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Dear Bad Advice,
My boyfriend of two years has been hounding me to get a tattoo. He says it is a symbol of commitment and trust.What should I do?
-Ink Virgin
I copy and paste the email onto the blog and edit the format to meet the criteria. I then type a response.
Hey Ink Virgin,
The only way to fully commit to your man is to get his name plastered across your butt—or to make a sex tape. He needs to know that his opinion matters way above your own.
-Bad Advice
I publish my response and nibble on a few of the oopsies samples. When it’s time, I move toward the front door of the bakery to lock it and flip over the “Closed” sign. I remove my apron and fold it into my oversized purse that I keep behind the register.
“Angie, dear, may I have a word with you?” Edna asks from the back room. She wipes flour off her hands as I approach.
“What’s up?” I ask as I make my way to the kitchen.
I’ve been working at Sugar Butter Bakery in downtown Portland since freshman year. Edna and her husband, the original owners, opened the street shop thirty years ago. While the pay is barely above minimum wage, the stress-free work environment and flexible hours have made up for it.
“My dearest Angie.” Edna frowns, reaching for my hands. Hers are aged but yet smooth. She gives mine a squeeze.
I stare sadly at her distraught face. “What’s going on?” I ask softly, knowing whatever she will say will be bad news.
“We need to close the shop, dear.” Her voice cracks, and she pauses to collect herself. “We just cannot keep up with the big bakeries. Especially those growing in volume over in the southern section of the city across the river.”
“Oh no, Edna.” I step forward and wrap my arms around her petite frame. This place was her baby. She was unable to have children of her own, and Sugar Butter was her everything. “Please don’t cry.” I fight back my own tears at the realization that even if the shop was doing well, they would not have an heir to pass it to.
“We can pay you for the next two weeks. But today is the last day we can stay open. I’m just trying to use up the fresh ingredients to donate baked goods to the shelters nearby. No point wasting them. The lease has been terminated. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about me, Edna. I’m so sad for you both.”
“I hope you can find another job, dear.”
Me too.But part-time jobs for college students get swallowed up fast. “I’ll find something,” I say, just to ease her worry.
I give Edna one last squeeze, grab my stuff, and walk out of the cute little shop that was my place of work for the past four years. I slip my cell phone out of my bag and find Claire in my list of contacts.
“Hey, love,” she greets me, out of breath.
“If you are in the middle of spin class, I’ll call you back,” I urge.
“Oh hush, or I’ll put you on speaker.”
I shake my head at her before I realize she cannot see me. “Then I’ll just hang up.”
“Just spit it out. You never call, you always text. So what’s up, buttercup?”
“The bakery is closing. I might not be able to pay my portion of—”
“Ang, it’s fine,” she interrupts. Her breathing picks up and I hear her huff out, “Hey, not cool!”
“What’s wrong, Claire?”
“I cannot believe this Gym Nazi is broadcasting my effort stats on the screen for everyone to see. Unfuckingbelievable.”
I giggle. “You know that still counts as swearing, right?”
