"Cake? Really?" asked the baker.
"It really must be cake. Not pie, not scone, not bisquit....cake."
The baker laughed. "Pie? Scone? Bisquit? Are you mad? We don't make those sorts of things anymore. In fact, anything with flour in it hasn't been made for a decade, maybe longer."
"But you're a baker. How do you bake without flour?"
"Baker must mean something very different where you're from. If it's food you're after, you might try the Butcher. He has a lot more knowledge on food," replied the baker.
"Well, what do you make if it isn't baked goods?"
"he, he he. Baked goods." the baker muttered under his breath while shaking his head. "I make bakes, of course!"
"Bakes? What are bakes? "
"You must have severe mental difficulties, so I'll humor you. Bakes are what fuel the whole villiage,. Without bakes, no heat, no electricity, no pumped water."
"So, they are like batteries?"
"I have no idea what a battery is mister!" exclaimed the baker. "It sounds like one of those sbuversive things. Are you a revolutionary or sumthin?" asked the backer with acidity.
"No, no! I just am not familiar with bakes."
"I think you better leave. Not familiar with bakes. Everyone knows what a bake it." the baker gave him a hard look.
He left the bakers shop and headed to the butcher. When he entered, what he was was not at all what he expected. The butcher had food, sort of. There were packages and packages of supposedly edible items. All the packages looked the same in size and color and markings except for one word what the food item was.
"Excuse me, do you have cake?"
"Third row, half way down, second shelf, next to the ice cream," responded the butcher unenthusiastically.
He went to that location and there indeed was a package that was labelled cake, right niext to a very similar package labelled ice cream. He went back to the counter.
"Excuse me, do you have any fresh baked cake."
The butcher eyed him, and scoweled. "What are you insinuating sir, that I'm a subversive, a revolutionary. We follow ALL the rules and regs here! Are you some sort of inspector trying to trick me?" The butcher was getting agitated.
"No. I am just trying to find a cake."
"You know, we don't need the business of the likes of you. Please leave immediately!"
He left, afraid the butcher would do something violent. He shook his head disconcertedly. He walked down the street just a bit more and came to the candlestick maker. He looked at the shop, there were candles in the window. He felt a little better. Perhaps he could find little candles for the cake, if he ever found one. As he entered the shop, he had a forboding feeling.
"Welcome friend, how may I help you?" cheerfully greeted the candlestick maker.
"I'm looking for some small candles for a cake."
At the word cake, the expression on the candlemakers face dramatically changed.
"We sell small candles, but definately can not and will not advocate thier use on that vileness," seethed the candlemaker.
"But you do sell small candles."
"Yes. Though now that I know your intended use, I can not in good conscience sell them to you." he replied coldly.
"Perhaps then you would tell me what the aversion to cake is around here."
"Around here? It's not jsut around here. It's everywhere. How can you not know?" asked the candlemaker incredulously.
"I don't. I'm not trying to trick you, and I'm not a revolutionary. I honestly don't know."
The candlemaker studied him. He looked innocent enough. yet, that's how the undercover ones were trained, suck you in with innocence then bam, you're history.
"I'm sorry sir, you're going to have to leave," stated the candlemaker. He held the door open to make sure this stranger left.
He walked down the street forlorn and distraugt, poor Patty Cake would go hungry once again.
"It really must be cake. Not pie, not scone, not bisquit....cake."
The baker laughed. "Pie? Scone? Bisquit? Are you mad? We don't make those sorts of things anymore. In fact, anything with flour in it hasn't been made for a decade, maybe longer."
"But you're a baker. How do you bake without flour?"
"Baker must mean something very different where you're from. If it's food you're after, you might try the Butcher. He has a lot more knowledge on food," replied the baker.
"Well, what do you make if it isn't baked goods?"
"he, he he. Baked goods." the baker muttered under his breath while shaking his head. "I make bakes, of course!"
"Bakes? What are bakes? "
"You must have severe mental difficulties, so I'll humor you. Bakes are what fuel the whole villiage,. Without bakes, no heat, no electricity, no pumped water."
"So, they are like batteries?"
"I have no idea what a battery is mister!" exclaimed the baker. "It sounds like one of those sbuversive things. Are you a revolutionary or sumthin?" asked the backer with acidity.
"No, no! I just am not familiar with bakes."
"I think you better leave. Not familiar with bakes. Everyone knows what a bake it." the baker gave him a hard look.
He left the bakers shop and headed to the butcher. When he entered, what he was was not at all what he expected. The butcher had food, sort of. There were packages and packages of supposedly edible items. All the packages looked the same in size and color and markings except for one word what the food item was.
"Excuse me, do you have cake?"
"Third row, half way down, second shelf, next to the ice cream," responded the butcher unenthusiastically.
He went to that location and there indeed was a package that was labelled cake, right niext to a very similar package labelled ice cream. He went back to the counter.
"Excuse me, do you have any fresh baked cake."
The butcher eyed him, and scoweled. "What are you insinuating sir, that I'm a subversive, a revolutionary. We follow ALL the rules and regs here! Are you some sort of inspector trying to trick me?" The butcher was getting agitated.
"No. I am just trying to find a cake."
"You know, we don't need the business of the likes of you. Please leave immediately!"
He left, afraid the butcher would do something violent. He shook his head disconcertedly. He walked down the street just a bit more and came to the candlestick maker. He looked at the shop, there were candles in the window. He felt a little better. Perhaps he could find little candles for the cake, if he ever found one. As he entered the shop, he had a forboding feeling.
"Welcome friend, how may I help you?" cheerfully greeted the candlestick maker.
"I'm looking for some small candles for a cake."
At the word cake, the expression on the candlemakers face dramatically changed.
"We sell small candles, but definately can not and will not advocate thier use on that vileness," seethed the candlemaker.
"But you do sell small candles."
"Yes. Though now that I know your intended use, I can not in good conscience sell them to you." he replied coldly.
"Perhaps then you would tell me what the aversion to cake is around here."
"Around here? It's not jsut around here. It's everywhere. How can you not know?" asked the candlemaker incredulously.
"I don't. I'm not trying to trick you, and I'm not a revolutionary. I honestly don't know."
The candlemaker studied him. He looked innocent enough. yet, that's how the undercover ones were trained, suck you in with innocence then bam, you're history.
"I'm sorry sir, you're going to have to leave," stated the candlemaker. He held the door open to make sure this stranger left.
He walked down the street forlorn and distraugt, poor Patty Cake would go hungry once again.
No comments:
Post a Comment