8.30 A.M. Cereals

The place is in full swing, line out the door, down the ramp, almost to the parking lot. It’s Saturday—we do this every week—and we’re ready.

The expediter calls out tickets to the kitchen as fast as she can. “Order fire! One egg sandwich, easy...one green eggs and ham, no ham...one granola add berries...” One of the cooks calls me over to tell me he’s out of granola. “Really, you’re realizing this now or just remembering to tell me? Either way this is very, very annoying.” I have steam coming off me like a cartoon character. Just at that moment my sleeping beauty of a morning baker walks in four hours late, smiling and looking like somehow I will think this is all very cute, “Sorrrrrrrry, it won’t happen—” I cut her off, “Don’t smile at me ever again. Make granola!” My cook seems pleased that I have found someone who screwed up worse than he did.