Bread Boys

“What the-- how did you. . .”

“I got hit by a truck.”

“WHAT!?”

Brandon, rushing up off the couch and scrambles up to his roommate, who, unannounced, had walked into their dorm covered from head to toe in fine white powder. He had simply stood there for about a minute looking defeated before the shock had worn off and Brandon had found his voice.

“Oh my gosh, Devon, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, they were just backing out, bumped me a bit.”

Brandon lets out a sigh of relief, walking back to the couch and plopping down. “Ok, ok, wait a minute. So, you’re okay?”
            “Yeah.”

“Wait, then what about the. . .” Brandon gestures in Devon’s direction.

“Oh, this? This is flour.” He says it like it should have been obvious.

“How did you end up covered in flour?”
            “The truck.”

“How?!”

“It was a flour truck.”

“You were inside of a flour truck?”

Devon shakes his head in exasperation, and flour billows off of him. Walking across the room, he sits on the couch opposite to Brandon, and a cloud of flour puffs up around him, falling lazily to the ground.

“Look, man. I went to the bakery today, to buy some bread, right? Only I put the wrong place into my GPS, I tried to put in ‘flour store’ and it autocorrected to ‘flower store,’ and so I went to the wrong place.”

As he says it, Quentin, their third roommate walks in from his bedroom and sits down next to Brandon.

“Ooo, buying flowers? Who’s the lucky lady?” He pauses for a moment, blinks, and notices Devon covered in flour. “They do that at the flower store?”
            Brandon, shaking his head in bewilderment, looks from Quentin back to Devon. “Why wouldn’t you just type in ‘bakery?’”

            “Do not patronize me right now, okay! I forgot the word! Anyway-”

            “-Wait, so were you buying her bread? Why?”

            Devon leans forward, giving Quentin a confused look. “Who is ‘her?’”

            “I don’t know, you tell me.”

            “Well, I don’t know either.”

            “You’re the one buying her flowers!”

            “I was at the bakery!”

            “Buying her bread?”

            “Buying ME bread!”

            Brandon watches the two of them go back and forth, mixed emotions of amusement and utter bewilderment brewing within him. After a moment, he raises his hands and claps them together. The sound rings out, and Devon and Quentin stop bickering and turn to look.

            “Okay, okay, first thing, Quentin, there’s no girl, okay, he was buying bread.”

            “Then why was he at the flower store?”

            “Wrong flower.”

            Quentin sits back in his seat, eyebrows furrowed, and then it hits him, the light dawning.             “Ohhh, I get it now. Flour store. Like bread flour. Wait why didn’t you just call it a bakery?” Devon lets out a scream of frustration, shaking his hands as he speaks, the cloud of flour now getting worse.

            “AAAh! Look, I forget one silly little word, alright? I meant to put flour store, then I put flower store, and then I walked in and they were selling flowers and not flour. So then, right, cause I’m allergic to flowers, I start sneezing, and I’m walking out to get back to my car, and then I get hit by this truck, and there was a thingy of flour in the back, and it spilled on me!”

            The room is quiet a moment.

            “He got hit by a truck?” Quentin looks at Brandon in confusion, while Brandon, hands on his temples, shakes his head.

            “Why was there a flour truck at the flower store?” Brandon asks.

            “He got it wrong too.”

            “Got what wrong?”

            “He put flour store too. See, man,” Devon slaps Quentin on the knee, leaving a white handprint on Quentin’s pants. “Common mistake.” Quentin scowls in mock annoyance, but there’s a hint of a grin on his face, the humor of the whole situation getting to him. After a moment, he bursts out laughing.

            “Look, man, it’s not that funny,” Devon says.

            “It totally is!” Quentin cackles, tears forming in his eyes.

            “It’s not that funny!”

            “It’s a little funny,” Brandon quips, one hand covering his mouth, so Devon won’t see him grinning. Devon gets up, begins to wave his arms madly around, flour filling the whole room.

            “No, it’s not funny! My car is ruined! I drove to the bakery after to get my bread, and they were out of flour to make the bread! The delivery guy hit someone and lost his flour! They couldn’t even give me a little! Out of flour? Out of flour!! They could’ve made enough loaves to feed a village from what was in my car seat! My upholstery has yeast in it! I swear, I’ll make them pay, I-”

            Devon is cut off by the doorbell ringing, and all of them freeze. Nobody moves for a moment, and from behind the door a voice calls out, “Flower delivery!”

            Quentin smirks and mutters, “I think we have enough of that already,” to which Devon lets out a tiny, frustrated scream through closed teeth and shakes a fist at Quentin. At the same time, Brandon opens the door, grabs something, closes it quickly, and begins to tiptoe out of the room.

            “Hey, wait, what’s that?” Devon asks, eyes wide, crazed.

            “Uhh, nothing here to see. . .”

            “Flour delivery?” Devon takes a menacing step toward Brandon, who backs up a bit. From behind his back, he pulls out a bouquet of flowers. Devon stops, hesitant. Brandon points to Quentin.

            “I’m the one that has a date tonight.”

            “Oh yeahhh, I remember that now. With that girl who works at the bakery?”

            At mention of the bakery, Devon’s eyes widen with rage, and he charges screaming at Brandon, who holds the bouquet in front of him like a sword. Quentin bursts out laughing again.

            They are the best of friends.