The Impotent Satyr
Aldo Boyd arrived to work on a cool August morning with a skip in his step and began turning on the garlic butter finger-smudged lights to The Bread Peddler kitchen. After the usual three to seven slippery attempts, Aldo managed to flip the switches, revealing an unusual scene laid out upon the countertops: Freshly baked loaves sat un-unassumingly about the place, with doughy messages scored into the tops.
Aldo nearly jumped from his gluten-tolerant sass-intolerant skin when his coworker, Sue Fleigh, entered the establishment just behind him. "Jesus, Sue, you nearly scared the microorganisms out of me."
Sue ignored her workmate's fear of literally almost everything and surveyed the room. "Did the night baker do this?"
Aldo nervously mentioned he'd reached the same hypothesis.
"Now that I think about it, something was off with that lady yesterday. You know how she usually wears that 'don't talk to me until I've finished my coffee enema' T-shirt?"
Aldo nodded, but his eyes were lodged toward a rather suspicious-looking salt shaker he didn't trust.
"She wasn't wearing that shirt when she came in to work last night. She wasn't wearing any other clothes either, but I'm not sure if that's relevant." The two scoured every bread loaf, reading each cryptic message and lining them up in some kind of sensible order. "Dear god in leaven," Sue whispered, terrified.
Aldo whimpered, covered the questionable salt shaker, and then read aloud the message,
"ACCIDENTALLY BAKED MY CLOTHES INTO THE BREAD. HELP YOURSELF".
"Jinkies," Sue emitted, relaxing a bit.
Then a loud knock on the store front's windows caused both peddlers to yelp and grab onto each other in fear, letting go once they recognized the knocker as Shane Herman, a Chelsea Oyster Farms Bar employee from next door. They unlocked the entrance for the bearded fellow who stormed in with an angry look slapped across his palm-hungry face.
"Please, please, tell your night baker to stop leaving her coffee enemas in the dumpster out back," he said. "The raccoons find them and go ballistic and leave a trail of diarrhea from here all the way to Rhythm and Rye. The jazz musicians who wear shades at all hours of the day keep slipping and falling in it."
Aldo and Sue agreed to talk to the night baker. Before Shane exited the building, the two offered him some of the bread surplus they were currently whelmed with.
"Thanks, but no thanks," Shane replied. "I'm on this new diet that only allows me to eat clothing fibers."
The two Bread Peddler employees looked at one another, threw their heads back in laughter, and knew that today was going to turn out just fine.
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