Journal Entry #1
Found in Apartment 3B, Above The Chaotic Biscuit
I don't usually keep a journal.
The woman downstairs says writing helps organize your thoughts. I'm not convinced, but today was... unusual enough to make an exception.
The bakery always comes alive around midnight. You get used to it after a while. Flour mixers humming through the floorboards, sheet pans clanging together, the smell of butter drifting through the vents. It's become part of living here.
Tonight was different.
Around one in the morning I heard someone downstairs absolutely losing his mind.
Not yelling exactly.
Complaining.
Loudly.
Something about the quality of the sheet pans.
I couldn't make out every word, but I distinctly heard,
"If these are your premium pans, I'd hate to see the budget models."
Curiosity got the better of me.
I looked over the stairwell railing and saw a man I had never seen before walking around the kitchen with his hands behind his back like he owned the place. Every few seconds he'd pick something up, shake his head in disappointment, and set it back down with theatrical disgust.
There was only one problem.
His head...
was shaped like a biscuit.
Not round, exactly.
More like one of those tall butter swim biscuits they sell downstairs.
I rubbed my eyes.
Still a biscuit.
He noticed me looking.
He nodded politely.
"Evening," he said.
Like there was absolutely nothing unusual happening.
I nodded back.
What else was I supposed to do?
The next morning I stopped the building superintendent outside while he was taking out the trash.
"Who's the new guy?" I asked.
He didn't even look surprised.
"Oh, him?"
"Yeah... him."
The superintendent shrugged.
"He just showed up."
"What do you mean he just showed up?"
"I mean exactly that. Walked through the front door three nights ago, looked around the kitchen, introduced himself as Andre, and informed us he was in charge now."
"...And?"
"And then he started giving everyone assignments."
"You fired him... right?"
The superintendent stared at me for a long moment.
Then he sighed.
"I've been trying to figure out how to tell him he doesn't work here."
He glanced toward the bakery.
"Problem is..."
At that exact moment a pan hit the floor downstairs.
A voice echoed through the building.
"WHO ORDERED NON-STICK PANS THAT STICK?!"
The superintendent rubbed his temples.
"...he seems really committed."
I'm beginning to suspect I moved into a much stranger building than I originally thought.