Every day, tens of thousands of Boston Cream donuts are churned out in the bakeries owned by the Dunkin’ Donuts Corporation. They are conceived in giant mixing bowls. Developed in ovens. Born in what a few funny fellows call “the creaming process.” Raised and educated on the trucks, heading to their assigned convenient, easily-accessible location.
And I am one of them.
We’ve been sitting in our racks on the truck for hours, receiving very clear, specific instructions. America is going to run on us; we are going to be pleased. If not for us, where would America get its fuel?
The doors at the back finally open. We are removed from the trucks in great big, wheeling racks and brought into the shop. The tray I share with my brothers is removed from the rack and placed into the breakfast display. We are flooded by fluorescent lighting — we’ve got to be visible to be edible!
The preliminary rituals completed, the store is quick to open. One by one my brothers are selected and taken away to be devoured. But I can only sit, baking in jealousy.
After what feels like eons — at least twice as long as we spent in the oven — it appears my time has come. This twenty-something comes into the store, thinking he’s somebody in his suit and tie (though I don’t understand why that’s necessary; khakis, a bright polo, and a company visor work just fine for us), and orders a medium iced coffee and a chocolate-frosted donut. Well, our counter associate must’ve heard him wrong because I get thrown into the bag instead. But how could anyone be upset with that? I’ve got a tasty center. I’m a delightful surprise!
I don’t like this paper bag very much. It’s not as comfortable as they led us to believe — so much for a chariot to our final destination. But the pink and orange lights glimmering through the letters are quite nice. Still, that napkin’s starting to chafe.
A different bright light appears at the end of the bag. A hand reaches in and I am out of there!
What’s this? Where am I? It’s great to be out of that papery imprisonment, but I don’t know what’s going on. They did not cover this in training.
Hold on — I know what this is. He’s looking me over. He must have realized I’m not what he ordered. But he doesn’t seem happy. Why isn’t he happy?
He hates my guts. Literally. I’m every bit a chocolate-frosted, save my center. So why doesn’t he like cream?
He must have changed his mind, though, because his breath is on my skin. It’s cascading over that thin line where chocolate meets dough. And his teeth! They’re sinking into me! It’s – it’s exhilarating! Just like they said it’d be in the movies!
He’s biting. He’s biting! Oh my goodness he’s biting! I think it’s going to get old, but it’s magic every time!
I’m actually doing what I’m meant to do. I’m feeding the hungry. The glory!
Wait. Why’d he stop? He ate around my pudding center and now he’s done with me? That’s so odd.
Oh. Back in the bag. He must be saving me for later. That’s a comforting thought; I don’t mind waiting for those last few bites of pleasure.
I feel like I’m falling. And there’s the thud. Why would he throw the bag? I’m still in it! Does he know I’m still in it? He must. But why — the trash? It must be. They warned us about that in training; they said it would only happen if we didn’t do our jobs correctly. But I haven’t done anything wrong! The bastard just threw me out! It’s not my fault!
Doug Paul Case is from Connecticut.
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21 Responses to “DELIGHTFUL SURPRISE • by Doug Paul Case”
Comments
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March 2nd, 2009 at 1:57 am
Too simplistic for me but I can only admire your commitment to your initial premise.
March 2nd, 2009 at 2:10 am
When Tony O. lurched into my room with a paper bag clenched in his fist it made me want to get the lock fixed. This was the third time this week and it was only Tuesday.
“What’s in the bag this time, Tony?”
“Doughnut holes.” He sounded real pleased with himself.
“That’s a myth,” I said, feeling pretty smug myself. “When they make ring doughnuts they don’t punch out the centres. There’s no such thing as doughnut holes. They’re just lumps of fried dough.”
“What kind of punk you take me for?” said Tony, his voice rising. “These aren’t doughnut centres, these are doughnut HOLES!”
He handed me the bag and I opened it. It was empty. I turned it upside down and shook it. “It’s empty,” I said. Tony O. fell on his knees and started scrabbling at the carpet.
“You dropped them!” he wailed.
“Who sold you the holes, Tony?”
“Mike.”
“And what else did he sell you?”
“Maybe a little bit of acid.”
March 2nd, 2009 at 2:42 am
Yeah! An odd one to comment on.
Strangely engaging and simplistic – as if written as a fairy tale. Perhaps that’s why the word ‘bastard’ jars. The sad fate of the doughnut works well enough without resorting to a swear word.
I’d aim this at the children’s market if I were you, adding more pathos to the story.
Maybe mention ‘cops’, too. Aren’t law enforcement officers famously huge consumers of doughnuts?
A four from me.
March 2nd, 2009 at 4:08 am
I liked it as is. I like the idea of our protagonist feeling so misused that it lashes out. Very well done.
No acid trip necessary…
March 2nd, 2009 at 5:34 am
Ate it up. (Hey, you started it!)
March 2nd, 2009 at 7:28 am
I absolutly loved it. Although I could be biased. as I used to write stories with talking food when I was a kid. Anyway. love the idea that the donut actually *enjoys* being eaten. Pure genius. I even feel sorry for him, sitting in the trash half-eaten. I gave you a five!
March 2nd, 2009 at 7:55 am
A tale with a moral – If you identify yourself with the cream only, you’re lost. However, It’s also immoral to throw out the cream. I’m sure there’s a sequel describing the punishment of cream discarders – the luster after dough only.
March 2nd, 2009 at 9:07 am
This story made me smile this morning.
March 2nd, 2009 at 9:39 am
I loved it! And – no – I don’t think it’s a children’s story… I enjoyed the premise that donuts are ‘educated’ to think that being consumed is a good thing. And if you want to get deep and literal about it – could this be an interesting allegorical commentary on the state of our throwaway, consumerist society??? Or not…
March 2nd, 2009 at 10:18 am
I’ll treat the donuts with a bit more respect from now on.
March 2nd, 2009 at 11:51 am
Doug, I never in a million years thought I’d read a story written from a donut’s POV. Props for your creativity. Way to think outside the waxy bag.
March 2nd, 2009 at 12:43 pm
Very clever and enjoyable – damn near as tasty as a doughnut!
March 2nd, 2009 at 8:58 pm
Ha! Thought this was funny, the poor donut bitchin’ caused it wasn’t completely eaten–good tribute to Dunkin’s–I like the original myself.
–dj
March 2nd, 2009 at 10:22 pm
I enjoyed the story. Hmm, I’ll continue to ignore doughnuts.
March 3rd, 2009 at 9:38 am
yeah, Doug! That was awesome. But really made me want a Boston cream doughnut…
March 3rd, 2009 at 11:06 am
This was amazing!
I can really imagine you as a donut!
March 5th, 2009 at 8:31 am
My philosophy is, “No doughnut left behind.” Cute story.
March 7th, 2009 at 6:53 pm
Seriously? Is it now a requirement to write while under the influence to get published at EDF and EDP? I’m truly considering canceling my subscription.
March 8th, 2009 at 5:50 am
Oh, now Mr. King, don’t throw yourself away. You know writers are trying to offer an above influence.
March 9th, 2009 at 3:07 pm
Travis,
I’m sorry that you feel that way about Doug’s story.
On Monday mornings, we generally try and run a humorous piece to lighten the start of the work week. We thought Doug’s piece was original and fun, and might just get a few people to crack a smile.
Remember, our goal is not to please everyone all of the time, but to please most people part of the time. This piece, I feel, accomplished that goal.
April 17th, 2009 at 1:07 pm