I Don’t Want Six Doughnuts!

I had a bit of an adventure this morning—while most of you were still snoring soundly, I was out doing battle with the donut people. One thing I learned was College Station isn’t as big a town as I thought it was. Most big cities I’ve lived in, the donut shops openbefore five o’clock. Not here!

As most of y’all know, I get up well before the crack of dawn—usually somewhere between four and five-thirty. I like to do a lot of my writing then, because my head is as clear as it’s probably going to get, and I am sharp as a butter knife early in the morning. This morning I rolled out of the sack at four-forty, feeling good and ready to roll. One reason I was fired up is because I knew we were out of raisin English muffins—that’s what I normally have with my coffee—and I’d already informed Sherry before we went to bed that this morning was going to be a donut morning. If you’ve laid eyes on me recently you’ll understand why donut morning has to be a rare and special event. Let’s just say I’ve put on a pound or two since high school.

A little after five, I poured myself a cup of coffee—in one of those adult sippy cups—and jumped in the old blue pickup. I drove slow because it seems every time I drive the residential streets around here an APB goes out to the local law that old blue is creeping around town. They don’t cut an old fart in an old pickup any slack either. I also figured at that time of the morning they might think I was just getting in instead of just going out—if you know what I mean.

The closest donut shop to where we live is about two miles away—right next to Papa john’s, so I know exactly how to get there. It’s owned and operated by a Vietnamese couple, and the lady is always the one to wait on me. She came from the back—where they make the donuts—and as I stared forlornly at the empty case where the donuts usually are, she asked if she could help me.

“Where’s the doughnuts?”

“Figh mintute,” she said. “You wait figh minute. What kine you wann?”

“Four chocolate-iced and one apple fritter,” I said.

“No apple fritter,” she answered.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be back in five minutes.” She said okay and hustled back to the kitchen.

I hopped back into old blue and headed for the next closest donut shop—Shipley’s—which was another mile or so toward town proper. We live on the outskirts of College Station but we’re still in the city limits. I thought I knew right where Shipley’s was, but I missed the turn and had to double back. There was a good reason I’d missed it, too—the lights weren’t on. I was aghast that a national donut chain was not open at five-thirty in the morning!

I had to have an apple fritter! It was for Sherry, you see, and I do not disappoint my wife! (Well at least not when it comes to doughnut day. I know I fall a bit short on other situations sometimes.)

Ah-ha! Kroger’s will have one! The Kroger’s is right across the street from the first donut shop I’d gone to this morning—I think it’s called Top Donuts.

Kroger’s did indeed have some apple fritters, so that part of the deal was closed, I eased back over to Top Donuts, where, I was happy to see, there was a  tray of donuts in the glass case, and among the two dozen on the tray were my favorite; chocolate-iced. The lady came hustling from the back again and, again, asked if she could help me. Here’s where our familiar ritual begins.

“Four chocolate-iced,” I said.

“You wann six?” she says.

“No, I just want four.” Let me explain something before I go on. I shouldn’t be eating even four—probably none—and chocolate-iced donuts do not do well if they sit for a day, so they are never good the next morning. Okay?

“You get six for only thirty-figh cent more,” she says. Then she goes through the math for me, explaining that a half dozen is $2.75, and four at sixty cents each is $2.40. The first couple of times I went in the shop, I let her talk me into it. The first time I ate all six that morning, and was miserable for half the day; the second time I ate three, thinking I’d give it another shot—I’ve tried it before—and see if they were edible the next morning. They weren’t.

So today, I was determined to stick to my guns. “I smiled—best I can at that time of day—and said, “No thanks. I just want four.” I thought she was going to come across the glass case and rip my heart out—the lady looked downright mad!

She rattled the math at me again, and I was shaking my head side-to-side the whole time. I was not going to be intimidated by the donut lady!

Still glaring at me, she shoved the four donuts into a sack and walked briskly to the cash register where she tossed the sack onto the counter in front of me. She banged the cash register furiously, and when the total came up, snapped, “See! You get bad deal!”

I smiled and handed her a twenty, hoping I didn’t get attacked for not having a smaller bill. She snatched it from my hand, fumbled my change from the till, held it out to me, and as I took it from her hand, said, “You have nice day! Okay?” The manner in which she spat that last word left me with the distinct feeling she was not sincere.

Anyway, the donuts were really fresh and really good, even though I was a bit on edge for the next hour or so. I think from now on, I’m just gonna order six chocolate-iced donuts when I go there. Maybe you can freeze them. I haven’t tried that yet.

1 Comment »

  1. Sherry said

    Just get an apple fritter . . . she never tries to sell me more than one at a time.

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