It\u2019s around one in the morning when I step into the shop. I\u2019m there to get a dozen because it feels like I haven\u2019t in a couple days. Plus, earlier in the day I saw my roommate Bruce wearing his beige cardigan, which only goes on the days he\u2019s feeling beige. I said, \u201cWhat happened,\u201d when I walked into the apartment, and he said he\u2019d rather not say. It\u2019s probably something to do with the economy. It gets to him sometimes\u2014you know how the economy can be. I mean, I don\u2019t. So, a long john or two\u2019s the best I can do for him.<\/p>\n
Good thing is they\u2019ve got the best in town. Who knows, maybe even the world. I have not done the proper research, nor will I.<\/p>\n
The place is empty, like it usually is this time of night. There\u2019s only the old lady who runs it standing behind the counter. She\u2019s about five feet big. Sort of built like a bear, as in she\u2019s got this giant muscle-hump rising out of her back the way grizzlies do, to overturn large rocks and perform maulings on hikers. It keeps getting bigger, but I\u2019m probably here too often to accurately say.<\/p>\n
She greets me the same way she\u2019s done for the past thousand or so times, in that she doesn\u2019t. Just eyes me with the permanent scowl or someone who\u2019s seen, taken, probably given, and definitely smelled more than her fair share of shit. I\u2019ve used the bathroom here before. Once, and never again. That forsaken place is a testament to man\u2019s cruelty. Well, his inability to aim.<\/p>\n
She doesn\u2019t say anything. She never says anything.<\/p>\n
This is a lie actually. I\u2019ve heard her speak or make noise two different times, not counting sneezes and coughs, or labored breaths. The first time she spilled some hot coffee on her arm, and that made her say gah<\/em>. The second, she mishandled a donut and dropped it frosting-side down (such is the fate of most dropped donuts) and had to stoop over and toss it. She said gah <\/em>this time as well, but a little softer, a little more drawn-out. A gah <\/em>of disappointment.<\/p>\n I request a dozen, please. She puts on a glove. After each donut I choose\u2014and I know well enough to name them off quick\u2014she shoots me this fish-eyed glance as a she places it in the box, as if to say, \u201cNice choice you fucking piece of shit.\u201d This is customary as well.<\/p>\n She goes to ring me up, and this is probably the most difficult part. I\u2019m pretty sure she hates if you pay cash, even if it\u2019s exact change. The counting gets on her nerves, I think. But then she also hates if you pay with card, since that means she has to turn around and swipe it through the machine that doesn\u2019t usually work until she instills fear in it with a swift blow from her palm.<\/p>\n Sometimes I wonder what would happen if you walked out of the place without paying, if she\u2019d hate you any more or any less.<\/p>\n It\u2019s not something I\u2019d ever try, but others have.<\/p>\n I wonder if she put up a fight that time a year or so back when some people drove their pickup through the front entrance, looted the register and reversed out of there with half the display case lodged in the bumper\u2019s teeth. All I know is she didn\u2019t get injured, so said the news reports I read. Not that she could have been injured. Had she been standing out in the front wiping trucker breath condensation off the glass, I\u2019m sure she\u2019d have stood strong as a traffic bollard, peeled herself out of the wreckage and beat those scoundrels into a fine flour-like powder, then sifted that powder into that industrial stand-mixer that\u2019s always squealing in the back, added the other ingredients and made the next day\u2019s batch.<\/p>\n I decide on cash, eight bucks and thirty-two cents as it runs. Had it on stand-by.<\/p>\n Go to drop it on the counter, and it\u2019s here that she shakes her head. Hard, like she\u2019s trying to fight off flies and doesn\u2019t want to use her arms.<\/p>\n This is a new gesture for me so I\u2019m frozen. My heart\u2019s in my throat, which isn\u2019t where it\u2019s supposed to be. The money slips out of my hand, the coins clinking on the counter. She scoops it all up, places it on top of the donut box and slides it towards me.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s the meaning of this,\u201d I finally work up the courage to ask.<\/p>\n She reaches below the register and digs out a small piece of paper and a hole-puncher and clicks it.<\/p>\n She then holds the paper in front of my face. It reads That Owl Lookin Prick<\/em>, and it\u2019s got a bunch of puncture wounds. Too many to count in the short time it flashes in front of my face.<\/p>\n \u201cEvery dozen dozen ya get a free dozen,\u201d she goes. Imagine if boulders could speak, her voice is how they\u2019d sound. Like how I\u2019d imagined it in my dreams.<\/p>\n I don\u2019t feel like a simple thanks<\/em> is going to properly communicate what I\u2019m feeling so I tell her, \u201cI love you,\u201d instead.<\/p>\n When I tell Bruce about this whole thing fifteen minutes later, he asks me if she said it back. The cardigan has slipped off his shoulders after a couple johnnies, and he\u2019s got me in a headlock, and everything\u2019s back to normal.<\/p>\n I say, choking on a mouthful of donut, \u201cShe didn\u2019t have to.\u201d<\/p>\n Dan Pobereyko lives in Marquette, MI, where he slings pies for the local pizza truck. He also writes words for the baseball-themed blog All Talk, No Balk!<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" It\u2019s around one in the morning when I step into the shop. I\u2019m there to get a dozen because it feels like I haven\u2019t in a couple days. Plus, earlier in the day I saw my roommate Bruce wearing his beige cardigan, which only goes on the days he\u2019s feeling beige. I said, \u201cWhat happened,\u201d … <\/p>\n
\n