Working at the bakery, day 67
"I think these muffins are stale."
"Uh, I took those out of the oven and iced them thirty minutes ago..." I hate working with Isa, she's an unbelievable drag. Of course, work with anyone but Wheeler is a complete disaster. Isa is usually drunk and overly negative, Naylor is an absolute prick who only took the job to flirt with customers, Redd won't talk to anyone but me, and even Hot Cheyenne is overly dramatic and whiny.
"Whatever. Do you have any of that wine from a couple weekends ago in your car?"
"Isa, I drink to have fun on the weekends. It's noon on a Thursday."
"Oh, lighten up. I promise this job is twice the fun when you're hammered."
"You need a physchiatrist."
"Shut up before I start calling you Mother Harry."
"For the love of God, go clock out and find some alcohol," I'm delighted that her shift is ending because it means Wheeler is coming. She's a bit goofy, like a little sister, but at least she's someone to talk to. No one else is even remotely good for conversation around here.
"Hey Harry!" Wheeler strolls in, quickly tying her hair back and putting on her pink, sparkle covered apron.
"Good afternoon, juvie."
"Ugh, how long before you stop calling me that?"
"The minute you become older than me, I'll stop." I'd been calling Wheeler that since 67 days ago when I met her and taught her how to work the cash register, and the rest is history.
"I hate you. So, what's the cupcake of the day?"
"Oh Juvie, you know I'm lovable. It's Cookies and Creme, all baked by moi."
"You skimped on the icing."
"This is not Hell's Kitchen."
"You're right, because if it was, what I just said would've been laced with obscenities."
"How many episodes of Boy Meets World did you stay up watching last night?"
"None, Harry. I'm not as predictable as everyone thinks."
"Oh, you are so lying. It was six, wasn't it?" Her blush certified my correctness.
"You're still wrong. I'm wildly spontaneous when I want to be."
"You mean when you do your homework an hour later than the night before?"
"You're the rudest person I've ever met."
With Wheeler, five hour shifts are more like twenty minute conversations. We constantly talk, race to see who can ice the cupcakes faster, discuss the best cupcakes we've tasted, and even try to think of new recipes. Redd says she and I are like sisters. He doesn't really say much at all, so I'm not really sure if I should be flattered or offended.
It's five o'clock, the end of our shift.
"You partying tonight, Styles?"
"I save that for the weekends, Juvie. I'm actually going to try and convince the owner to put brownies on the menu." Most people just call me feminine, but Wheeler actually respects my dream to own a bakery. It's probably because she's practically a little girl. When she's older, it's likely she'll think I'm strange just like everyone else does when I discuss it.
"If she says yes, we can find recipes tomorrow. I work at five."
"I've got a date, so I'll be gone by then. Sorry."
"It's fine, Harry. If I find some really good ones, I'll text them to you. Goodnight." Wheeler heads out the door and into the cool fall night, and for some reason I feel a twinge of sadness. I assume it's because I hate to disappoint someone who reminds me so much of a little sister. Before I head to the owner's office, I do a little prep work until I know it's been fifteen minutes. Then I finish Wheeler and I's shift ritual.
[Texts]
Harry: Did you make it home okay?
Wheeler: Yes. Thanks Harry.
Relief washes over me knowing she's safe. She just started driving a few months ago, and even though she's pretty good, you never know what could happen, so I always check on her. I'm not sure what's better: being a baker, or being a (sort-of) big brother. I decide it's a toss-up.
