The Croissant Karma Police are after my staff and me with a vengeance. The pins on our dough sheeter won’t stay in place. Half of the time I run it the top roller smashes onto the bottom one, thus ripping hard butter through the delicate layers of dough. Since today is Friday, I can’t get a guy out to fix the machine until next week, killing a large part of our weekend sales.

Trying to dissect the maladies of the laminator myself, I’m now covered in grease thanks to the stripped gear that is the cause of misery. Hysterics tempt me to dive into it as I take a call from Cindy, who sounds like Kathleen Turner impersonating Fozzy Bear. She’s just the latest flu victim, along with Jenny and Robert. I’m about to call a temp agency or drive to Hollywood and grab a crack head off of the street when Donovan calls. I beg into the phone without even a hello, “Please, please say you’re calling because your afternoon just freed and you would love nothing more than to bail out a helpless damsel and sell cookies!”