“We are sold out of babkas today.”
Sometimes life can feel mundane. The monotony of jobs, chores, obligations on repeat is too much adulting for a day. Sometimes unexpected stops and detours can provide a taste of unexpected delight and a moment straight out of a Seinfeld episode.
Jaclyn hustled over to Best Buy for printer ink cartridges, and passed a great, little neighborhood bakery on the way home. I’ve walked by 100 times and never made time to stop. But today, the scent of warm chocolate wafting from the door made me believe I needed to wait in the customer line that almost wound around the building. I was chilly and smelly from sweat-soaked running clothes but convinced myself that the line looked like it was moving quickly. I’d be at the counter in no time. Aftrerall, I had the time, and why not? Maybe a chocolate croissant.
The bakery was really small and from my position in line, behind 32 other humans, 20 strollers, kid scooters and leashed pets, I could spy customers through the glass store front pointing at the sweet treats on the shelves, snatching and clutching their bags of sweetness close to their bodies and making a break for the door as if they stole something. Pfffft, I muttered with judgment. I thought, Relax you animals! Like you've never been in a bakery before.
In an effort to not get tossed from the line by the pair of bouncers at the door managing the line I was in, I kept my voice low and eyes wide. I started to have flashbacks to waiting in line to get in a favorite bar, decades earlier. It was clear I’ve hit a certain age because club bouncers have become Bakery bouncers and they too meant business. They glared at us clearly communicating, don’t start shit because you wont get it.
What felt like an hour later, I’m just two positions from getting through the door, and I hear an elderly woman yelling with anger and in disbelief about how she came up from Brooklyn to pick up two chocolate babkas. She called a day ahead to reserve, but they were sold to another customer. I wondered, Oh, no, would she have to leave empty handed? Would someone feel badly for her and share their haul of treats? Would a Bakery bouncer try to calm her down to maintain safety for all? It was an uncertain and precarious time for everyone! Printed signs on every shelf read; We are sold out of Babkas today. Sorry for the inconvenience.
A brave manager sailed over to Madam Brooklyn and asked her to stand aside from the velvet rope, as there was another warm and fresh batch coming from the oven in 17 minutes and if she could bear to wait, she would get the first two from the hot baking pans. And this is where it got really interesting. Madam Brooklyn took a minute, turned to her purse to consult with two little live birds that were nestled in a blanket. I’d never seen something so adorable. The little birdies told her they felt they were too far in to turn back now and worth the wait. I agreed with the birds.
I went back to quick math and calculated on average how much time each person was spending selecting and paying to convince myself I too am invested to the point of no return. I’m focused on trying to conserve body heat and imagine the taste of that warm chocolate.
But then I heard an elderly voice start throwing around “stock market crash,” “depression,” and “breadline” in order to provide context about her level of disappointment over having to wait for the next fresh haul of babka. She too received hushed apologies and was put behind the velvet rope like a VIP. This exchange also felt aggressive to bystanders watching, but the manager was not going to argue with this customer either. Now, Madam Brooklyn and Ms. Breadline were fast friends as Bakery Bouncer made the mistake of putting them together off to the side, and at the front of the “promised fresh batch, yet still disgusted,” line.
Because I’m so close in proximity to this gang of two, I’m afraid to make eye contact with either one for fear of being dragged into it. Customers behind me are watching and want to lend support to the aggrieved party. I also hear snide remarks coming from behind me and I fear a revolt coming. Could the Bakery Bouncers manage an angry mob from the mean streets of the Upper West Side?
It was clear I needed to join an alliance for my own safety, so I slide over to a Bakery Bouncer and out of the corner of my mouth to not be revealed to the others, ask: “So how do I get in on this fresh chocolate babka action? What’s the big deal? What am I missing?
He said “We can’t keep them on the shelves. People just go nuts for them and call ahead to preorder and stand in line before we open at 6am.” I thought, well this sounds like my lucky day. I’m only two from the door!” “I got you!" he said. Stand over here with those two. Don’t move. I’ll call you when it’s time.”
Now I felt like I belonged to the group of the aggrieved. They welcomed me with bitter sentiment and open arms. Even the birds greeted me with chirps in solidarity. I felt like I had Wonka’s Golden Ticket, and backstage passes to whatever this bizarre moment in time was.
Madam Brooklyn exited the bakery, looking for her two other lady-gang members, and in a show of allegiance tossed us a smirk and a wink. Ms. Breadline was next. She gave me the gangsta chin nod as if to say, “that’s right, bitches! See ya on the flip.”
Then with a sneer of superiority, I thought all those other suckers are probably just here for a sad croissant. One by one, Madam Brooklyn and birds were escorted into the shop to retrieve two babkas. Then Ms. Breadline went in. Then I was escorted in to retrieve my treasure. There she lay.
On the flat bottom of a crisp paper bag with twine handles for stability and safe transport home was an oven-fresh chocolate babka, tented in a thin plastic sleeve to trap all the warm sweetness. I paid the tab, grabbed my sack, clutched it to my body and ran out like I stole something. What an animal.
