You’re probably wondering how Dunkin’ Donuts warrants such special treatment to get a dedicated blog post. Well, you’re just about to find out…I know Dunkin’ Donuts has been around for years. Unfortunately I have to admit I classified them as a low budget, poor quality food chain that only earth’s downtrodden would venture into. Not sure where that perception came from. Suspect it must have come from way back when I was a kid and being handed one of their glazed donuts and being repulsed because it didn’t taste like my favorite chocolate old fashion that my mom use to pick up at the local bakery in Daly City, California. So forever in my mind they were that “nasty donut shop”. Moving to Orange County, California and drinking the kool-aid of the entitled, I felt that any and all things from the OC were far superior to anything else in the world, save German beer. So the thought of me ever wandering into a Dunkin’ Donuts shop was incomprehensible.
So how did I come to know and love Dunkin’ Donuts? Simple - pure necessity. I was on a business trip to Boston, which I believe is ground zero for Dunkin’ Donuts. I was desperate for coffee and there was no Starbucks or any other foo foo coffee shop in my vicinity. Keep in mind, me not having coffee first thing in the morning is like ignoring the alarms going off in a nuclear reactor. Mass destruction will ensue unless something is done, QUICK! The only option available to me at the time, with the exception of going insane, was to venture into that Dunkin’ Donuts on the street corner.
Being good at assimilation, I quickly fell in line with the rest of the Bostonians, avoiding eye contact while quickly scanning the menu blazoned above the counter. A cornucopia of colorful donuts were neatly stacked along the wall behind a server who would just as soon bitch slap me into next week as he would serve me coffee and donuts. Ok, the line is moving fast, folks are barking out their orders and exchanging money with a fury only seen by Wall Street stock traders. “All right, man, don’t screw this up! Be ready” I tell myself. My time comes and I stammer a bit but manage to mumble out “coffee and chocolate glazed donut, please”. “Cream n sugar?!” What!? A question? Shit, I wasn’t ready for that. “Ah buh, yeah, yes, please….” What the hell am I saying? They’re going to put cream and sugar in MY coffee!? NO ONE puts cream and sugar in my coffee except ME! Gee, pal, while you’re at it why don’t you give me a rectal exam, I mean as long as you’re going to violate my personal space! Of course I didn’t actually say that to him. My stupidity only goes so far.
Everything was a blur at that point. I barely recall handing over my money. Hell, I could’ve easily paid them $40 and I wouldn’t have known. Within seconds my order is on the counter and just like that I’m alone, forgotten, adrift in a daze as the voices of customers and servers garble together into words I barely understand. What has happened to me? I stand holding a tiny bag with my donut and a cup of coffee ready for consumption but not having my personal touch to ensure its perfection. I slowly make my way out to my car while people move in and out of the shop like ants. I sit down, placing the cup in the cup holder. I surrender myself to the fact this will be the worst coffee I ever had and proceed to “take it like a man”.
What happened next can only be described as liquid heaven. With the passion of a child, I suckled the sweet nectar of a thousand Columbian coffee beans that were especially grown and brewed just for me, with a mixture of cream and sugar that I could never replicate. This burly man behind the counter knew me better than I knew myself. All things were right and perfect in my world, if just for that singular moment. I knew right then and there I had found a home, a haven, a safe place where I could get coffee that would fill and sustain me throughout my journeys. I knew from then on, life would always be good.
“Hey, asshole! Move yer fuckin’ cah!!!” Ahhhhh, Boston!
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