Cakeless in Chicago

We pull up across the street, and in a fit of pique and defiance, I refuse to go trudging down the street to the stupid machine to put in money for 5 minutes of parking. If it were a regular old meter that I could pop a quarter into? Sure. But this is stupid. So I leave Mary Ellen in the car with the keys, instructing her to be on the lookout for vulpine-looking women eyeing cars with malice and glee, and I head over to Dinkel’s.

Me: Hi, I’m here to pick up a cake? The name is Huebner.
Girl: Okay, just a second.

(A minute passes)

Girl: What did you say your last name was again? Could you spell that?
Me: Huebner. H-U-E…
Girl: Okay, just a sec.

(A few more minutes pass)

Now a second girl has joined the first.

Girl #2: When exactly did you put in the order?
Me: Wednesday – I was in here on Wednesday.
Girl #2: And you were supposed to pick it up…when?
Me: It was supposed to be ready this morning by 10AM.
Girl #2: Okay, just a sec. Could we get you some coffee while you wait?
Me: No thanks, that’s okay.

By now I’m getting a wee bit concerned. After all, what’s a Boobages Par-tay without the accompanying cake?

We do this routine a few more times, I get offered coffee several more times, then finally a woman comes out to break the bad news.

Woman: I’m so sorry, but somehow it seems your order got misplaced. Right now our decorator is working on a firetruck cake, but then they’ll work on yours. Can I get you some coffee?

Hmm. The last thing I want is for them to rush my elaborate little cake.

Me: You know, how about if I just come back in a couple of hours? Say around 2?
Woman: Oh, perfect, that would be great! I’m SO sorry about this.
Me: No problem, it happens.
Woman: By the way, can I ask what the cake means? We were all wondering about that.
Me: You mean the “Boobages or Bust”? The cake is for my Coming Out Party for the new girls!
Woman, looking slightly dumbfounded: The new….as in…..

I decide to go with the slightly longer explanation, so they don’t think I’m having some odd party to celebrate my garden-variety boob job.

Me: I had reconstruction, after breast cancer. So I’m done with treatment and now have the new boobs so they’re getting their own party!
Woman, nodding sagely: Aaah, I see. That is excellent. I really love that idea.
Me, beaming: Thanks!

I leave, go to the car, and tell Mary Ellen what happened. As we drive off to head home, cakeless in the squished car, we both start laughing, albeit rather incredulously. Really, what else can you do?

(Next up: The Par-tay! Pictures!)