pseydtonne | The velvet rope of fast food

When I first started working second shift, I became intensely annoyed at how little the Boston area accommodates this schedule. Supermarkets brag that they close as 9. I walked into a restaurant after work once, got seated, waited ten minutes for a waitperson, then got told "the kitchen's closed. Sorry." Even the 24-hour Mickey D's switches to a menu that doesn't include half of the items.

"Why don't you shop before work?" you may ask. I do, especially if I want fresh herbs from the good supermarket (which closes at 10 but I punch out at 10:30). There is also a supermarket that's open 24 hours a day (except on Sundays) on my way home, so I'm not totally stranded for cooking after work.

Shopping before work is weird, though. I have to plan it out, which cuts down on impulse shopping. It also means I have to choose: do the laundry, or hit the bookstore? (Yes, even the laundry can't happen after work.)

I'd stopped noticing the inconvenience after a while. It still annoys me that I have to ask for permission to work early if I want to go to a concert on a weeknight. It annoys me that I can only see my friends on the weekends, although I had the chance to hang out on Monday after work and it shrank the pain of the week.

Today I had one of those moments of rage that remind me why I need to get out of second shift.

I'm an omnivore. I've learned to winnow my meat consumption, but I still get those urges to fill my bloodstream with the meats. I had such an urge tonight, so I went to the Dunkin' Donuts in my neighborhood. I grant that this establishment closes at midnight, but it was 11 when I got there so I figured I would be fine.

There was a shiny new banner outside and another one inside. Both said "No need to rush! Get a breakfast sandwich with meat any time of day! $1.99" My brain was drooling.

I walk inside and there isn't a dang thing on any of the doughnut racks. Usually, there is still a bin with a few chocolate glazed, one Boston Kreme, and two blueberry bagels. I figured it was just in hiding. So I asked.

"Could I get a ham, egg & cheese croissant?"

The woman looked puzzled, distraught, frightened. I worried that I'd spoken too quickly, since she was clearly Brazilian.

"Umm, no."

"Well, what do you have?" Again I got the startled look.

"All we have are muffins."

I decide I'm not picky. Ham, egg and cheese on a tuft of cake is better than the microwave-hot combo in my bare hand.

"Could I get ham, egg and cheese on a muffin, then?"

She doesn't even answer me. She is dumbfounded. The coworker behind her intervenes by saying:

"Next person?"

What the fuck? Ladies and gentlemen, I've been snubbed by Dunkin' Donuts.

Folks, I won't lie to you. I'm a Dunkin addict. That large coffee with more cream and sugar than anyone should ever consume at once (known in Boston as "a regulah") is divine candy for the commute. Krispy Kreme has infinitely better doughnuts (and they can spell the word "doughnut"), but the closest real one is about 400 miles away and their coffee is dreadful. Since there is a Dunkin every few blocks, this shouldn't be a problem, right? Boston is the home of Dunkin, right?

They close.

They close and they snubbed me. On a Friday, no less. fnord

I feel jilted. I had no idea you could make a faux pas at a Dunkin Donuts. I could've asked for coffee, or accepted J. Random Muffin, hold the Meat. Instead, I had violated some unwritten rule that the muffins and the meat shall ne'er be suggested in the same breath.

"Y'ain't seen nothin' till you're down on a muffin."

I'm sorry, Mister Talerico. I've done plenty of cunnilingus but I have been closed out of the pantry.

(Yes, Steven Tyler is another crypto-Italian.)

It occurs to me that "meat any time of day" is false advertising. The day wasn't over, and yet I had sinned. I could more easily have gotten meat if I went to a confessional.

Sorry, that was sick.

Anyway, I can't tell if I should complain to the manager. Will he tell me to go fuck myself? It's not like I'd asked to fondle the staff. I was even wearing a collared shirt. Were these employwas even wearing a collared shirt. Were these employees worried that, if they sold me something, the terrorists have already won? (T. THAW!)

I'd like to think I'm not a scary person. Maybe I should've kept the drool inside my brain.

-hot cross buns, ps/d