Kimberlee K.

Tuesdays are like any other day, except when there are donuts.

This particular Tuesday started out like the first 24 that 2014 had to offer. My alarm went off at 6:45, so I got up at 7. Work started at 8 and ended at 3:30.

I’ve been housesitting for some friends of the family, so after dinner and a shower I was ready to drive over to the house and go to sleep (watch Orange is the New Black).

Upon arriving at the house, my sister and I couldn’t find it in ourselves to turn on the show that had captivated us for the last few nights. There was something off, there was something missing. The answer smelled like pure sugar and was both filled and topped with chocolate chips. The answer was donuts.

The decision to leave the house required zero deliberation.

She slipped on a hoodie, I put on pants and we were off.

She knew a place down the street that she had visited a few weeks prior. She said the people were nice and they had the type of donuts we were looking for.

Think of this donut like the Sorcerer’s Stone. It’s wanted by many, gives life, and has the power to kill creepy dudes with no noses. (All proven facts)

We arrived 4 short minutes later and walked up to the counter. My eyes glazed (pun intended) over the rows and rows of sugary treats. Sprinkles and chocolate and bear claws, they were all there. But there was no sign of the SS. I reviewed the contents of each row carefully, assuming my excitement was hindering my ability to spot it in a crowd. But the truth of the matter was, like my hopes and dreams, the SS was no longer in the building.

I paced a little, contemplating my next move while my sister double checked with the nice woman behind the counter (who may or may not be an enemy conspiring against us that had hidden every SS she could get her hands on, bitch.) that they were in fact out. When she replied with a nod, my feet swiveled and I was out the door in seconds. I would not settle for your beautifully crafted sprinkle creations that were singing songs of merriment next to the cinnamon rolls.

This was no longer a simple trip for donuts, this was now a quest.

As we reentered my car, we spotted another donut shop across the street and made a (slightly) legal dash to the potential treasure trove. I parked next to an older couple who were slowly exiting their vehicle and sauntering towards the donut shop.

WHAT IF THEY ARE LOOKING FOR THE SS?! WHAT IF THERE ARE ONLY 2 LEFT?!

We must beat the elders. We must run.

We powerwalked, Olympic event style, swiveling our hips side to side at a rapid pace. We held the door open for the 2^nd place donut shoppers, and made our way up to the counter. A quick glance told me that either this place had been ransacked by a group of salacious donut thieves, or the man behind the counter (another potential enemy) was getting ready to close and was selling the last of his product.

I smiled at the man, swiveled my feet, and was back in the car in seconds.

“Find donut shops, NOW,” we told Siri.

“I’m sorry I didn’t qui—“

Screw you Siri.

Just then we remembered, there was a donut shop two streets over, and it was open 24 hours.

“Gas, gas, frustrated brake, and more gas,” said my foot to its pedals.

We turned into the parking lot, and two steps into the shop I saw them. Top left shelf, sitting side by side.

I eagerly pointed at the two bars of chocolate chip covered joy, and the man bagged them up.

(It wasn’t until later that I realized what we must have looked like running into this shop at 10 p.m., hair disheveled, mismatched socks, with smiles that radiated from the stray hairs on my head all the way down to my unpainted toenails. There had to be no doubt in this guy’s mind that we were higher than the blood pressure of an obese walrus. And if the looks didn’t do it for him, it’s possible that what we did when he told me the price did.)

“$2.80 please. Cash Only.”

You got it dude.

I grabbed my wallet knowing I had three $1 bills waiting to be spent. I smiled as I reached into the slit where I keep cash, but my face fell when my fingers only felt fabric. I checked the 4 other slits, but still only found fabric. I looked back at my sister, desperate for spare change.

“I found a quarter! I found another one! One more! I have a few dimes too!”

She found a total of $1.10.

I had exactly 10 nickels, rounding our total to $1.60.

Suddenly I was frustrated with my choice of outfit. There was no way I could flirt my way into underpaying for these donuts. I knew putting my bra back on was a bad idea.

Just then I spotted a liquor store across the parking lot. I signaled to my sister, told the man to hold those donuts for us (necessary, since there were exactly 0 customers behind us in line or anywhere in sight) and ran to the neon sign marked ATM just inside Push not Pull doors.

To further prove my dedication to the SS, I paid a convenience charge to the ATM which was more than the total cost of my donuts, before receiving my $20 bill. And once the green faced Andrew Jackson slid into my fingers we ran back across the way and picked up the beautiful brown paper bag that was waiting for us on the counter.

Upon returning home, I ate the donut in its entirety, without one ounce of regret.

And like any good quest, it ended with a glass of milk.