Yet another thing to feel abnormal about. Like running away to begin a new life and trying to run a business on my own wasn’t enough to make me seem glitchier than most.
After a
year in a bad relationship, and nearly a year recovering from it, I was trying to create my own new world. Luckily, when I ran away I’d had enough savings and things to sell to start my own business. Thank goodness there was an empty bakery for lease that already had the right ovens, refrigerated display cases, and everything I needed to start quickly and cheaply. Plus, it was in a slightly older neighborhood that wasn’t very trendy, and was therefore somewhat affordable compared to most of Toronto.
The location of any retail space is crucial, but when it is specialty food that people purchase on a whim, you need a constant variety of potential customers walking straight past the front door.
My new bakery, Teeny Tiny Temptations, was on a corner that faced a police station, a high school, and a party supply store. It was in a quiet neighborhood with lots of small families who needed cupcakes, sugar cookies, and fresh bread.
While I was studying small business practices, I came across something called “The Lipstick Index”. Studies have proven that women buy more lipstick during recessions. The theory is that since they can’t afford new shoes, or a whole outfit, they’ll purchase the tiny treat of a lipstick. It’s something that will brighten them up for a month, and it’s very affordable.
My theory was that people in working-class neighborhoods needed a treat just as much as anyone else, but instead of going out for a fancy dinner, they might be more likely to pick up great bread or dessert on the way home. It’s a reasonable indulgence. Something to brighten your day without spending very much money.
Things had become steadier as I became known in the neighborhood. It was like I was able to breathe fully and almost relax for the first time in ages. It was fascinating. I didn’t fully trust it yet, but it felt wonderful.
I also let myself wear a few bright colors and a little makeup. I could let my hair down. Heck, I could dye it bright pink if I wanted to. The thought had crossed my mind. It was like I was having a second childhood, since my first was so restricted.
Making my shop a riot of color and playfulness felt healing, somehow. Sort of whimsical self-therapy. Even though it was a ton of hard work, I was only answering to myself, and my customers. There was a freedom in that thought that rattled through me whenever things got tough.
I burnt myself out working like a maniac over the first few weeks I was open, so I changed the shop hours so that it was closed on Sundays, and only open until noon on Mondays. That way people could still get their morning coffee, muffins, and donuts at the start of the workweek, but I could use the afternoon to catch up on deliveries, paperwork, and planning. Plus, I enjoyed an occasional full night’s sleep.
One of the things I prided myself on was variety, and the flavors of the donuts and muffins changed from day to day. At first this tactic was simply to keep things interesting for me, but I quickly learned that it was effective marketing. Every morning I broadcast a list of the day’s flavors and a photo to my social media, and anyone who adored maple pecan crunch would come running in, desperate to try it before I ran out.
People quickly learned that I was a one-woman shop, so they instantly forgave my sporadic supply of things, since they saw how hard I was working.
Last week I tested a batch of ‘The Men and Women in Blue’ blueberry donuts, and an assistant at the police station across the street ran in to buy me out.
The police were some of my best customers, always popping in for coffee and snacks. Some of them loved the pre-made sandwiches, which they said were handy for long days and weirdly timed shift changes.
High school students flooded the shop from eight-thirty until ten to nine, then around lunch hour. It was unbelievable how much free cash these kids seemed to have to buy cupcakes. It was also a bit stunning how much coffee they drank. But I supposed it was their parents’ issue to speak to them about it, not mine.
The staff at the party store often sent their customers to my shop for cakes and hors-d’oeuvres, and I sent them a tray of mini-cupcakes to thank them.
Everything was going well as my business grew, and most of my new customers said that my perky little candy-colored shop was exactly what the neighborhood had been needing.
I designed the shop to feel like a fun little getaway from everyday life. ‘Carnival chaos’, I called it. The shelf along the front window housed a display case at eye level with all sorts of treats. Above it was a shelf filled with vintage lamps and porcelain sculptures - the cheesiest I could find at thrift stores and flea markets over the past month. Unicorns, mushrooms, elves, and ponies. It was so ridiculous that it made people smile and laugh.
Just inside the door, I had a large glass dispenser of ice water, lightly flavored with lemon and rosemary, or lime and basil. It was different every day. Each morning I would write something odd on the little chalk panel, calling the water, “truth serum”, “love potion”, or “instant wisdom”.
I didn’t just want to sell people snacks. I wanted them to be able to run away from the world for a few minutes. My shop wasn’t just a coffee break, it was a mental health break. Escapism.
That might have seemed like a lofty idea, but I figured since so many people spend a large portion of their lives inside the screens of their devices, when they did stick their heads out into reality, they should be rewarded with something unusual.
I was certainly trying something unusual this morning, but it was throwing off my regular baking schedule. Since it was Friday, and people could always justify an extra treat on Fridays, I was making a small batch of mini garlic bread, not much bigger than a muffin.
The problem was, I had to zip in and out of the kitchen area to come out and serve customers. It was one of the rare occasions where I could have really used an assistant for two hours during the Friday rush.
As much as I wanted to be social with every visitor, this morning I had to hurry everyone in and out as quickly as possible so that they would forgive me when I had to rush to the back for a minute to switch the contents of the oven around.
Either a streetcar had just let off a slew of people, or it was just one of those bizarre timing things, but I heard the timer bell in the back just as several more people joined the eight-person line.
After getting little Mrs. Assenza her loaf of rye, I held up my hand to the crowd. “Folks, I’m so sorry, but I need one minute to attend to the oven. Your patience shall be saving the lives of innocent cupcakes.”
Most of the line laughed, even those who seemed a bit exasperated. Darting back to the kitchen area, I was glad that it was hidden from the front of the bakery so that nobody saw me running around like a crazy person.
Throwing on my mitts, I flung three huge pans of cupcakes from the oven to the racks, moved the garlic bread to the other side, and popped in several pans of sheet cake I would be needing later.
“Quick - where is your mop?”