every batch from scratch paper rock scissors

Working at a bakery is rather enjoyable (from all two days of my experience). There's the setting out of food (I'm not one of the bakers that has to come in at some wee hour for which I am mostly grateful) and the enjoying of customers. Everyone is pleased to be at a bakery.

On my first day as evening was falling a young boy, a scrawny seven year old, came in to ask if there was any work he could do. Apparently there are some neighbor boys who have figured out they can do little tasks for us to get a doughnut for free. It's a terribly charming business model they have going on. Sometimes I imagine them twenty years down the road telling someone, "Yeah, when I was seven we lived near a bakery. I'd go there once a week and help the owner take out the trash just so I could get a bear claw for free. That was a great thing, to be young then."

On my second day, toooday, I was smiling as I straightened out the trays of muffin tops and coconut macaroons when I happened to glance out the window and see a twenty-something fellow walking past. I smiled at him and he came into the bakery. He ordered a buttermilk bar and some sourdough bread. I couldn't resist baiting him into a little chat, "You'll have to tell me how the sourdough is, I haven't tried it yet."
"Well, I plan on coming here more often."
I think he was a little shy. He seemed a little stumbly at his half of the quotidian interchange.
I told him to have a good day and he started walking away a little backwards-ish and saying something.
I pointed out that he was forgetting his debit card on the counter.
When he left I kept smiling.

Who wouldn't? It's a great job so far.