I’ve failed the doughnut test.As I was whining about my dead-end no-pro (not for profit) job, one hour and ten minute subway commute (a trip, which is slightly longer and just a little bit more uncomfortable than a WW II prisoner of war transport) and my 25 pound weight gain my friend Joni gave me the news.
“You’ve failed the doughnut test, ” she said.
The Doughnut Test is rather simple. If you can make it from the subway to your desk without first stopping at the doughnut cart you pass. Buy any of the myriads of delicious glazed treats you…fail.
To say that I have simply failed the Doughnut Test is a well…a gross understatement. I have not only failed the Doughnut Test I have also failed the Muffin, Cruller, Cookie, Brownie, Cinnamon Bun and Rugula Tests as well.
This morning as I stood on line at the little silver house of love (i.e. the doughnut cart) with the other pastry failures I became awed by the sheer numbers of these rolling huts of joy throughout the city and the numbers of office slaves lined up in front of them. And then considering for a moment the Dunkin’, Krispy and Mister outlets across the city and the country I’ve come to the conclusion that as a nation we must be one unhappy, unfulfilled and truly miserable lot of fucks.
As a dyed in the wool nonconformist belonging to any group that large sends shivers down my spine. So what to do? We I could give up doughnuts, which just sounds extreme if you ask me. I mean how else is a guy to get his RDA of powdered sugar and lard? So the only other option would be to keep the doughnuts and dump the job and the commute and make my soul happy instead of my stomach. Coming from a family that fights lifes' adversities with fried food this will be tough. But not as tough as being the fattest guy on the A train.
I’ll be sending periodic dispatches from the front lines of the Doughnut War.
Until then I’ll take the one with extra glaze
Comments