My mom used to bake bread and sell it at farmer’s markets. Since we didn’t have a large kitchen, she would rent space at the elementary school down the road. Baking was done after work on thursday nights, later is better so the bread was fresh the next day. She would bake in the kitchen, and the rest of the school was dark and locked up. One night the phone rang, and assuming it was my dad she picked it up. The person on the other end said. “You called?” She said that she didn’t, and told them they must have the wrong number. “Well i was in the shower when the phone rang, so i *69 when i got out, and the call came from here.” She ended up calling my dad and had him come keep her company, and she wouldn’t bake alone for a while after that.