The One I Can Never Impress
“You’re a thin baker making fat bundles of cash, Senior,” the woman with jet black hair said to me, after intently observing me flip through my earnings of the day.
“No wonder I hate you”, she added.
There was a single piece of advice my father gave to me, weeks before he left us, you will find success in what you’re most passionate about. And he was right. It was my love for perfectly baked croissants and deliciously creamy meringue that made this craft my profession. I was able to impress everyone, make anyone happy, except the woman with the jet black hair.
It could be the delivery boy, always eager to make an extra rupee when he comes around, or the customer who waits every morning for the fresh batch of donuts to be stocked. It could be anyone. Like the people I visit at the crack of dawn, on their way to work, a 10 hour shift, 15 hour shift, and even 20 hour shift – just to make sure they have the best, sweetest start to their day. I could bring a smile to any stranger’s face, but not the woman with jet black hair, the one who made it a point to hide hers.
(Picture credits: Pexels)