One Detention Saved My Life

Chapter 18

I walk into Dad's darkened bakery on Sunday morning around ten. It feels weird not seeing people bustle around, or the sound of timers going off on ovens, or customers talking loudly amongst themselves. It feels dead, almost as if someone died. Dad decided today that it would be a good day to close the bakery so we could hire someone to take Olivia's place. It was decided from the minute Jimmy was fired that Olivia would be the new assistant manager. I couldn't agree more.
I fiddle around for the lightswitch. I can't find it, but Dad does. My eyes adjust as one light turns on and then the rest flicker to life.
"In about ten minutes people will be here interviewing for the job."
"Okay, you need help?"
I see a sign in Dad's hands. "Hang up this sign."
I take the white sign to the window and stick it there with a magnet. As I back away I glance at it: Welcome. We will be with you shortly to start your interview. In the mean time, take a seat and talk quietly amongst yourself.
I go back to Dad's office. The printer goes off and a sheet a paper with about twenty names pops out of it. Dad takes the paper and secures it to a clipboard. Just when he's done, the bell goes off on the door, meaning someone's early for their interview.
"Can you greet who ever just walked in?"
"Yeah."
I walk out of Dad's office, through the kitchen, and plaster on a big smile as I approach a woman in her early twenties, blonde, blue eyes, full lips, fair skin, the woman reminds me of someone from a magazine.
"I'm here for the interview."
"Of course, right this way."
I lead the woman through the kitchen and into Dad's office, her high heels clicking all the way there.
"I'm here for the interview."
"Name?"
"Lisa Tate."
"Lisa, why don't you take a seat," Dad replies motioning to a plush blue office chair across from him. Lisa takes her seat, crossing her super model legs.
"Why would you be right for this job?"
"Isn't it obvious? I would be selling your baked goods left and right with my super model good looking."
That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.
Dad goes on with the next question. "Do you work well with others? You'd be working with my son."
She gives me a glance before answering the question.
"I wouldn't work well with your son," she says gesturing one of her manicured fingers at me. "I only work well with pretty people like myself."
"Well, thank you Lisa. I will contact you if if you get the position."
She gets up elegantly out of the chair and strides out of Dad's office, her high heels clacking all the way. I shut the door behind her.
"What did you think of her?"
"I didn't like her. It was all about her good looks and all about herself."
"I agree," Dad says crossing her name off the list. Dad gets out of his chair, opens the door, and shouts,"Next!"
A girl my age with jet-black hair, lip piercings, and heavy black make up appears.
"Take a seat."
She doesn't take a seat.
"Okay then, what's your name?"
"Gwen."
"Gwen, why do you want this job?"
"I don't. My mom forced me to come here today. I don't really see the point in getting a job if I'm just going to die someday."
"I think this interview is over. Have a good day."
She walks out with a slight grin. I think she already knows that she's not going to get the job.

An hour and a half last I'm completely exhausted. None of the people we interviewed for the job are suited for this job. There was a guy that walked in saying words like ain't, yinz, I seen, and that, axe instead of ask. It took everything in me not to correct his improper grammar.
"I can't believe this," Dad says. "We interviewed just about everyone and no one is right for the job."
"Everyone?" I ask.
Dad looks at his list. "There is one more person, a Cookie Baker. But her name sounds fictional."
"I'll go look and see if there's anyone else out there."
I go out of the office, through the kitchen, and into the main entrance where I see an older woman, grayish-white hair, gold-rimmed glasses, slightly over weight, despite the fact that she has skinny arms and legs.
"The bakery is closed," I shout.
The woman turns around, a cook book in her hands.
"I'm here to apply for the job. I'm Cookie Baker."
I feel my face go hot with embarrassment. Cookie laughs, showing off a somewhat white set of fake teeth.
"I'm sorry. Do you want to come back for an interview?"
Cookie slowly gets up out of her chair.
"Do you need some help walking back?"
"Honey, I'm perfectly capable of walking back on my own."
Once Cookie starts walking her pace quickens and before I know it she's right next to me. I lead her, like all the other people Dad interviewed, through the kitchen and into Dad's office, where his head is faced down on his desk due to frustration.
"Dad, Cookie Baker is here to see you."
Dad looks up from his desk, his eyes wide.
"How old---"
"Dad, that's rude!" I scold him.
"That's quite all right. I'm actually seventy-four."
"I'm sorry about my manners. I will not judge you based on your age."
"That's good to know, honey."
"Dad, shouldn't you ask her questions?"
"Right. So. . . um. . . Cookie. . . why would you be right for this job?"
"I've always wanted to work in a bakery ever since I was little. I never did because people told me I couldn't, but that's not important. I moved here a few weeks ago to be closer to my grandchildren, and when I saw your bright and cheery bakery I feel in love."
I see Dad give a little smile. "Do you get along with children, especially teenagers?" Dad asks looking at me.
"I have two children, two grandchildren, and nine great grandchildren. I also drove bus for a number of years."
Dad goes straight on to the next question. "Do you mind working long hours?"
"No, not at all."
"If I were to hire you, you wouldn't try to be the boss?
"I would never think of doing that."
"Cookie, this interview went extremely well. Please wait outside while Tim and I dicuss weather to hire you."
Cookie walks quietly out the door and quietly shuts the door behind her.
"What do you think?"
"I like her. She's better than all the other people we interviewed."
"You wouldn't have a problem working with her?"
"No."
"You don't care that she's seventy-four?"
"No, age doesn't matter to me."
"I say we hire her."
Dad opens up the door and Cookie jumps, the cook book she was reading flys out of her hands and onto the floor.
"Sorry for startling you, Cookie. I see Dad slightly grin, probably from seeing the book Cookie was reading.
"Come back in." Cookie picks up her cook book and joins us back inside.
"Cookie, Tim and I have decided to hire you."
A big smile forms on her lips. "Thank you, honey."
Dad extends his hand. "Welcome." Cookie shakes his hand.
"When do I start? And how much money will I make?"
"Tuesday, and you'll make ten-fifty an hour."
"I'm so happy. You don't mind if I give you and your son a hug?"
"Be my guest."
Cookie gives Dad a quick hug and then moves on to me. She gives me a hug and my heart feels warm inside. Who knew a totally stranger could have that affect on me. Correction Dad's new employee. Cookie and I were going to work great together.