Chapter 8: Flour, Yeast, Sugar

Chapter 8: Flour, Yeast, Sugar

You have to prepare the various types of flour for the other employees, Raissa explains to me.

Make the work easier for the others, I nod. Ive had high schoolers in the past come work for me to make a few bucks and they did pretty much the same kind of things.

Maybe another person in my position would be offended by the humble job they just gave me, but I really dont care.

We have put tags to make this easier for people trying out the job. And dont worry, everyone started out doing this, she adds with a sweet tone in her voice, probably thinking Id be bummed out by the work.

Girl, I have Italian American parents. I know a degree of exploitation that you have no idea of. I slaved away countless times in the family restaurant.

Moving a few ingredients around and arranging them between tables? Tsk, its nothing for this big boy.

Sure, its nothing until I see that the flour bags that she wants me to haul probably weight around 120 pounds each.

Wait a second, how much bread do you even ship out every day?

She shrugs.

No idea. But we go through ten to fifteen of those bags each day, just for the bread. We always make a bit more for the Watch too, just in case.

Goddamn medieval times and their carb-rich diets.

I can already feel my arms turning to jelly, but I just keep smiling while I slowly die inside.

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My ears turn off while I watch the shorter and thinner girl.

How does she take those huge bags?

What level are you in cooking-related classes? I hear Raissa ask.

No classes yet, I smile.

Im so going to blow Clodias mind!

Im so exhilarated that I almost dont feel the pain in my arms while I carry the last bags of flour.

Even if it looks easy, it takes almost two hours to arrange everything, clean the tables from residues of the previous night, and double check the tools to make sure they are both clean and still perfectly functioning.

By the end of it, I realize that Im quite dead. I dont take the night shift in my bakery anymore, thankfully. But I was transported to this new dimension in the evening and now its morning. Even if I joked about it before, I am jet-lagged.

Wait, dimension-lagged?

There is a joke there. Its better if I start thinking about it. Im sure Ill be abducted or something at some point, and I might need some humor to entertain my captors and make sure they dont skin me alive too soon.

My mom always tells me Im way too paranoid. I like to think Im very prepared. I always tell her that if I ever end up in prison because of some clerical stuff I didnt do which she says is impossible, but thats because she trusts them I already have a plan sketched out.

Im a baker, right? I will probably go to a minimum-security prison, or even get house arrest.

So, if I got min-security, Id simply ask the prison ward to have me lead a baking program. Then, Ill pay off my dues to some gangs in the form of sweets.

I can imagine the conversations.

Yo, Joey Luciani is a good piece of ass.

You better not touch him, pal.

Oh, and why is that?

Hes under the protection of the cake-act. He makes cakes for all the gangs, and no one touches his ass.

Thats my plan in case I go to prison.

If they get me a house arrest, Ill just open a baking account on social media. I think we might have one, but Im not sure. My mother records around a hundred videos of me doing stuff every day. It may be that she either forgets my face when she goes back home and doesnt see me for barely ten hours, or we do have a social media account and she opened it without my permission.

Knowing the woman, Id say we have a 50-50 chance of it being one or another. Or even both.