anyone this weekend? Wait, is your mother dead?”

Me: “Not as far as I know. Look, I really don’t want to talk about this—”

Coworker: “If she’s not dead, you should at least send her a card to tell her you love her!”

Me: *Fed up* “The woman who gave birth to me made it very clear to me that she hated me and wished that I hadn’t been born. She kept me locked in a dark bathroom for days at a time, without food or human interaction, because I was ‘too loud,’ when I was three years old. I don’t know her address, and even if I did, I would not be sending that b**** a card.”

Coworker: *Pauses* “Oh. Um, right.” *Flees*

If someone tells you they don’t want to talk about something, don’t force them to talk about it.

This story is part of our Best Of August 2021 roundup!

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