Crumburglar

New York is a cupcake city. And of the dozens of stores and bakeries that offer their own delicious versions, my all time favorite is Crumbs. Imagine my surprise when one day, returning to my apartment at 5:15pm, I spotted a basket wrapped in clear cellophane sitting in the hallway outside my apartment door. Looking inside, I could see 6 huge Crumbs cupcakes, along with a sleeve of cookies and an envelope. On the envelope were written only 2 words: To Orlando.

I picked up the basket and looked for an apartment number, a delivery slip, anything with a clue to its correct intended owner. Nothing. I brought the basket inside. My first thought as I set it down was, “ I can’t eat all these cupcakes, I’ll get fat.” My second thought was, “I can’t eat all these cupcakes, they don’t belong to me.” I debated what to do as I searched the package again for any indication of its intended recipient. Nothing at all but the envelope which was inside the basket, wrapped in the cellophane, To Orlando.

As much as I wanted to jump right to the conclusion that fate had left the delicious morsels for me outside my door, conscience took over and I decided to do the right thing. I googled the number for Crumbs New York, and dialed. As it rang, I thought that I would simply tell them the building it was delivered to, and they would know the correct apartment number. I’d deliver the basket myself, and the true recipient might be so thrilled that they would reward me with one of the 6 heavenly cakes.

I thought this all out as the phone rang. And rang. And rang. Finally, a voicemail. : “Crumbs is currently closed. Our hours of operation are….” I eyed the cupcakes hungrily. “If you’d like to speak to the operator at our main branch, press 1.” I pressed. It rang. And Rang. And Rang. “Thank you for calling Crumbs. Currently we are closed. If you’d like to leave a message…” I hung up, thinking, Well, I tried.

I left the basket on the counter and headed to the gym. When I returned 2 hours later, my roommate, MuppetDinnerTheater, was home. He was sitting on the couch, eyeing the basket.

“Who’s Orlando?” I asked as I walked in the door.

“I don’t know, but I love Crumbs,” he said.

“Ok, I’ll have you know that I tried to do the right thing,” I said, and told him about calling the store.

“Well,” he replied, “I’ll have you know that I came home at 11am, and the basket was already outside our door.”

“What?”

“And since it obviously wasn’t for us, I left it, figuring that somebody would figure out the mistake.”

“So,” I said, adding things up, “the basket sat there from 11am til 5:30pm. Nobody claimed it, and whoever left it didn’t realize or wasn’t informed of their mistake. Then, we tried calling Crumbs, and they are closed.”

MuppetDinnerTheater nodded, hungrily.

“So now,” I went on, “It is 7:30pm. We tried leaving the basket, we tried calling the store. We don’t know who Orlando is. What else can we do?”

“Well, I guess we can just leave them til tomorrow. Then either we can try calling again, or probably whoever sent them will eventually call when they realize they weren’t delivered.”

“Yes,” I said, “but here’s the thing. Clearly it was Crumbs' screw-up. Why would they just leave them in front of a random door? But more importantly, even if they get told their mistake – what will they do? Will they really come here tomorrow, get these cupcakes that will then have sat in the hallway and our apartment for 24 hours, and re-deliver them? Absolutely not. They already screwed up, they won’t correct it by sending day-old cupcakes. They’ll just send Orlando a new batch.”

“So...”

“So...” We looked at each other.

“WE SHOULD EAT THE CUPCAKES!”

We tore through clear cellophane and inhaled the delicious scent of the sugary frosting. There were 6 different flavors, one more delicious-looking then the next. We finally decided to choose 2, cut them in half, and each sample two different cake-icing combinations. We each took our first bite, and had that euphoric moment of tasting a truly delicious dessert.

“Mmmmmm.”

“Amaaaaazing.”

“Soooooo goooood.”

Our mouths were filled with the moist cake and creamy frosting. In minutes we were on a sugar high. As he stuffed another bite of cake and glob of frosting into his mouth, MupperDinnerTheater said, “Hey! Read the card!”

I reached for the mysterious envelope, leaving a smudge of chocolate frosting over the “To Orlando” as I tore it open. Inside was a simple white card. I opened it, and almost spit a mouthful of cupcake across the room as I read the 4 handwritten lines.

Hi Orlando,

Hope you are feeling better and the surgery went well. Get well Soon!

Best, Joanna

MuppetDinnerTheater stopped chewing, and stared at me, half-eaten cupcake in his hand. I stared back, and for a moment we were silent. Then he said, “We are going to hell.”

“Totally.”

Another minute of silence passed. Finally, he spoke again. “Do you want another?”

“Totally.”