My birthday is Sunday, and I want pies -- lemon and chicken-pot ideally, but everyone else likes cake better and this celebration isn't about me. So, I drew the small straw on making the call to the, shall we say problematic, bakery that makes the best cakes in town. The cost of receiving excellence, in this case, is that you apparently can't order a cake long in advance for whatever deranged reason; less than a week is as far out as they schedule.
The girl who answered the phone sounded tired but not quite annoyed that I'm bothering her.
ME: Hi, I'd like to order a birthday cake.
GIRL: Oh, OK. Hang on, lemme get a pen. [sound of the phone bonking onto the table, dead air, the sound of the phone being picked up] OK, what would you like?
ME: Well, yeah -- A half-sheet in red velvet. With [small sigh] butter-cream frosting in flower accents.
[This is not the first time I've ordered cakes for the cake fiends in my family. I only feel slightly less guilty doing this than when I used to buy cartons of cigarettes for the smokers when I'd drive down to Pennsylvania to fill up my car with the much cheaper gasoline there. Everything seems cheaper in PA, but who the hell wants to live there?
As for the cake itself: Their choice of frosting should be considered a hate crime against the cake itself, if you ask me -- if you're going to have cake, red velvet is the best, but I already know from experience that butter-cream frosting tastes only slightly worse as vomit -- but I don't say any of that to the girl. Again, this birthday cake isn't about me.]
GIRL: [repeating as she writes] ... flower ... accents .... Great! Oh! What day do you want it ready?
ME: Sunday.
GIRL: Oh! Er, um, sorry but, um, the bakers aren't doing any baking Saturday or, uh ... tomorrow.
ME: Wow, OK, [unintelligible mumbling; even I don't know what I was trying to say].
GIRL: Oh, but one of our guys is probably going to walk over here to work a while on Sunday, after the Mets game. Is Monday OK?
ME: Well, I guess, yeah. [I leave for Oregon on Monday morning. I should be past Jamestown by the time this bakery opens Monday, but that's totally fine; this cake really doesn't have anything to do with me anyway.]
GIRL: Great! Yeah, sorry 'bout that. Oh, what should the cake say? Did you have --
ME: "Happy Belated Birthday, Milo"
GIRL: Oh. [awkward moment] Um, can you hang on a second? I'm going to go ask them something.
ME: Sure thing. [bakery phone bonks onto the table again, murmur of long conversation in background, eventually the phone gets picked back up]
GIRL: [in an almost cheerful mood] Hi? OK, they said they can make your cake today and we can keep it in the freezer for pickup on Saturday. Is that alright?
ME: Oh? Wow, great! Wait, so -- you're open on Saturday? The bakers --
GIRL: We're open until one on Saturdays.
ME: Gotcha. But the bakers aren't baking then or the day before?
GIRL: Nah, today is their big work day. Like, 7AM 'til almost midnight -- and sometimes later!
ME: Huh. So, they bake from "Can" until "Can't." [Girl laughs politely.] Do they always work a double-shift Thursday so that they can take the weekend off, but the shop still has stuff to sell?
GIRL: Yeah!
ME: Is that thing bakers do?
GIRL: Um, I ... don't know?
ME: Hmm. Well, I hope my cake won't be too much more work for them! [Girl laughs politely.] So, can I pay for it for now? [Pays for the cake.] Thank you again for being so helpful! It's much appreciated.
GIRL: Yeah! Oh! Wait, did you want a different message for the lettering now that it'll be ready for your party?
ME: Uh ... yeah, we should delete the "belated" part. [Final pleasantries, then the hangup at last.]
I wish I had thought to ask the girl to change the message to read "Unhappy Belated Birthday, Milo" -- the linguistic-puzzle double-negative would entertain me and it would mildly baffle and/or annoy everyone else [which would also entertain me], but they would appreciate that there was that much more vile butter cream on the cake they'll be eagerly cramming into their pieholes shortly. Again: Pie is what should go in the piehole, dammit. But I guess it's all for the best, as this birthday cake is not about me.
[Also: I don't know if I'm getting any presents but if I do, I'm hoping to get gas money.]
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