Quid Pro Quo by B. Urban
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Quid Pro Quo
In the summer of 1987, I worked as a seasonal worker on the island of Cres in a small bakery in the town of the same name.
The job was hard and I worked mostly at night. The only, small, extenuating circumstance was that the bakery was located in the center of the town, next to the church, near the place where I lived.
Through the open door of the bakery, there was a view of the promenade, which was crowded with tourists. Some of them often filmed the inside of the bakery and the three of us working.
The bakery itself was extremely small and a large bread oven occupied most of it. In the rest of the bakery, were three workers: a master, who was from Cres, a seasoner from my area and me.
Right next to the bakery was a small warehouse that housed bags of flour and baked bread.
I, by the way, never studied for a baker, but it was fun and helpful to work and be at sea, which was the case with me.
One hot July day we worked the afternoon shift from 18 to 02h. Around midnight, a young brunette girl appeared at the door of the bakery. She appeared out of nowhere.
She stands at the door and said:
“Uncle, is all this bread yours?”
I'm kidding, she didn't say that. She said:
“Can you sell me a pound of bread? All the shops are closed and my friends and I are terribly hungry.”
In the summer of 1987, I worked as a seasonal worker on the island of Cres in a small bakery in the town of the same name.
The job was hard and I worked mostly at night. The only, small, extenuating circumstance was that the bakery was located in the center of the town, next to the church, near the place where I lived.
Through the open door of the bakery, there was a view of the promenade, which was crowded with tourists. Some of them often filmed the inside of the bakery and the three of us working.
The bakery itself was extremely small and a large bread oven occupied most of it. In the rest of the bakery, were three workers: a master, who was from Cres, a seasoner from my area and me.
Right next to the bakery was a small warehouse that housed bags of flour and baked bread.
I, by the way, never studied for a baker, but it was fun and helpful to work and be at sea, which was the case with me.
One hot July day we worked the afternoon shift from 18 to 02h. Around midnight, a young brunette girl appeared at the door of the bakery. She appeared out of nowhere.
She stands at the door and said:
“Uncle, is all this bread yours?”
I'm kidding, she didn't say that. She said:
“Can you sell me a pound of bread? All the shops are closed and my friends and I are terribly hungry.”