cut the cake

My mother-in-law's birthday was a week or so ago and my wife thought it would be nice to buy her a little cake to celebrate the occasion. Mrs. Pincus happened to be out on a weekly grocery run to pick up staple items for our house as well as for her parents. She found herself a BJ's Wholesale Club, a sprawling nationwide operation that — in these strange times of social distancing — allows for such practice purely because of the vast size of the building. BJ's Wholesale Club is roughly the size of an airplane hangar and, like Costco and Sam's Club (its closest competitors), stocks its items on huge, multilevel shelves in wide aisles. Shoppers have no choice but to keep six feet apart... unless you encounter someone who just needs to grab something off the shelf at which you are standing. Then, they will practically climb into your shoes with you — pandemic or not.

In addition to the multi-aisle displays of flat-screen TVs, fleece pullovers and work pants piled to the ceiling and 10-pound packages of cloves, BJ's Wholesale Club features a bakery right on the premises. Mrs. P scanned the shelves of the open refrigerated case where a variety of birthday cakes were on display, all ready for an on-the-spot celebratory inscription of well-wishes. My wife selected a small blue & white frosted cake, protected from the elements by a small clear plastic dome. She slowly approached an opening in the service counter where she spotted a young man in a paper hat busily squeezing a colorful rope of frosting from an overstuffed piping bag. She held the cake at eyelevel as she walked, carefully turning it in her hands and checking for imperfections in the way the frosting was applied. Satisfied, she was about to hand it over the to the young man at the bakery to inquire about an inscription... when her plans were interrupted.

Or hijacked, as it were.

A man approached the service counter of the bakery, beating Mrs. Pincus by about three steps. Mrs. P instinctively stepped back. The man bellowed in the direction of the young man at the bakery.

MAN: Hey! HEY! You got cakes? Birthday cakes?

BAKERY MAN: Yes sir. Right over here. (He gestures towards the ten-foot long bakery case over which an enormous sign reading BIRTHDAY CAKES hangs.)

MAN: Oh. Right. (He makes no attempt to move towards the bakery case.) Can you write on a cake? Can you do that? Write on a cake? I need a cake with Happy Birthday written on it.

BAKERY MAN: Yes. Would you like to get a cake from the ones over here? (Again, he points to the shelves filled with cakes.)

MAN: Can you write... like... Happy Birthday on it? It's for my son. For his birthday. For his tenth birthday. Can you write something like that on it? Happy Birthday or something?

BAKERY MAN: Sure. Once you pick out a cake, I can write anything you like.

MAN: (Still ignoring the entire display of pre-made birthday cakes): I want Happy Birthday... y'know... for his tenth birthday. Can you do something like that?

(The BAKERY MAN picks up a pen and paper and hands it in the direction of the MAN. He does not accept it.)

BAKERY MAN: Just write down what you'd like it to say on the cake and I will write it... once you pick out a cake.

MAN: Just... y'know... like Happy Birthday.... um... Happy Tenth Birthday. Y'know, something like that. Can you do that? Y'know... like Happy Birthday, like I said?

BAKERY MAN: If you can write down exactly what you want on this paper... and pick out a cake... I can do whatever you'd like.

MAN: Just... um, Happy Birthday... you know. Oh wait.... let me call my wife. She'll tell me what she wants on the cake. She always takes care of this stuff.

The man pulls a cellphone from his pocket and lumbers off in the direction of the grocery section — which is opposite where the birthday cakes are on display.

At this point, a very patient Mrs. Pincus takes the pen and paper and writes out the inscription she would like on her cake. She noticed the young man at the bakery shaking his head.

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