Visit the Astoria Metro Area! It's like Portland, but with more rain!
Astoria Metro: Bringing You Authentic Small-Town Vibes Since We Couldn’t Afford a Mall.
Astoria Metro: We're more expensive than Portland but still small enough that the Anthesis don’t really bother us!
~ Failed Astoria Metro Area tourism campaigns, 2042
No matter what any corp told you, the customer was not always right, and we had the YouTube videos to prove it.
Thankfully, the morning rush started with a waiting crowd mostly composed of our regulars. People who understood the morning rush and were happy to wait for their breakfast sandwich and latte. At the very least, it gave them a place to rest from the blanket of chilly fog coating the city this morning. The smell of wet asphalt and roasted coffee beans mixed together, a signature scent of Astoria’s streets.
Not even an hour in, someone was already complaining that Riku wouldn’t make them a large cappuccino. Bless Riku for their infinite patience; thankfully, she left mollified, regular cappuccino in hand, giving me a quick wink as she passed.
As irritating as customers could be, chat was LOVING the “no shits given” attitude that Ash was exhibiting. I grinned as the messages rolled in:
[06:41:08] CrumbSnatcher: lmaooo Ash about to end this dude’s whole career ??
[06:41:15] ButterPirate: Bro asked for “gluten free sourdough” AGAIN ??????
[06:41:21] YeastBeast88: SHE SAID “we sell bread, not miracles” ????
[06:41:36] GlitchyOtter: ?????? customer drowned in sass confirmed
[06:41:49] WhiskTaker: “next time bring your own loaf” ?????? i’m deceased
[06:42:04] Snackrifice: Ash runs this place like it’s a soulslike: no handholding, git gud or starve ??
[06:42:18] RainyDayRaven: ngl her customer service speedruns are my fav part of this stream ??
[06:42:33] 0venL0rd: when ash says “have a day” ?? that’s a kill shot ??
[06:42:41] NeonTrout: she just told him to “try walmart” i can’t breathe ????
Honestly, it was one of my favorite parts of the day too. That was why I was the baker. I didn’t want to interact with the customers more than necessary. Baking was my rhythm, my little world where I could control the chaos in a way that the outside never allowed.
With my portion of the day coming to an end, it was time for one last treat: my cereal mallow treats! Now with more rainbow sprinkles! If rainbow sprinkles bothered you in the Year of our Apocalypse, 2056, maybe it was time for some self-reflection.
Unlike the pastries I made, this recipe was something I had found while scrolling through my feeds and then modified. For once, it really was just one simple trick to improve those chewy treats.
I walked through the recipe with chat, providing a download link for anyone who wanted to try it. Measuring out the butter, marshmallows, and crisped rice, I could feel the familiar satisfaction of creating something tactile. The tactile rhythm of baking never failed to center me. My hands knew the textures, the stickiness, the perfect pliability.
I started by melting butter in a double boiler (or a metal bowl perched atop a simmering pot of water), letting the gentle heat seep into the pale yellow cubes. The soft hiss of bubbling water mixed with the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air from yesterday’s experiments. As the butter surrendered to the heat, I added in the marshmallows, watching them collapse into a sticky, glossy puddle. My fingers itched to stir, but I resisted; this was a delicate dance. One wrong flick, and the goo could climb the sides of the bowl like a sugar tornado.
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The secret ingredient, vanilla, went in next. People said it was plain, but to me, it was the unicorn of flavors: subtle, complex, endlessly forgiving. It clung to the butter and marshmallows, weaving warmth and depth into every molecule. The aroma made me pause for a moment, just to breathe it in, letting the morning melt into something almost magical.
The scent of these three simple ingredients wafted through the dining area, drawing people’s attention to the possibility of fresh treats arriving soon. Mr. Tanaka, my elderly “neighbor” who always stopped by for an early tea, peeked in. “Smells like you’re cooking up some magic again, Ambrosia,” he called, waving with a smile. I gave him a quick thumbs-up; chat exploded with emojis in solidarity.
With chat open on my augs, the flood of comments was predictable but delightful.
[06:45:02] YeastBeast88: sprinkle overload ????
[06:45:15] WhiskTaker: Amby you’re about to break the color spectrum ??
[06:45:27] Snackrifice: my eyes are blessed i swear
I rolled my eyes at the rainbow fanfare but couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, yes,” I said aloud, as if chat was capable of shame, “more sprinkles for everyone. It’s the apocalypse, live a little.” My spatula danced through the goo, scooping it up in slow, rhythmic folds. Every fold was a small victory, a reminder that I had control over something today, even if the world outside my window threatened to erupt into chaos.
Pouring the molten mixture into the waiting bowl of crisped rice and sprinkles felt like a performance. Chat erupted.
[06:46:01] NeonTrout: THAT’S ART ???
[06:46:12] CrumbSnatcher: can i eat the screen ??
I laughed, wiggling the bowl in a gentle circular motion to ensure even coverage. The goo oozed into every nook, coating each rice piece with glossy rainbow sheen. Then came the best part: mixing. I dug in, folding, pressing, and finally, licking the spatula like it was a ceremonial rite. Chat exploded, some pretending outrage, some genuine jealousy. I didn’t care. This was my moment. My sticky, rainbow-colored, gloriously imperfect moment.
As the treats set, I moved to the worst part of any shift: the dishes. One would think that with all of the advances of modern tech brought on by Samurai, a functioning dishwasher would be standard. And yet, there I was, up to my elbows in suds, scrubbing every spatula, bowl, and measuring cup by hand. The rhythmic motion was oddly soothing, like a meditation. Chat kept me company, joking about my “dishwasher dojo” as I worked. Apparently, I had been promoted to the rank of “Dish-fu Master.”
Once the dishes were done and drying, I cut the cereal treats (one kept for quality assurance, of course), ended the stream, and finally called it a day.
Even though work was over, errands awaited. A quick stop at the apartment to change and make a shopping list. Once that was done, I grabbed my messenger bag (aka purse) and adjusted the strap before stepping outside.
Cascadia’s weather had a reputation, but today was a rare, bright gem. Sunshine glinted off damp streets, burning off the lingering fog, as I made my way to the restaurant supply store to pick up my new chef’s knife from Japan, a treat I had been anticipating for months. I slipped the boxed knife into my messenger bag and set off toward the Co-op.
No longer a true co-op, it had been swallowed by a faceless conglomerate from California, Parasol, I thought it was. Prices had shot up immediately, and the aisles glimmered with corporate sterile perfection. I grumbled about the nearly 40k credits I’d spent for a week’s groceries and navigated the aisles, picking up a few specialty ingredients for my next baking experiment: smoked cocoa nibs, candied lavender, and a rare spice blend from the Cascadia Spice Guild.
As I exited, an alert on my augs appeared:
INCURSION DETECTED.
REMAIN CALM. PROCEED TO THE NEAREST SHELTER.
I rolled my eyes. Couldn’t the aliens wait until after I put away my groceries? With a sigh, I pulled up a map in my augs, noting a public shelter five blocks away. That would have to do for now.
The streets were surprisingly calm. Perhaps everyone was still trapped in cubicle hell, oblivious to the looming threat. I kept my eyes open, augmented vision scanning for anything unusual as I headed for safety. Even on a sunny day, the damp Cascadia streets had their hazards: slick pavement, loose utility covers, and the occasional stray fox or racoon that seemed unnervingly indifferent to the warning sirens.
