#(without needing to try to get a 5kg bag of flour back out of their crate ugh that would've been annoying)

[vegancas]

realised yesterday while i was at work that i'd been infected by corporate greed when i wouldn't give a customer their preferred substitute of 5kg of flour for the 1kg pizza flour they originally ordered, i was like 'the 5kg costs more than double the 1kg, that's a loss for the department' (coz the department will like cover the difference in price when we sub so customers don't end up with higher bills), so i didn't give them the sub !! but i work for a massive grocery store chain! they can afford the loss! they can probably afford the whole store being stolen! the moral of the story is i will now be intentionally costing my department money whenever i have to make a substitute lol

[wetwellie]

Small Bit from my Star Trek AU

When Captain Hall ordered Jack to go down to their new navigator, Ensign Eric Bittle’s quarters, “to check up on him”, he hadn’t expected anything like this. He expected to deal with homesickness, drug abuse, a bad breakup that leads to an uncomfortable work environment, or an injury that hasn’t been reported to the medical wing because it was caused during one of those kegsters that the crew frequently holds. Y’know. Regular issues with the crew on the USS Samwell. Instead. He gets...well. Jack is having a hard time grasping what he’s looking at. 

“Did you bring five year’s worth of baking supplies onto this starship, ensign?” Jack asks, trying to keep his voice as level as possible as he looks over the shoulder of Bittle and into his room. It looks to be insulated with the bags of flour, sugar, shortening, and a plethora of canned and preserved goods that line the walls. How he managed to stow these on board, Jack didn’t know. But he’d talk with those officers soon enough. 

Bittle gulps audibly. “No, sir. I did not. I only brought enough to last me until my next shore leave”

Jack pulls out his datapad and starts typing and swiping away furiously.  “Your next shore leave isn’t for another 3 months”  “But it’s a lot less than 5 years ” 

“I can count 12 5kg bags of flour in that corner alone. How is that 3 months worth?”

Bitty looks down at his feet and mumbles something.  “Speak up, Bittle”

“It’s not for me, sir. Or, rather, it’s not just for me. I thought that it would be a good way to start on the right foot if I made something for everyone at least once a day. Or twice. Because sometimes there are people busy during the morning and they can’t get a slice,”  Bittle rambles helplessly. The guy looks like he’s about to cry. Jack briefly wonders how he got through the academy. They’ll just let anyone in, he figures. “But sir. I mean Zimmermann. Second officer. Mr. Jack? Lieutenant? Commander? Sorry. What rank are you?” “Lieutenant-commander” 

“Right. Two stripes, two words. Got it. Okay,” Bittle says “Lieutenant-commander, sir. I will be more than willing to limit my baking to only once a day.”

Jack purses his lips, counts to three in his head, and then says -- calmly, yet sternly-- “Ensign, you can’t bake at all. Having all of these ingredients, unregulated, travelling through deep space, on a vessel with crewmen and women who may have allergies--and that’s just thinking of the humans-- is a violation of several regulations.” “You think I didn’t take into consideration the potential of allergic reaction? I’ve tested all of my recipes? Sir, forgive the informality, but this isn’t my first rodeo in the xenoculinary studies. I’ve double checked each of my recipes to make sure that everything is safe to eat for every species serving aboard this ship. If that is the issue with my baking, then please don’t worr-” “Ensign, it’s not just the risk of allergies. Each member of the crew has been given a strict diet to follow, and eating these deserts has way too much value than needs to be consumed in a day”

“A piece of pie here and there isn’t going to destroy the crew’s fitness. Not when you have us each work out every day.” He explains. “The positives outweigh the negative, sir. I should be able to continue for the good of morale” Bittle is gaining more confidence with every defense. He’s standing up straighter, hands held behind his back in a parade rest. His eyes are staring back at Jack’s.This should be the norm. Instead, this determination feels like a challenge. He’s not going to back down.  “Regardless of all of those points, Ensign Bittle, there is still something deeply concerning about your behavior that endangers the whole crew” Jack starts “You can’t bake without using some form of heat. How are you able to bake without using a device that doesn’t threaten to explode?” Jack can see Bittle grin for a moment before returning to the same focus he had before. “I know that the idea of ovens are 200 years old, but you should know that they aren’t known to explode. Can they die on you? Yes. Can they cook food unevenly? Of course. That’s beside the point though. I don’t even have an oven on this ship. Could you imagine trying to lug one on?” Jack couldn’t imagine trying to lug 36 jars of jam on board, but that’s besides the point. 

“So how do you bake your stuff?” “I have a friend in engineering” Jack pauses “I don’t see how that has to do with anything” “Mr. Zimmermann, that has to do with everything.” Bitty says. “I’ll give you a moment to think about it” Jack paused to try to wrap his head around it, but failed to come up with anything.  “Do you need a hint?” Jack doesn’t say anything to that.  “Okay. I’ll give you one. It’s something that the engineers always complain about when maintenance comes around, because they say that the suits they have to wear feel like a cactus and sandpaper had a baby” 

It clicked. All Jack could say was “No way” Bitty nodded, seeming a bit proud of himself.  “You are not using the warp core’s coils for that”

“I’ve never gotten a more evenly baked pie. The temperature in there is almost always around 480K, so that means I can’t make the fluffiest of cakes. But I make do” 

“And who is the officer who aides you in placing your pies there?” “I took a couple classes in Warp Core repairs as a gen ed back in the academy, so I know what I’m doing if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not going to get hurt.” “That wasn’t the question. Who gave you the codes and the suit to get it”

“Um” “We don’t have an officer named Um on board, to my knowledge. So it must be someone else” 

Then, like a deus ex machina coming to save the day, Jack hears a voice coming up from behind him. “Come on, man. Don’t make the new kid break our planet’s most ancient, and sacred no snitching policy.”  Jack doesn’t even need to turn around to know who was standing behind him. Turning around to address him in his relative state of undress was merely good manners. 

“Shitty. I mean, Lieutenant Knight. Please don’t interfere with me doing my job.”  “If your job means that you’re taking away the best damn pie I’ve ever eaten, then there’s gonna be a revolt” 

“This man is risking himself in order to make pie. I can’t have that” “And the recreational fighting tournaments that we have on Sundays isn’t risking ourselves? Let it slide” “I don’t see why I should” Shitty turns to look at Bittle and snapping his fingers at him. “Bits do you have any of last night’s pie left over in there?” He shakes his head.  “I think Ransom might have some in his mini fridge. Let me check.”  Shitty dashes down the hall to a couple doors over, leaving the two of them in a painfully awkward silence. Jack decides to listen as Shitty comms Ransom, who Jack knows is working in the labs at the moment.  “Hey man sorry to borrow you but I need you to let me into your quarters” Shitty says into the comm. There is a muffled response. “I need your pie. No no no! It’s not for me... It’s not for Lardo either... I know I said that last time but trust me it’s true...It’s not my fault that you wanted to save it for later! ... come on man. It’s a matter of emergency... No it’s not munchies. I could go to a replicator for that. Jack needs it...The needs of the many outweigh the needs of you, man. No. He can’t wait until tonight...Because if I do not give him your slice of pie, there won’t be a tonight...Oh shit. Rans. Breathe. You’ll get your pie tonight...I know you’re working very hard...lab work sucks ass. All that, uh, centrifugal shit...Thanks man. I owe you.” 

Shitty hangs up, the door wooshes open, and he dashes inside.  “Ransom. Dr. Oluransi, I mean, works too hard in that lab of his.” “He does his best” “He stretches himself too thin.” Bittle shakes his head “He hardly left the lab for the first two weeks I was on board. I had to deliver the pie to him. We all cheered the first time that he came to the mess hall to pick up his slice himself”

Shitty runs back with the pie, a piece of it already piled onto a plastic spork. “Jackie boy I’m gonna need you to open wide.”  Shitty doesn’t let Jack take the fork for himself. Instead, they share a conversation with just their eyes that ends in Shitty staring him down with an expression Jack took to translate as “If you don’t let me feed you, then our friendship is cancelled”

Reluctantly, Jack opens his mouth. In front of Bittle. Who he’s supposed to be superior to. This is why Jack hasn’t gotten his own ship. Because he’s weak. And gets fed pie.

Really good pie. 

Holy shit.

Jack may or may not have made a noise.  He turns to Bittle, who is looking a mix of confidence and nauseated. His skin turned a sickly green. Jack figures it must be the pressure. Jack claps him on the shoulder reassuringly. “Any objection I have is withdrawn. Just try to add some supplements to it like protein and we’ll be fine.” 

He removes his hand from Bittle’s shoulder and turns to take his leave.  After he turns the corner, he hears Shitty, faintly telling Bittle that he should go to the med bay because he’s looking a bit green. Jack tries not to feel guilty. If Bittle didn’t want a nerve wracking confrontation, he should have cleared it with command beforehand. 

He returns to the bridge and finds Captain Hall.  “I spoke with Bittle” “And?” “He’s a good guy. Looks out for the good of the crew” “So he agreed to bring me and Murray a slice?”

Jack sits down at his post and buries his hands in his face.  “I’ll make sure it’s arranged, sir”