He Loves Me!

Last Friday I had about the worst day EVAH!! I got off work at Crumb Brothers and we had some Indian food that the boss had bought, which was incredible. I get off at 2:00 and have work at 4:00 at Angie's, so usually that's a break to go home and change clothes and do all my errands. But this time, the other baker (Gaby) and I had been asked to attend a meeting with the owner and managers at Angie's. I knew nothing about the meeting; I wasn't sure if we were in trouble or if it was just with one of the managers or where it even took place. Gaby and I agreed to meet there at 3:15 or so.

Well, I got done eating Indian food at around 2:50, and I debated the entire ride to Angie's whether or not I'd deposit my paycheck, because I wasn't sure I was going to have time. Also, did I have everything with me, what was I going to do in the evening after work, why the hey do I have to make pies that night?? Lots of stuff was going through my head. I got there and, since I didn't know what the meeting really WAS, or WHERE was going to be, or WHO to ask for, I just sat in the lobby. I sat there for a good half-hour, kindof impatient, because that was a half-hour that I was supposed to be at the "Mysterious Meeting," and if I wasn't there, I could have at least done some of my errands. Finally Gaby showed up, and we went to the meeting. The managers and owner were talking about "stuff," and I didn't really know why we'd been invited. But whatever. They asked for us to give them "imput," but I wasn't sure what they wanted to hear, since I hadn't been involved in the meeting for the last hour or so. Then they mentioned that Gaby and I were both single, and they teased us, and that made me uncomfortable. Technically, I do have a boyfriend -- but I didn't want to mention that right then because I don't think it's anyone's business to discuss at a work meeting, no matter how nice these men all are.

Enter the freakshow: I had to make about 11 pies. Now, for one thing, I confess that I've had a really hard time with piecrusts. I learned how to make piecrusts in culinary school. The first one I made was marvelous. Second one, too. I didn't know I could NOT make a perfect pie crust! Then I got this job at Angie's. I told the guy who interviewed me that I knew how to make pies. I DID! I learned, and I made awesome pies, and everyone lived happily ever after -- UNTIL I got this job! Sometimes they shrink down into the pie plate, which really bothers me. Gaby says that's normal, with our recipe, with our flour, with our pie plates, with our convection oven. The crust tastes awesome, but it looks so strange, and that's really bothered me -- to the point where I'll fill and decorate the cream pies, but I don't like to build the pie crusts. But this day, she forced me to.

So I was already in a bad mood. The bad mood was perhaps enhanced by some chemical fluctuations that occur about every four weeks for most girls, and happened to occur during the time period I was mentioning (last week, to be more precise). I'd also had a few difficult experiences in the previous days, which don't need mentioning -- but they have to do with the story here in that they were emotionally traumatizing: Suffice it to say, I was at the end of my rope. As I was minding my own business, this punk server came in and got really belligerent and nasty with me, and as he was attempting to forcefully take away the equipment I was actively using, I made my decision to immediately shoot death crystals out my eyes. That may not have been what I was thinking, but it describes the frustration I was having to deal with at that moment. I left to solve his problem so that he wouldn't encroach upon my tiny little space, and I came back and turned off the loud, repetitive Hispanic music and wend to work on the MILLION PIES I had to work on! Well, I made 11 pies that looked like barf. I was so discouraged and frustrated and I just wanted to get in bed with my blankie, plus I had to work at 6:00 the next morning, and the prospect of that wasn't something I looked forward to, either.

Gaby was understanding, and she encouraged me to go home and get some sleep, for she could take care of the bakery alone that night (especially since she wasn't coming the next day). I clocked out and made a break for the door, and I walked over to my bike to unlock it. Something was wrong: When I removed it from the bike rack, I noted that the front tire was 100% completely flat. "Someone SLASHED my TIRE!! It was that PUNK'S BUDDY!!! Or maybe one of the Hispanics who was mad I turned off his music. Or maybe it was SATAN!!!" Miraculously, I didn't sob hysterically. I just walked home and called my sweetheart to ask if he'd pick it up in his truck the next day. He came over with it a little while later.

Next morning, I got up at 4:00 so I could be ready to walk to work just after 5:00, because I had to work at 6:00, and I didn't know how long it would take to walk those 9 or 10 blocks. I got there in plenty of time. My supervisor was the one who was nearly 45 minutes late.

We had a whirlwind busy day on Saturday. Most the bread was gone by around 11:00, so we had a pastry worker there until around 12:45, making sure we would have something to sell for the next hour or so. Crazy busy, crazy busy. I even saw one of my former supervisors from BYU come in and get some treats . . . but we were so busy, I couldn't chat.

During a brief lull, my sweetheart (Joel) came in with his motorbiking gear on, and I was jealous. I wanted to be out riding in the gorgeous weather, too! He bought a cookie and left. And I washed more dishes and brewed more coffee and cleaned up more messes and . . . What a long day!

Joel came to get me after work, and he talked about cars and about what sorts of features I like to have in a car, and what features are available . . . We passed the turnoff for my house, and he talked . . . We passed the turnoff for my other work, and he talked . . . He said something about test-driving a car. We drove to a car dealership, and he took me on a test-drive. Very nice car. We drove to his friend's house, and spoke to the friend's wife, and I mentioned to her that my bike is broken, and Joel said it wasn't! I was a little confused; of course he had to know that it had gotten a flat tire. When I'd seen it the night before, it was so flat that it couldn't have just pumped itself up. It was pretty severe; I was sure it was a goner. So I asked him if he'd fixed it, and he admitted that he had. I thought, "Oh, well then, I need to just keep a tire pump with me."

On Sunday, Joel and I took a motorcycle ride and then we rode in his black car to his friend's house and we had a lovely time. Then last night I rode my bike to his house and he drove me back in his beater truck -- the first time we'd ridden in it for several days. I got in, and there was a bike tire on the seat -- he told me it was my old bike tire, and that I'd ridden over a pretty big thorn, which is typical to do this time of year. I was astounded! I thought he'd just pumped the tire up, and I thought I was the luckiest girl alive, that my sweet boyfriend would come over to my house and pump up my tire so I could get around! But he'd actually taken his Saturday to replace it and not even tell me about what it took to have that done!

My goodness, he really loves me!