For a second I thought he’d back down, but then he said, a warning tone in his voice, “You might not have a job to come back to.”
And that was the final straw.
“Fine,” I said, a rush of righteous anger burning through me. “I quit. And also, Henry? Fuck you.”
I ended the call, my hands shaking, and stared at the rack of chips in front of me.
I just did that, right?
I just quit my job?
Which, yeah, okay, had felt really fucking good in the second I’d done it, but the second after that? Thenow? I suddenly remembered that I needed money to live, and how did I get that again? Oh yeah, by having a job.
I drew a shaky breath, willing myself not to panic.
Fuck.
Shit fuck shit shit fuck.
Honk.
What the?—
I spun around and there was a goose staring up at me. It was big and mean-looking, and it was wearing a collar and a leash, and what the fuck? Could today get any more surreal?
“Oh, watch out there!” said the man holding the end of the leash. He was wearing short shorts, cowboy boots, and a poncho,and yet somehow the goose was still the weirdest thing about him. “Pardon me, sir, but Lucille does love her Doritos.”
It almost sounded like he was speaking English, but the words didn’t really make any sense.
The goose honked again, more menacingly this time, and I took a step back. The goose waddled forward and plucked a bag of chips from the rack. Then it dropped the chips on the floor and, quick as a snake, suddenly struck its beak against the box of pastries I was still holding awkwardly. The lid popped open and the goose honked again, loud and triumphant, and grabbed a Danish.
“Lucille!” The man grabbed the goose and hefted her up under his arm. “Where are your manners?”
In hell, where the rest of her belonged.
I stared at the man, and the goose, and then the man again.
What was even happening here? What crazy universe had I fallen into?And also, my brain helpfully reminded me,did you just quit your job?
“Well, my apologies,” the man said. “But she’s enjoying that. What else have you got in there?” He craned his head to try to see the contents of the box, apparently just as fascinated as the goose had been. His eyebrows rose. “Now, you didn’t get those from here.”
“No,” I agreed. “These are actually good.”
The man laughed, and the goose honked along. Then he said, “Now I should rightly be offended by that, since I own this place, but you’re not wrong. The place we get ours from isn’t that great. These any good?”
I opened the box and held it out. “See for yourself.”
“That’s very generous of you!” The man helped himself to a cupcake. “Well, this looks just divine and—” He bit into it. “It tastes even better! Where are these from?”
“South Hill Bakery,” I said and then added, “but I’m pretty sure their quality is about to go downhill fast.”
The man raised his eyebrows. “And why is that?”
“Because I made these,” I said, “and I just quit.”
The man’s eyes gleamed. “You’re abaker? And you made these?”
“Yeah.”
