Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Blame it on James

On Saturday, I ordered a dozen cookies from a local bakery.  The cookies were to be of the sugar variety with red icing and black #9s on them (for the 9th birthday boy).

When I went to pick them up yesterday, I was told there was no order for me.
I asked, "Um, is there a James who works here?  Because James took my order."

The gentleman who was helping me scurried around a bit in the back, and then walked toward me and asked, "Was the order for 12 dozen cookies with red icing and black 9s?"

I said it was for a dozen (and we all know 12 is a dozen), but, yes with red and black and 9s.

This man, named Walt, then showed me the order form, which wasn't an order form at all.  James had written my order incorrectly on the back of a receipt.  He had failed to put my name or phone number on it.  No one paid any attention to it on the desk because it wasn't an order form.

I asked, "Can you please thunk James on the head for me?"

The gentleman called two other bakeries in the franchise to see if they could make my cookies by late afternoon.  Fortunately, one of them was able to make my order.

I told this story to D and the kids last night and said if the cookies tasted bad to "blame it on James."

N farted at the table and said, "Blame it on James."

From here on it, if it sucks or doesn't go the way we like, it is all James' fault.

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