Melissa M

I avoided my alarms this morning, snoozing till the very last one before dragging myself awake. Even my cat, Opal, who occasionally wakes me up first or demands my attention when she sees me stirring, stays laying tightly at my side as I try to navigate getting up around her. I'm going to be a little late for work today, and that's just how it's gotta be. 

Awake by 4 AM-ish, expected at work by 4:30. I take my antidepressant (Lexapro) and allergy med(Walmart generic Zyrtec), dry swallowing as I swing my legs off the side of the bed. Get up, groaning at my sore feet hitting the ground. 

Search for acceptable clothes for the day. I put together the last clean underwear in my drawer, my jeans from yesterday, a bra that isn't actually that dirty yet, new shirt, and new bandana to keep my hair out of my face. Socks don't match but that's fine, just as long as they're equal-ish. I pee sometime between finding clothing items. 

Remember I made overnight oats last night, so at least breakfast is covered. Dish out food for Opal as she wines at my feet and swerves between them. She doesn't eat it; she deems the leftovers from the fridge too cold. I cross the fingers in my brain, hoping she eats something when it warms up a little.

Make sure I have headphones, waterbottle, bag. Note the time. 4:19. Shit, gotta call an Uber right now. Make mental note to feed the bearded dragon (Genji) and scoop cat litter when I get home. Genji doesn't eat great at 4 in the morning anyways. Get Uber. 

Get to work. Change shoes. Punch in clock code. Go around corner, into main bread baking area. Grab apron, say good morning, bag down. Bench scraper, bowl scraper, water bottle. Go into pastry kitchen. Grab clipboard, record numbers, calculate how much dough I need to mix. Grab the two largest mixing bowls that are clean. 3 gallons cold water, 3 gallons milk. Pate fermente. Cart of butter. Cut butter, put in pot, start to melt. I mentally note that we have two Danish doughs to shape. 

My days are methodical and rhythmic. A symptom of my ADHD is that I resist routine and structure but I function as a human a lot better with them. The same recipes (I only 4 I have to worry about), same station, same motion. Sometimes I worry that this is the only thing I'll ever be able to do. Early mornings and long days on my feet, going home covered in butter and flour. A thought for a less busy time.

I get my doughs mixed, trying to speed up a little since I got here late (8 minutes). I fail at the speeding up part. 

Text from my fellow croissant shaper:

"Gm 

I'm sorry I missed my alarm going to be a little late I'm getting ready now 

"

I groan internally. I know when she forgets her alarm she doesn't rush her way into work. I place a mental bet on if she'll have a fresh Dunkin Iced coffee whenever she does actually get here. 

Continue mixes. Get Biga from fermentation walk-in. Add wheat starter, white starter. Grab more yeast. Grab bin. Back to mixing table. Mise more, mix more, manage time, run between mixers, setting timers. 

“Working alone today? Where's what's-her-face?” A coworker asks. 

“She's late, not sure when she'll actually be here” I shrug. 

She arrives at 6am, an hour later than she should, Dunkin in hand. I direct her, we need egg wash. I hurry to finish mix, knowing we've lost an hour of productivity. Finish mixing, put doughs in walk in, clean up table. 

I can feel my heart racing with slight anxiety, my movements a little jerkier and my breathing a little heavier. Nope, actually, not anxiety, something closer to rage. Just purely annoyed that I need to move that much faster today. The 5 hours of sleep from last night didn't help (note: I should go to bed by 8 at the latest, I didn't sleep till 11)

Move to shaping bench, clean it off. Gather ruler, pizza cutter, cinnamon sugar cambro, scale. Flour tab…. Where is pizza cutter?? God damnit the good pizza cutter is missing from my box of tools. Check other spots, dish. No luck. Resign myself to using terrible pizza cutter. 

I sheet the dough on our large, commercial dough sheeter. If I have to romanticize the little things in my life, the relationship I have with this piece of machinery is one of them. I know it's pacing so well, using it feels like an extension of myself. Effortless, muscle memory locked in from sheeting hundreds of pounds of dough a week. I still try to improve and adjust, attempting to sheet perfectly even pieces, but that's extra credit. I fucking love being good at this. 

I shape my Danish, moving as quickly as I can. I start cutting…. Oh absolutely not. You know all the stuff I said about muscle memory and things being extensions of you? Imagine if they just switched your hand for an arthritic one without warning. My cutter gets stuck, rolls poorly. I try the OTHER backup. Not strong enough, blade not big enough. I can feel my frustration jump a little higher. Where the hell is the good cutter?

My boss joins me to start shaping the Danish. Notices the way I'm running around looking for something. 

“What do you need?”

“The one pizza cutter is totally missing. This one isn't working and the other keeps getting stuck. I guess I'll just make it work.”

Someone on the bread shaping bench pipes up.

“Oh, it's over here”

I see red as I hear this. I raise my voice, something I've never felt the need to do at this job before. 

“Why is it there? WHY IS IT THERE?”

Uncomfortable looks shift between the men working. They have never seen me get mad, despite the barrage of obstacles thrown my way at this job. One tries to explain himself, but at this point I don't really care what their reasoning was. 

No apology. No ownership. I take the cutter back without a word, fuming. This is the first time I have ever snapped at them, and I can feel myself holding back a wave of even harsher language. It is tradition to have a temper in the food service industry. As much as I try to avoid it, the temper often yields results.

I continue my Danish cutting, taking a deep breath and going as fast as my body will let me. Slice, move ruler. Slice. Rinse and repeat. Once cut, take ribbon of dough and stretch between both hands. Roll, one and a half times. Spiral inward. 

Now in a slightly sour mood, I let myself get lost in the rhythm and repeat nature of my job, trying to calm my heart rate. Keep my head down, keep to myself, listen to podcasts (A show called ‘Wonderful!’ is my comfort podcast).

Sheet dough to 14ish. Turn. Sheet down to 3.25. Fold four times. Transfer to bench. Unfold. Start slicing triangles. Stretch triangles. Roll. 

Take shaping break to laminate dough. Sheet to correct size. Add butter. Sheet, turn, sheet. Fold and fold again. Repeat. Another thing I relish being good at.

I get an apology from the coworker who took my tool. I am grateful that he says something, and I do my best to treat him with kindness in turn.

We finish the day, repeating the movements that have become so second nature at this point. I say goodbye to my coworkers, plop down to change my shoes. Consider walking. Decide to call an Uber. 

Once I make my way home I collapse in bed, exhausted from the tension of the day. I go on my phone, get lost in the scrolling for a while, and I'm joined by my cat. I try to nap, knowing I wanted to hang out with a friend later. I do not succeed. 

I wander around the house a bit, knowing it's a big mess and I should tidy it before doing anything else. I lose the fight to the more comforting, easy ability to lay down and do nothing. 

Around 5, my friend is home from work. He lives just around the corner, so I drag myself from bed, put on something comfortable, feed little Opal her evening meal, and make the trek to his place. 

He gives me a big hug when I get in. He knows the day I had and I relish his squeeze. My muscles are sore from a workout I did yesterday, so I insist he hugs tighter, and I return the favor. 

We hang out, doing nothing in particular. Watch the Game Grumps on YouTube, heat up chili leftovers for dinner. Put on a horror movie starring Florence Pugh to end the evening. Every October we try to watch all the horror we have time for, and I do some reddit research for new titles for this year.

I enjoy the company immensely, as the last two days have been bad mental health days. The feeling of panicked loneliness I had yesterday melts as we enjoy each other's company. 

At around 8:30 I head home, back to the loving embrace of my fluffy white cat and my bed.

Melissa has been a baker in Philadelphia for about 5 years. She has worked at locations all over the city, and can be found on Instagram @melissamartinbakes.