I shouldn’t have done it.
Last night’s ramen wasn’t sitting straight. In between stomach gurgles and acidic hiccups, something was cooking in my belly. I should’ve stayed home, but I wanted something sweet. The bakery’s only a couple blocks away anyway. If I walked slowly, carefully, cautiously I could keep my stomach steady.
It all went according to plan at first. I walked slowly: each step a mindful calculation. The bakery door handle felt colder than normal. The air conditioning felt sickly cold, but the heat from the kitchens in the back sent intermittent warm puffs of air into my face. There were a couple people in front of me. They ordered quickly, and stood off to the side waiting for their drinks and pastries.
I got up to the cashier and looked blankly at the stocked displays. Croissants. Danishes. Small cheesecakes. Colorful macaroons. The hard part was putting my finger on what I actually wanted. The chocolate croissants looked good, but there was never enough chocolate inside them; it always felt like a scam. The macaroons were good but they didn’t quite scratch my itch. The small cheesecakes looked particularly yummy; glistening under the bright lights, the cheese tops looked moist.
I ordered two.
The baker walked over and dropped his tongs on the floor as he reached into the display. The clang startled me and the two customers still waiting for their drinks on the side. He muttered something to himself, stopped himself half-crouched thinking of picking up the tongs, and then shot back up and reached into the display with his hands. He grabbed the cheesecake between his thumb and index finger and the tension made the cheese top ooze.
I felt something gurgle in my stomach. My mouth started to water. I started to feel a growing sense of panic. I shot a look down the hallway to the left to see if there was a bathroom. I took a step but stopped. I jolted close to the glass standing up between me and the uncovered desserts. I took a short breath and grabbed the top of the rounded glass lip, my fingers touching my palms through a pane of protection. I swallowed. My head looked down onto the desserts and they looked crystal clear without the glass in front of them. My throat felt heavy. I tried to stop it. I gagged and threw up.
The baker didn’t move. His hand was covered in my vomit, and he was in shock. He didn’t know what to do and then he threw up onto the desserts too, which made me spew up what little was left in my strained guts. His vomit was a purplish color. He must’ve been toying around with purple frosting earlier.
My dark scarlet throw up reminded me of the spicy cayenne ramen from last night. Scarlet and purple didn’t mix well. The congealing stew’s coarseness was at odds with the once smooth cheesecake top that was now dissolving in my stomach’s bile.
The baker pulled his hand out of the bubbling mess. He darted down the hallway to the washroom. He gagged again, but accidentally put his vomit-covered hand up to his mouth instead of the clean one, which made things worse. The customers to the side looked horrifically pale. We stared at each other for a couple moments until both of them quickly walked out without ever turning back.
I was embarrassed. This wasn’t the best way to spend a Friday night. A tinge of guilt wafted down. The poor baker would probably have to clean this up. Or was I supposed to? I didn’t know the etiquette in this scenario.
I took my hand out of the cheesecake stew. Despite the obvious ickiness, the warmth of the stew encasing my hand comforted the full body chills I was still feeling. The baker was still locked inside the hallway bathroom. I could see a shadow underneath the door and it looked like he was grounded.
No new customers wandered in.
I had suffered so much to get here. I just wanted a sweet treat. I closed my eyes for a few moments. This moment was salvageable. Surely all of the desserts wouldn’t be tainted. I peered over and saw some cookies on the upper display tower that looked clean. On closer inspection they had raisins in them. Nope. There were some one-bite brownies one level below the cookies, but it looked like pistachios were in them. I wasn’t in the mood.
My eyes drifted back to the cheesecakes.
That’s what I really wanted.
I reached back down with my hand, and grabbed the cheesecake between my thumb and index finger. The cake oozed. I gave it a mid-air shake. The pungent cake was getting soggier by the second.
I didn’t have time to spare.