Today's practical exam was going along so nicely. D and I staked out our table, spread out sufficiently to ensure nobody else would even think of asking to share; and carefully started a very well planned day--don't you plan your day with a 15 minute increment schedule?
8:00 am: baguette dough punched down, rounded and resting, croissant dough fermenting, butter smashed into a square and coffee almost gone. Oh look, nobody's doing their dishes, just let it go.
9:45 am: baguette cooling, croissant dough first turn finished, labeled and in the retarder (that's fridge for you non-culinary-students), biscuits baked and graded and banana bread in the mixer. Dishes piling up - Ignore, ignore, ignore, just let it go. My day is going swimmingly, right on schedule.
11:15 am: Third turn of the croissant dough complete, sticky bun dough is labeled and in the retarder ready for tomorrow, Baguette and banana bread graded. Dishes, out of control but I'm biting my tongue and helping. Then came a certain someone I like to call Judit (pronounced Who-dit for those of you who don't chat with Jodi on a regular basis) who shot my day with one little sentence...
"Whoever just worked on their croissant dough (looking directly at me) took my dough, that was my dough."
Really? You're accusing me of taking your dough? You? The person who only got one item completed and graded ALL day? The same person who didn't do a dish and didn't know that when you roll out your butter into a thin square you put it between two sheets of plastic wrap; not make a butter snowball in your hand and then try to roll it out on the butcher block counter. Really? The some one who missed the midterm because of a panic attack? You, the most irritating little piece of crazy I've encountered at this learning institution, you're accusing ME of taking what I'm sure is crappy-not-square-goopy-butter-nuthouse-made dough? Done, I'm done being nice, game over. It's time for her to pack her knives and go.
(looking directly at her) "No, I did not take your dough, that was mine, it was labeled with my name and in a different retarder than yours. Are you sure you made the dough? Are you sure you put it in the retarder? Are you sure you labeled the dough? Hm, it's a mystery. This is my dough."
Amazingly everyone all of a sudden decided to do dishes. Was it to get out of my burning stare or just to do something so Judit didn't accuse them of taking her dough? What really happened to the dough? Personally I'm going for the St. Elsewhere angle - it's all in her head, and only she knows just how good that dough could be.