I always volunteer to get the groceries after work, ostensibly because my wife is busy all day taking care of our infant son. But really it's because it gives me a chance to eat donuts. See, I have a health problems, and I'm not supposed to be eating a lot of junk food. There's definitely no donuts or any crap like that in our pantry. But do you know where they do have donuts? Vons. Specifically in this little bakery display case right by the express checkout counter.
The donuts don't even taste good. In fact, they're WAY too sugary and sweet, but I still get one every time I come here after work to pick up milk or tomatoes or whatever else the house needs. I always cross my fingers and pray to the donut gods that they'll have a cream or jelly-filled donut, but that's few and few between. Most times I'm stuck getting some glazed concoction. I put one donut in a giant ass plastic bag and take it with me to the checkout aisle along with the rest of my stuff. The cashier always gives me a nice little wink like, "I'd be doing the same shit, too, if I were in your shoes." Actually, I have no idea if he's thinking that, but it's nice to imagine he's on my side. He could be on my wife's side and be quietly judging me while I slowly kill myself.
I can't be going home with a donut, so where do I eat it? Right in the car. I used to laugh at fat people who ate donuts or McDonald's Extra Value meals in the front seat of their car in the parking lot. I'd point my finger and shame them like, "Just eat that shit at home! What, you're so fat you can't wait?" Now I know. It's not that they can't wait; it's that they can't bear the shame of being exposed as a weak-willed soul. Now, I'm one of them. I gobble up my donut like a zombie on The Walking Dead. I smash it into my face and let it get all over my lips and cheeks. It's a foul, shameful way to eat, but I can't help it.
Of course, people walk by and gawk at this Asian guy wearing a suit rubbing a donut all over his face. I try to turn my head, but my windows aren't tinted so the second I turn away from one onlooker, it's only to confront another. The worst is moms with their kids. The kids go, "Mommy, why is that man French kissing a donut?" The moms don't say a word. They just scowl at me and drag their kids as far away as possible.
Fortunately, I keep a bunch of napkins from Starbucks in my glove compartment for post-donut cleanup. I wipe my face as well as I can, lick the frosting from my fingers, and toss the wrapper in the backseat for disposal once I get home. When I get home, I surreptitiously throw away the donut wrapper in the trash outside. So far my wife hasn't noticed anything, but it's like some Tell Tale Heart shit where I can HEAR the donut wrapper crinkling in the middle of the night. I lie awake staring at the ceiling while the wrapper goes CRINKLE CRINKLE CRINKLE YOU'VE BEEN A NAUGHTY BOY. It's only a matter of time before I cave in and confess to my crimes.
Thank goodness it's only eating a donut and not killing anyone. You heard that, everyone? Don't ever take me with you to do your real crimes because I will squeal like a pig the first time I even THINK a police officer is going to ask me a question. Especially if they offer me a donut. read more