Last
week a woman at my marketing office sent an email to everyone on our side of
the building and suggested we throw a mini wedding shower for one of the girls
who will be getting married next week. This did not have to be anything fancy;
just a way to say “congrats!”, we’d all chip in for a gift card somewhere and
we were invited to bring baked goods. I messaged the woman back and said, “I
would love to bake something!” She responded that she was actually going to buy
the baked goods, but, as it was going to be Diana’s birthday on our chosen
shower day as well, I was welcome to bake a birthday cake. An avid baking
enthusiast I welcomed this job. I already knew the cake I would bake, too:
Gooey Butter Cake, a recipe someone had once made for a cake competition I
entered and I had always wanted to try it myself.
The day
came and I took my normal two-train commute to my marketing job. Chicago was
finally experiencing summer heat and I felt overdressed even in my light spring
coat. By the time I reached the train I was a sweaty, uncomfortable mess, but,
since my hands were full with a cake pan and coffee mug, I couldn’t remove my
coat. The train was, as usual, crowded and I found the cake so dense that it
felt as if I had a baby in my arms. I was stuck standing next to a door getting
direct sunlight and by the time I reach my stop (45 minutes later) I was in a
foul mood and cursing having accidentally volunteered to make a cake for Diana,
who, truth be told, I wasn’t quite sure who in the office Diana was.
A dose
of The Daily Puppy helped brighten my mood as did all of the wedding
decorations a coworker had put up the night before. Since the bride-to-be sat
across the aisle from me, the carpet around my desk was riddled with fake rose
petals, small metallic hearts and Cupids, and glitter – lots and lots of
glitter. When the bride arrived we all stood around and ate handmade artisanal
doughnuts from one of the most popular doughnut shops in Chicago (Glazed &
Infused – so good that I did not change their name). There were pistachio
doughnuts, maple glazed with bacon doughnuts, toffee pecan, bar mixture (a
chocolate doughnut covered in icing, M&Ms, pretzels, and potato chips),
banana nut cream, and so many more. They were amazing.
The day
then continued on as normal. When 3 o’clock rolled around I began to wonder if
my cake had been forgotten about. I was pretty sure I knew who Diana was, but I
didn’t know how to go about just bringing the cake down from the staff lounge
without seeming like a total creeper. Diana and I had maybe talked once since I
started this job two months ago. I thought about whispering to one of my
coworkers about the cake, but that, too, felt awkward. I have only been with
this company since late February, but my interactions with people didn’t really
span outside of the four who shared a wrap-around desk with me. Finally, I
sucked up the courage and emailed the woman who first initiated the party
planning.
“Now is
the perfect time for cake!” she emailed back, “If your team is ready then just
give Cody a nudge (or email) and I am sure he will get the ball rolling.”
Cody is
one of my supervisors and sits right behind me. I thought about emailing him
since we often email each other casual questions and comments even though I
could reach out my arm and touch him. Instead I leaned over our connecting
desk.
“Cody,”
I said, trying to keep my voice down. Diana sat across the room. “Should we do
the birthday thing now?” Cody stared at me as if I asked if we should feed the
horse now. “Do you know what I’m talking about?” I asked. “Should I email you?”
I then
noticed that Cody was slightly tilting his head and pointing his index finger
to the left. Diana sat to the left of us, but about three yards away. I looked
at him curiously and wondered why he was being so secretive. Suddenly it hit me – Diana. The woman whose name I
did not know and had just assumed by deduction that she was Diana – she was not
Diana (I mean, her name could also be Diana because I know that it starts with
a “d”, but that’s all that I know). Diana – the real Diana – was my other supervisor who sat right next to Cody.
Luckily she was so enrapt in her email that she had missed mine and Cody’s
entire interaction.
Immediately
my face flushed. I know Diana! I speak to Diana every day! Diana has taken me
out to lunch, she’s read one of my published stories – I know Diana. For some reason I had grown to accustomed to hearing Diana
referred to by her first and last name, Diana Stanley, that when I was told it
was just “Diana’s” birthday my mind did not even try to connect the dots.
Needless
to say, I felt like an absolute moron. I quickly ran upstairs, grabbed the
cake, recruited a few more people, and returned for the birthday festivities. I
had been told that my coworkers were awkward at acknowledging people’s
birthdays and never was this more accurate than when I was standing a couple
feet away from Diana, cake in hand and her back to me, and everyone else just
stared. I waited for someone to start singing “Happy birthday to you…” but it
never happened. The office was dead silent except for Diana’s typing.
“Happy
birthday, Diana!” I finally cheered. Cody and I began singing, “Happy birthday
to youuuu.” A few people joined in, but quickly abandoned the tune, leaving only
Cody and I to soldier on. Diana was both surprised and overjoyed especially
since no one had mentioned it was her birthday (Obviously or else I would have
realized which Diana that email was
talking about). If I do say so myself, the cake was amazing and within an hour
there were only two squares left.
All in
all it was a successful day of celebrations. Next time I volunteer to bake a
cake, however, I will make absolutely sure exactly WHO I am baking it for.