“I Didn’t Do It” or “The Mystery of the Exploding Oven”


Minding my own business, I removed my lovely chocolate cheesecakes from the 2nd deck of the lovely oven (Let me repeat. It was the 2nd deck.)  I loaded them onto the lovely baker’s rack and began rolling them into the lovely walk-in cooler.


With my back turned to the oven, a burst, or a sudden release of air pressure, or maybe more like the sound of a distant explosion (Although I’m not entirely sure I’ve ever experienced the sound of a distant explosion first-hand. So, it was more like my imaginary interpretation of a distant explosion…) came from behind me.  Whatever it was, I ducked, froze in my stooped position and gradually pivoted toward to source of the noise.


With expectations of wreckage, carnage and chaos, at first glace, all seemed to be disappointingly in order.   But upon a second look, I saw it.  There it was.  The panel of glass on the third deck oven had acquired translucent haze, different from the rest.   Tip-toeing nearer, I could see the mosaic of glass.  The once solid pane had reassembled itself into thousands of precariously little pieces, which seemed waiting to crash with an eerie calm.  Like the turn of a child’s kaleidoscope, the effect was hypnotizing. 


Eventually, I yanked myself away to go tell someone.  The first person was my co-worker, who looked at me, ran to the oven, ran back over to me, looking equally as fascinated and terrified and I was.  Together, we went to find our boss. 


Although, his initial reaction was, “What did you do, Extern?” people elicit a wicked glee from destruction and my boss was not immune.  In fact, his hubris granted him the audacity to tap on the glass and subsequently giggle like a schoolgirl.   My co-worker and I, convinced the entire deck oven would explode and send shards of glass torpedoing through the bakeshop, stood far out of range.  (In the movie version of this scene in my head, the oven DOES explode and my boss ends up like Wayne Knight in Jurassic Park…minus of course the spitting dinosaur (Dilophosaurus, to be exact)…but a similar effect. Not that I don’t like my boss. For the record, he’s great. He even brought fried food to share from the kitchen one time.  His demise is simply an artistic choice. Of course.)  


In real life, like I said, the oven did not explode.  Eventually several shards of glass did fall, probably making another upsetting sound, although I was not there.  I imagine this sound to be something like a “whoosh.” 


A week has passed since the incident and our latest pastime in the bakeshop has become theorizing what exactly happened.  My favorite speculation is that I got too close to the oven, made it overly excited and too hot, and as a result caused it to shatter.  I, being the only primary witness to the event, have remained the prime suspect.  


So, that is the story of the self-destructive oven.  Its mystery remains unsolved and I am proud to have become apart of bakeshop lore here at Corporate the Giant.  




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