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Drama at the bakery

There’s this bakery chain here in British Columbia called Cobs. I love their bread – it’s kind of expensive but I find it keeps well and lasts a long time. It’s of much higher quality than anything you’ll find in most Lower Mainland grocery stores.

Somedays, however, I just can’t fucking stand shopping there. Today, for instance I went in there to buy one loaf of bread. Just a loaf of unsliced bread. No big deal.

Of course, there’s some old person in front of me who feels compelled to order twelve cinnamon rolls. The cashier (who is probaly 16 years old, God bless her) slowly, but carefully, packages the cinnamon rolls. One. at. a. time.

After at least five minutes of meticulously boxing, bagging, and wrapping the cinnamon rolls at a glacial pace, she asks him “Anything else?” To which he looks at the counter, hums and haws at all the wonderful things selections.

“Ooh, I think I’ll have… no, wait, yeah, uhm a loaf of that tin pan bread. Sliced… no wait, make it two loaves. Slice one thin, and the other one thick.”

The young woman who’d been patiently waiting behind me leaves in frustration.

When the teller FINALLY rings the man up she exclaims “Oh! You’re paying over $12, so you can spin our wheel!”

I let out an audable sigh.

The gentleman shopper joyously spins the wheel, and wins a fruit pastry. Apparently this shopping spree will never fucking end.

Finally, a second staff person comes out of the back and offers to ring me up.

I ask for the multi-grain loaf of unsliced bread and present my debit card to pay.

“Oh, our debit machine is down. You’ll have to pay with cash or just pay later,” he tells me.

“Ugh! Just, you know, just forget it. Just forget it.”

I leave. No bread.

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