Me, at home: Today’s gonna be awesome! I’m in a great mood and it’s a short shift. I’m gonna be super positive and relaxed today. Gonna kick ass this shift!

Me, thirty minutes into my shift: The world is crumbling all around me. I cannot survive this. What did I do to deserve this dreadful fate? Hellfire. There’s hellfire all around me aND I’M BURNING

Me: *Talks shit about anything and everything Panera related any chance I get*

Friend: *Complains about a tiny aspect of Panera*

Me: Excuse me? Did you really just say that about Panera? You obviously just don’t understand how things at my company work. Your complaint is invalid for twenty different reasons that I will proceed to list and expand upon until you understand. Why would you even say that to me of all people? Bread is my passion, soul, and expertise, bitch. A LOAF OF BREAD IN EVERY ARM.

Panera sent me a coupon for $5 off if I ordered online. I can’t give up my soup, but I did make the better decision of an apple versus bread. I’m honesty really proud. Food and eating has been getting so much easier since Shakeology. I’m not constantly feeling hungry or unsatisfied and healthy decisions are easier now. I didn’t even add half and half to my coffee.

I have just a few more days of the 21 Day Fix. The extreme version is also on a major sale right now, so I bit the bullet and ordered it. I can’t decide if I’ll tackle it right away, but it’ll be awesome having it for when I’m ready. Guys. Finally something I can stick too that is actually realistic long term. This is awesome.

anonymous asked:

Having a 10-4 bakery shift is literally like being in prison for 6 hours

Bakery Prison: A Memoir
by Panera Worker

Chapter One: 10 am. 

  Okay, more like 10:07 am, but who cares? I arrived to my 6 hour sentence in the Bakery Prison in despair. The 50 assorted pastries glared at me as I walked behind the counter. The sign in screen was so black, so desolate. I felt like I would never see my family or friends again. The imaginary gates closed in all directions around the bakery. 

  “Now you’re trapped!” cackled a middle aged white woman in an ugly floral blouse, “Get me my cherry danish.”
I was sluggish, as my lazy ass had only woken up moments before my sentence was to be served. I looked at my fellow inmate, the bakery opener, and complained that I was tired. She looked angry for some reason.“Bitch please” she muttered. Whatever. I half-heartedly grabbed a snarling cherry pastry from the shelf. 

  The pastry gave me the most menacing look. “Stupid bitch, she called me a cherry danish and you didn’t think to correct her? That’s not my fucking name. Watch your back.” 

  I held back tears as the pastries threw more insults my way. I then cringed as I realized I had forgotten to ask if the pastry was for here or to go. I felt the cold slap of Mother Bread’s hand on my face. “NO. SHORTCUTS.” she roared. I called out to the woman, but she was busy using a water cup to get Diet Pepsi.

  There were no other guests in line so my mind ran with things to do. Everything looked stocked and clean. That was the hardest part of my time in Bakery Prison, keeping my mind occupied. I stared at the coffees. 33 minutes until I needed to brew one. Or was it 39 more minutes? The dishwasher’s handwriting was purposefully messy, as if she wanted you to fuck up on the times. I had already seen my fellow inmate sweep the floor at least five times.

  Suddenly, my CO, sometimes referred to as a “manager” for some reason, came up to me, looking smug. “Time for your break” he barked. “But I just got here!” I protested. “Yeah, and my labors high. Now or never.”

  At 10:30 I ate my half salad alone and in silence. The whispers from the bakery could be heard from where I sat amongst the free people. My side of baguette was clumsily cut from the retail table, cold and hard like my prison bound heart.

6:42 p.m. 3.3.15 || renewing my blog library books

I’ve been pretty absent from my blog lately and I’d like to apologize. I just started a new job (30 hrs/week!) and it’s taking every minute of my day to get everything done. But I’m back in my favorite study spot and even though the vent above me is blowing ice, I’m being productive! Move over, Mao.