He was an inactive, pudgy loafer, a lazy bum, with protruding, flabby rolls of fat, not at all muscular; and, as often as I ever saw him, was wearing a baker’s apron covered with crumbs. My boss, Mr. Bortaplumpy, never got out of his chair, except when his warm, soft rolls of bread were finished baking. Sometimes I wondered how the baker’s shop survived, for he ate half of every batch of pastries I baked. Whenever I became fed up with his gluttonous actions and suggested he stopped eating, he would stand, size me up, and then stare me down until my eyes sank into the back of my head. Every now and then, Mr. Bortaplumpy would leave the shop, but this was only to get more recipe books to try and satisfy himself with greater tasty diversity. What a task it was to be employed by this pastry ogre!
On one average autumn day when closing time was drawing near and both I and Mr. Bortaplumpy were terribly exhausted, both for very different reasons (I, for all my hard work selling pastries, and he, from his sugar low), a new, middle-aged man, well-built, but not well-mannered, strided into our well-established bakery. This strange, new customer had a smug grin on his face. “Hello, gentlemen, how do you do?” he confidently inquired.
Like any well-mannered person I agreeably replied, “Very well sir, what brings you to this here bakery?” 
Mr. Bortaplumpy, interested by what this character had to say, waddled into the room and took a seat at the table chair as the man aggressively asserted, “My name is Mr. Monsier. I am a pastry chef myself and have come to relieve you of your business.” 
Mr. Bortaplumpy, alarmed by this news, immediately stood up to intimidate the man by his sheer size, and, although this abrasively proud new bakery owner was impressed, he didn’t flinch. Mr. Bortaplumpy confrontationally bellowed, “And what makes you think that you’re going to accomplish that near impossible task?” 
The arrogant gentleman eagerly replied, “Tomorrow, I will be opening a bakery across the street with the newest, most exquisite French pastries. We will have every kind including puff, flakey, rough, choux, filo, suet crust, and my favorite, the pate sucree with its rich, smooth, liquid sugar texture. These scrumptious delicacies will be so irresistible, that my shop will knock your business right off its feet. Good day gentlemen.”
As he sauntered away with a superior air, I gazed at our modest, but not spectacular, common, British bakery wondering how we would hold up to this new competition next door.  I couldn’t help but notice Mr. Bortaplumpy’s mouth watering at the thought of all the French pastries Mr. Monsier had described. I worriedly asked Mr. Bortaplumpy, “Sir, do you have any idea how we will compete with this new bakery, for we only have a third of his multitude of varieties of pastries and breads.” Mr. Bortaplumpy had a far-off look in his eye and quietly said, “Take the morning off tomorrow, I would like to you to see Mr. Monsier’s grand opening, but immediately afterwards, report right back here to tend to customers.” I couldn’t imagine why he would want to give me the morning off, but not wanting him to change his mind, I hurriedly left the shop and headed for my cozy, cottage home. 
On my way back, I couldn’t resist not having a look at the new bakery. A small hole through the curtain draped across the outside of the shop let me peak into the place that Mr. Monsier had bragged so much about. Through the hole, I saw a sight that was indeed brag-worthy. The bakery was filled to the brim with the most wonderful French delights in an immaculate white room decorated for the grand opening to perfection. Mr. Monsier was crouching around the shop scrutinizing his decor and looking for any details he might have missed. Satisfied at finding nothing of the kind, he took off his neckerchief, grabbed his coat and hat, and strided for the front door. I swiftly ducked behind a trash can located at the shop front. Mr. Monsier turned off the lights and almost waltzed out the front door dancing to a French, romantic tune he was whistling. However, I noticed that in his trance and his prideful excitement for the next day, he left the front door unlocked. I thought about telling him the mistake he had made, however, nervous as to his wondering why I was there in the first place and convinced that he would never listen to me anyway, I decided to continue home and take the more lengthy way there to avoid further contact with him.
It was six-o’clock the next morning when I awoke, and I immediately got ready to attend the grand opening of the new bakery. As I strolled down the lonely morning town street, I thought of what I would do if this bakery did take our business! Although it was hard to work for Mr. Bortaplumpy, I was content with my job and did not want to have to go through all the terribly hard work of finding a new occupation. I thought to myself, “What if I end up as a toilet cleaner, chimney sweep, or worse.” As I neared Mr. Monsier’s bakery, the road became more populated with people, all going to the grand opening. At the shop front, there must have been half the town there to taste all of Mr. Monsier’s pastries. I was not surprised, for he had advertised his grand opening on almost every wall with his elaborate posters. I watched Mr. Monsier make his way through the crowd to the front of the shop where he stood behind a small podium. He had assigned two of his employees to pull down the curtain on his signal.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Monsier exclaimed, “I am so glad all of you could attend this marvelous occasion. It is my honor and passion to satisfy all of your tastebuds with some divine, delicious delicacies. Much better than any of the pastries and breads you’ve ever had in your town,” he sneered as he glanced intentionally at Mr. Bortaplumpy’s bakery and then looked at me menacingly. “ I know all of your mouths are watering, so without further ado, I give you Monsier La Patisseries!” 
The curtains were pulled as everyone clapped and cheered with excitement and anticipation. Suddenly, there was silence, and nothing but gasps and whispers coming from the crowd. Mr. Monsier looked back to see what had gone wrong and the moment he did, he let go a  blood-hurdling scream, dramatically threw his hand over his head, and fainted! What he saw was a dystopia of a bakery. The entire shop was wiped clean of all its pastries, breads, and other baked goods! The walls and floor were covered in frosting, and all the tables had been overturned.  There was chaos amongst the crowd as they speculated what had happened to the bakery. I stood in awe and happiness at the ransacked room that had just yesterday been a pastry heaven and was now the equivalent to a pastry cemetery. 
When the crowd had accepted that their empty tummies would not be filled at Monsier La Patisseries, they made a dash across the road and began to cram into Mr. Bortaplumpy’s. As I realized what was happening,  I immediately sprinted into the shop to tend to the hungry stampede. Throughout the whole afternoon, I worked nonstop baking and serving to meet the high demand of the customers while Mr. Bortaplumpy napped lazily in the back room. 
When the shop was once again empty and I had my hands free to do as I liked, I decided to count our daily profit. The count came to three times our monthly amount! I was just about to run into Mr. Bortaplumpy’s office to inform him of this triumph when my joyful train of thought was suddenly interrupted by a stern constable. “Where is Mr. Bortaplumpy?!” demanded the policeman.
Shocked by what the officer could be doing in our shop, I studdered, “Wh-why he’s in the b-back room.” Before I could even inquire as to why he had asked, he and his men had run into the back room, arrested him, and were dragging Mr. Bortaplumpy out. It happened so fast that I had barely moved, and before I knew it, I was alone in the room wondering what had transpired. Curiously, I made my way to the room where Mr. Bortaplumpy had been sleeping. When I opened the door, I was astonished. There were about 200 cupcake, pastry, and chocolate wrappers labeled “Monsier La Pastisseries” scattered about the floor! Then it hit me! Mr. Bortaplumpy had eaten everything at Mr. Monsier’s bakery the night before! I chuckled to myself as I imagined him ransacking the shop and then passing out when the sugar high had ended. I wondered if he realized his cunning plan was going to be found out by the authorities. 
Mr. Monsier soon recovered from his grand opening disaster, however he was so embarrassed by the incident that he moved away to open his shop elsewhere. As for Mr. Bortaplumpy, he was sent to jail and his bakery was confiscated. He was in the town jail for some time until they had the availability to send him to London, as they had larger cells there for “larger” people. As for me, I inherited Mr. Bortaplumpy’s shop and subsequently renamed it “Goodfellow’s Goodies.” I had much more business than when Mr. Bortaplumpy had owned the bakery, partly due to the fact that I didn’t eat half of our products and partially due to the humble and congenial relationships I was able to build with the customers away from the heavy glare of my former pastry ogre boss, Mr. Bortaplumpy.