Paul Keeps Me Going

I arrived to Davis this morning, opening the first glass door to look up and see a sign that read, "NO HEAT Mon 12/21. Cutler has been notified." This fact, combined with a crack windshield caused when my defrosters blasted on to a high temperature against the cold glass after using my automatic car starter (why the fuck do I have this thing if I can't set the temp above the blue line on a freezing cold morning), froze me in my tracks as I looked to the ceiling with expectations of further let downs. The biting wind woke me, blowing me from the mental breakdown lane I was in, and pushed me inside.

In the break room, I found a bunt cake set upon a plate from my tableware from home, but I let that annoying fact go long enough to grab a slice of extremely moist, what-I-thought-was-coffee cake. My moment of happiness was quickly ripped away and was replaced by one of the worst tastes my buds have faced in a long time. I have heard of rum cake before, but never one like this. Lighting a flame near this confectionery experiment would have set the building ablaze, yes remedying the cold factor, but probably eliminating the stable paycheck I foresee in my future. Now, I am no baker by any means, but whoever created the cake must have forgotten to wring out the dough before sticking it in the oven. It was similar to eating a piece of rum-soaked cotton ball, which I never wanted to do in the first place.

Jennie tried a piece even after I warned her. She, too, was not impressed.

About 10 minutes later Paul is heard yelling, demanding to find out who cooked the cake. His voice grew louder as he came down our way when I hear him ask Barbie, "Did you make the cake in the kitchen." Her answer was quiet, but obviously yet because he followed with, "I should have known it was you. Stephen Albano is drunk!"

And that is when I realized that my day could be worse and laughed out loud, literally.