Don't Mess With The Donut Lady
I show up for donut duty at 7:45 this morning and what do I find ? A pathetic excuse for a con job.
A note lay on the stainless steel counter. "Donut shift: there are enough creamers for all 21 tables: four each. Thank you."
What the hay? Who left this note? And has he ever taken a good look at the donut crowd? Does he think they skimp on the cream?
I knew what was going on here. Somebody screwed up. Somebody forgot to order creamers. So they're trying to pass their screw-up off as a deliberate health measure. My mother used to pull the same trick with the spaghetti sauce. She'd buy one jar of Ragu to feed six kids. Then she'd add about a gallon of water and announce, "We're having a nice light sauce tonight." The sad thing is we all fell for it, for years.
But those years are over for this donut lady. Nobody tells me "we don't have enough sugar/cream/butter/all the unhealthy things that make life delicious" and tells me this was a good idea. Nobody. I knew exactly what I had to do:
I had to break into the school. There had to be more creamers in there somewhere. So that's what I did. I dashed across the street in the early morning darkness. I got inside the building. And there they were, creamers by the bucketful, all just waiting for me. I got 'em from- well, I better not say. I may need to do this again some day.
That's right! I admit it! And I'm glad I did what I done!
Okay, so I didnt' exactly break in. I borrowed a key (didn't tell them why, though). I figured if any of the teachers complained Monday morning, I'd just remind them of the time I was doing donuts for the school and broke into the church pantry for exactly the same reason. Turn about is fair play and all that. (I also arranged for someone else to take the fall, just in case.)
Oh, and to a certain Holy Name Society guy who, when he heard I was short on cream, sneaked into the refrigerator when my back was turned and took the last two gallons of milk- "they're mine! they're mine!"-- keep your stupid fresh unpasturized "I got it from a farmer" dairy products. Ultrapasturized is the wave of the future.
I am Donut Woman, and I take no prisoners.
Remember that, America.
A note lay on the stainless steel counter. "Donut shift: there are enough creamers for all 21 tables: four each. Thank you."
What the hay? Who left this note? And has he ever taken a good look at the donut crowd? Does he think they skimp on the cream?
I knew what was going on here. Somebody screwed up. Somebody forgot to order creamers. So they're trying to pass their screw-up off as a deliberate health measure. My mother used to pull the same trick with the spaghetti sauce. She'd buy one jar of Ragu to feed six kids. Then she'd add about a gallon of water and announce, "We're having a nice light sauce tonight." The sad thing is we all fell for it, for years.
But those years are over for this donut lady. Nobody tells me "we don't have enough sugar/cream/butter/all the unhealthy things that make life delicious" and tells me this was a good idea. Nobody. I knew exactly what I had to do:
I had to break into the school. There had to be more creamers in there somewhere. So that's what I did. I dashed across the street in the early morning darkness. I got inside the building. And there they were, creamers by the bucketful, all just waiting for me. I got 'em from- well, I better not say. I may need to do this again some day.
That's right! I admit it! And I'm glad I did what I done!
Okay, so I didnt' exactly break in. I borrowed a key (didn't tell them why, though). I figured if any of the teachers complained Monday morning, I'd just remind them of the time I was doing donuts for the school and broke into the church pantry for exactly the same reason. Turn about is fair play and all that. (I also arranged for someone else to take the fall, just in case.)
Oh, and to a certain Holy Name Society guy who, when he heard I was short on cream, sneaked into the refrigerator when my back was turned and took the last two gallons of milk- "they're mine! they're mine!"-- keep your stupid fresh unpasturized "I got it from a farmer" dairy products. Ultrapasturized is the wave of the future.
I am Donut Woman, and I take no prisoners.
Remember that, America.
Mmmmmmmmmm, dooooooooooooonuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuts
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