cake terrorist: enjoy!

Now, I'm not a particularly competitive person. I learned in fourth grade how slippery a slope competition could be: vying with Jack Harris for the best math grade only meant that when he asked me to the May Fair in fifth grade, going wouldn't be any fun because I would hate him.
I played soccer, but not nearly as well as anyone else, so I couldn't really compete there -- although my one advantage was being as good with my left foot as my right (or maybe it was just that I was as bad with my right foot as I was with my left). I played piano, but quit after I realized that my peers were playing full symphonies and I was stuck on a nocturne they had all mastered in middle school.

Sure, I'm an actress, and I face competition at every single audition, but I can't look at all the other women as "competition," per se, because I'd spend my life stuffed with hatred like a double-stuffed oreo is stuffed with, um, stuff.

But there's this woman I work with, and I really can't stand her. Not because she's competitive. No, simply because she's too nice. I know, I know, that doesn't make a lot of sense, but this woman rubs me so intensely in the wrong way, every time I see her I want to punch her. (There's probably a lesson to be learned from the actress/competition thing that I can apply to this situation, but I digress...)

This woman has no spine. And I know that instead of berating her for it, I should find a way to help support her and lift her spirits and all that stuff that Jesus would want me to do. But you know what? I have no patience for it. The more she apologizes for interrupting, asking a question, needing help, or JUST BREATHING, the less I want to help or answer or share the air.

Now, I bake a lot. It's part of being single, I think. I like to fill my time, and baking gives me something tasty for my efforts, and tangible proof that I've spent the afternoon productively. Not to mention the praise and affection I get from my grateful coworkers. When I've baked something, I tell the people closest to me that "I have treats" and they come around whenever they get hungry to graze at my desk.

Here's the thing: this woman "bakes," too. And, while you are all probably thinking that this inspires competition in me, it doesn't. As a matter of fact, I was going to bake cupcakes last night, but I heard that she was going to bake, so I figured I'd give her her moment in the sun.

Little did I know it was going to come back and terrorize me.

When I bake, I usually make things from scratch, either winging it completely, or following a recipe that involves souping up a box of cake mix. (If you're not familiar with the Cake Doctor Cookbooks, get them. They're awesome!) In the past few months I've made mocha cheesecake, pistachio chocolate cakes, sprinkle cookies, orange rum cake, carrot cupcakes, kitchen sink cookies (now with 25% more kitchen sink!), and a variety of other goodies. Rarely will I duplicate a recipe, unless someone specifically asks me to, because there are so many amazing things to make in those books!

By contrast, when she bakes, to my untrained-but-very-aware-tongue, she just adds chocolate chips to tube cookie dough. They're too round, too identical, too Pillsbury-y to be homemade -- unless she has redefined "homemade" as the Pillsbury Corporation would like us to. Or, like today, she brings in what, to me, is OBVIOUSLY a supermarket cake (or at best, a box mix) and claims it's part of her "Death by Chocolate" series.

Fine. I quietly rest on my laurels as the winner of Iron Chef Law Firm. I am the Legal Ace of Cakes. Sure, someone else bakes, but we all know who bakes the best stuff. Ok, I see here that I may be competitive, but I don't feel threatened by the competition, so it's not an issue. But this is not my story.

I am here to talk about the Cake Terrorist.

Anytime this woman bakes anything, when you take some, she'll say, "Enjoy!" Which is sweet. At first. When you talk to her later in the hall, she'll say (even though you've already told her so), "I hope you enjoyed your cookie!" When she lends you an envelope, she'll say "Enjoy!" Somehow (and I can't figure out the physics on it yet) even when she takes baked goods from me, she says "Enjoy!" So my friends at work and I have started to call her Enjoy.

Today, Enjoy brought in her cake, and set it out at 11:45 am. "You better get some cake, Kate, it's already half gone!" she said over the partition at around 11:48. She made the rounds to the offices, "I'm sorry for interrupting, but I just wanted to let you know I've made a cake from scratch, and it's at my desk." And when they don't get up and follow her, "Sure you can have some cake I made from scratch later... IF IT'S STILL THERE." I'm not kidding, she was tracking us down and making sure we had crumbs in our laps.

The worst part is, sure, the cake is tasty, and it's better than the celery sticks on my desk. But did I really enjoy it? Not enough for the Code Orange Security Alert that she caused in the office.

I'm considering reporting her to the Office of Homebaked Security.