Story #341
R. Linda:
When I got to work this morning, I told me office mates about me stop at Dunkin' Donuts to bring them coffee and how my wishing the Dunk's staff a merry Christmas, wasn't taken in the spirit I gave it. All day long, it was the talk of the office, and we all had a good laugh.
Another reporter and I were assigned a story in Chelsea, so off we went. We parked the car at a parking garage and walked the rest of the way to our interview. We had been working together on investigating a story and fancied ourselves like Woodward and Bernstein, but I bet neither of those fellas got to freezing their arses off like we did in the streets of Boston. It was windy like you would not believe, though the temperature said it was much warmer than it felt.
Well, we did our investigations and interviews and started back to the parking garage this time facing into the wind, which was howling like a banshee. We were frozen blocks of ice when we got to the car. As we pulled out of the parking garage, I asked Mark, "This thing got heat?" I was cold and was joking, but he looked a bit taken aback and muttered something about the heater being broken. I was like NO WAY, why didn't we take MY car then?
Let me say this about Mark: I don't particularly like him. He is a practical joker for the most part and takes very little in life seriously. You may say that's not such a bad thing, but read on and here is Mark taking life not at all seriously, and jeopardising some innocent people by making them the butt of his joke.
We were cold, and we knew an office party was nearby. We had enough time to make the copy editors' Christmas party, so we decided to crash the party since we knew they were at a pub with alcohol and food. The copy staff was already happy, making our gatecrashing appearance a great joy. They hauled us up to the bar and told us to order as they snickered and laughed at each other, and then to come over to enjoy the "spread." And it was quite a spread, they had everything good to eat you could think of. Mark wondered aloud why the copy people had better food than we did. Our office parties were always sparse on anything good; if there was anything worth munching, it was gone in half a minute. Well, we warmed ourselves plenty, filled up on hot hors d'oeuvres and lots and lots of drinks. It was free after all!
By the time we left, we knew we needed to sober up. As we hit the outside, the wind about carried us off, and all the warmth we had stored up seemed to be depleting rapidly with the wind. We got into the car and talked of driving very carefully to Dunkin' Donuts for a twofold purpose: 1. to warm back up with hot coffee and 2. to sober up. It was just down the street, and we sat in the car arguing about driving while under the influence. Finally, copy editor Dan came out, and we called him over and asked him where he was going. He said, "Home," looking at us like we were a couple of morons. We asked him if he lived by Dunks, and he said he was one block beyond it. We opened the door and told him to get in and drive us to Dunks. He obliged. I don't know what the conversation was on the way to Dunks, but I think it was at his good-humoured expense, him being sober. I'll know for sure when I have him send me back me copy, as it's got a giant X on it.
So he left us at Dunks. Mark shifted back over to the driver's side (yes, we were all three in the front seat like sardines because it was freaking cold). He pulled up to the speaker, and the usual welcome and request for what we wanted came in with the wind.
"I want a HOT coffee with cream only and one Splenda."
"One hot coffee with cream only and one Splenda, anything else?" the voice asked.
"Yes, a HOT coffee with cream only."
"Okay, that's one hot coffee with cream only and one Splenda and another with cream only."
"Yesh."
"Anything else?"
"Yesh. Two gingerbread doughnuts if you have 'em an' a coffee roll heated with butter."
"Is that all?"
"Nooo. A turkey bacon and cheddar flatbread, an' a bagel as is, if you have it."
The voice came back sounding harassed, almost like it was in a hurry. It repeated everything back to us and asked us if that was it.
"Nooo, could I get a hot chocolate with whipped cream? And THAT will do it."
So once again, in a hurried manner, all was read back with a final exasperation, "Is that it?" which was said hopefully that it was, and Mark gave the affirmative, and we were told to drive on up. We did. As we were waiting there, the girl told the other workers what we ordered and acted like she couldn't believe how much "stuff" we had her doing. Mind you, there was no one behind us in line; we were the only customers. She gets our order all ready, takes the card with coupon, and when she sees the coupon, it's like OH NO, not a coupon too! So she's slamming the cash machine, and we are trying to act like we are unaware of all this happening. We get the food, pull into a parking space, and begin to warm up with the coffees and hot food, munch on the sweets, and find we are discussing the girl at the window. How rude was she? How about we order again? We laugh, and Mark pulls out of the space, and we drop the empty cups and bags into the Dunk's trash and pull on around to the speaker.
There was hesitation, as we could see her looking out the pick-up window, all confused. Finally, we got the welcome and the question, what would we like? We start over again, only this time, "A dozen munchkins, no, make that three, and do you have those vanilla creme-filled doughnuts with the cream oozing out the top?"
"All out."
"Okay, do you have the chocolate cream-filled ones with the cream oozing out the top?"
"Let me check." Comes back with, "Yes, we have one."
"Oh, well, I need two, so do you have the jelly sticks and the strawberry frosted doughnuts?"
"Let me check." She comes back with a strange tone in her voice, like she's getting mad at us. "One jelly stick left, and how many strawberry doughnuts do you want?"
Ooh, turned the tables on us with that last question.
"Forget the jelly stick, give me six strawberry doughnuts, and do you have any Boston creme?"
Now she's wise to us, "How many Boston creme?"
"Six if you have them."
"I do. So that's six strawberry doughnuts, six Boston creme doughnuts and three dozen assorted munchkins, anything else?" She says with impatience.
"Did I say assorted munchkins?" Mark asks.
There was silence. She was fuming, and I'm trying not to laugh.
"Okay, that sounds good; that should do it." Mark said it was just fine and dandy with him.
"Drive up." No amount, no is that it, just drive up.
We did, and we paid her with no coupons this time. She looked at us like we were the dregs of society. So we pulled into a parking spot and sat there getting a sugar high when we realised we had nothing to wash the sugar down with, so it was back to the speaker.
"WHAT?" she says, and we look at each other, trying not to laugh. It was funny.
"Uh, can I have. . ." and Mark sat there squinting his eyes, thinking.
"Yes? Can you have WHAT? What did you forget?"
"Coffee, cream only," he began, but then he was interrupted by, "Yeah, I got it: one hot coffee, cream only, and one Splenda, one hot coffee, cream only."
We were smiling at this, so we drove up without her telling us to, and she slid the window open and leaned out, hissing. "Do you two think this is fun, driving up and ordering, then driving up again and ordering? Don't you have something or somewhere you should be?"
She handed us the coffee. Mark went to give her the card with another coupon. She looked at it and shook her head, "On me. See ya, not later, not tomorrow, not next Tuesday . . ." Her head was shaking like she had a palsy, so irked was she. We decided we had had our fun and were sobering up enough to realise we were being the customers from hell, and so we drove off with our free coffees and unused coupons.
Mark said he was going to stop at Starbucks if I didn't mind. I didn't, but I wondered why. Unlike Dunks, he ordered a white chocolate mocha venti without any more conversation, but what he wanted and a thank you when he paid for it. Then he turned the car around and started back to Dunks. I was like, "What are you doing?" He pulled in and up to the speaker, and I was now afraid for me life.
"Are you crazy?" I whispered as the voice came over the system, stiltedly and asked to take our order.
"No, I forgot something, can I just drive up?"
"Drive up," she said, and I could see her looking at her station to see what she had forgotten to give us. "Sir, I gave you your orders, all of them. There is nothing here," she said, annoyed as she slid the window open.
"No, that's not why I am here. Here, this is for you for putting up with us," he says, handing her the Starbucks. Her eyes bug out of her head, and she looks to see where her co-workers are because the last thing a Dunk's employee wants to be caught with is a Starbucks coffee.
"Oh . . . I can't possibly," she stammers, looking scared.
"Here, I'll leave it right here." And he drives off, and as soon as the window is up, he starts singing Christmas carols. She didn't know if he was being nice or trying to get her fired. I don't know either, but it wasn't a nice gesture, but I'm not sure. I was all the way back to our office, wondering if I dreamed the whole thing, and worse, wondering WHO DOES THAT? Well, we did, and I was riding shotgun and feeling very guilty now that I be sober. I have made a New Year's resolution to never go to that Dunks again (for fear of me life) AND never to tie on a few with Mark. EVER.
Gabe
Copyright © 2010 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
When I got to work this morning, I told me office mates about me stop at Dunkin' Donuts to bring them coffee and how my wishing the Dunk's staff a merry Christmas, wasn't taken in the spirit I gave it. All day long, it was the talk of the office, and we all had a good laugh.
Another reporter and I were assigned a story in Chelsea, so off we went. We parked the car at a parking garage and walked the rest of the way to our interview. We had been working together on investigating a story and fancied ourselves like Woodward and Bernstein, but I bet neither of those fellas got to freezing their arses off like we did in the streets of Boston. It was windy like you would not believe, though the temperature said it was much warmer than it felt.
Well, we did our investigations and interviews and started back to the parking garage this time facing into the wind, which was howling like a banshee. We were frozen blocks of ice when we got to the car. As we pulled out of the parking garage, I asked Mark, "This thing got heat?" I was cold and was joking, but he looked a bit taken aback and muttered something about the heater being broken. I was like NO WAY, why didn't we take MY car then?
Let me say this about Mark: I don't particularly like him. He is a practical joker for the most part and takes very little in life seriously. You may say that's not such a bad thing, but read on and here is Mark taking life not at all seriously, and jeopardising some innocent people by making them the butt of his joke.
We were cold, and we knew an office party was nearby. We had enough time to make the copy editors' Christmas party, so we decided to crash the party since we knew they were at a pub with alcohol and food. The copy staff was already happy, making our gatecrashing appearance a great joy. They hauled us up to the bar and told us to order as they snickered and laughed at each other, and then to come over to enjoy the "spread." And it was quite a spread, they had everything good to eat you could think of. Mark wondered aloud why the copy people had better food than we did. Our office parties were always sparse on anything good; if there was anything worth munching, it was gone in half a minute. Well, we warmed ourselves plenty, filled up on hot hors d'oeuvres and lots and lots of drinks. It was free after all!
By the time we left, we knew we needed to sober up. As we hit the outside, the wind about carried us off, and all the warmth we had stored up seemed to be depleting rapidly with the wind. We got into the car and talked of driving very carefully to Dunkin' Donuts for a twofold purpose: 1. to warm back up with hot coffee and 2. to sober up. It was just down the street, and we sat in the car arguing about driving while under the influence. Finally, copy editor Dan came out, and we called him over and asked him where he was going. He said, "Home," looking at us like we were a couple of morons. We asked him if he lived by Dunks, and he said he was one block beyond it. We opened the door and told him to get in and drive us to Dunks. He obliged. I don't know what the conversation was on the way to Dunks, but I think it was at his good-humoured expense, him being sober. I'll know for sure when I have him send me back me copy, as it's got a giant X on it.
So he left us at Dunks. Mark shifted back over to the driver's side (yes, we were all three in the front seat like sardines because it was freaking cold). He pulled up to the speaker, and the usual welcome and request for what we wanted came in with the wind.
"I want a HOT coffee with cream only and one Splenda."
"One hot coffee with cream only and one Splenda, anything else?" the voice asked.
"Yes, a HOT coffee with cream only."
"Okay, that's one hot coffee with cream only and one Splenda and another with cream only."
"Yesh."
"Anything else?"
"Yesh. Two gingerbread doughnuts if you have 'em an' a coffee roll heated with butter."
"Is that all?"
"Nooo. A turkey bacon and cheddar flatbread, an' a bagel as is, if you have it."
The voice came back sounding harassed, almost like it was in a hurry. It repeated everything back to us and asked us if that was it.
"Nooo, could I get a hot chocolate with whipped cream? And THAT will do it."
So once again, in a hurried manner, all was read back with a final exasperation, "Is that it?" which was said hopefully that it was, and Mark gave the affirmative, and we were told to drive on up. We did. As we were waiting there, the girl told the other workers what we ordered and acted like she couldn't believe how much "stuff" we had her doing. Mind you, there was no one behind us in line; we were the only customers. She gets our order all ready, takes the card with coupon, and when she sees the coupon, it's like OH NO, not a coupon too! So she's slamming the cash machine, and we are trying to act like we are unaware of all this happening. We get the food, pull into a parking space, and begin to warm up with the coffees and hot food, munch on the sweets, and find we are discussing the girl at the window. How rude was she? How about we order again? We laugh, and Mark pulls out of the space, and we drop the empty cups and bags into the Dunk's trash and pull on around to the speaker.
There was hesitation, as we could see her looking out the pick-up window, all confused. Finally, we got the welcome and the question, what would we like? We start over again, only this time, "A dozen munchkins, no, make that three, and do you have those vanilla creme-filled doughnuts with the cream oozing out the top?"
"All out."
"Okay, do you have the chocolate cream-filled ones with the cream oozing out the top?"
"Let me check." Comes back with, "Yes, we have one."
"Oh, well, I need two, so do you have the jelly sticks and the strawberry frosted doughnuts?"
"Let me check." She comes back with a strange tone in her voice, like she's getting mad at us. "One jelly stick left, and how many strawberry doughnuts do you want?"
Ooh, turned the tables on us with that last question.
"Forget the jelly stick, give me six strawberry doughnuts, and do you have any Boston creme?"
Now she's wise to us, "How many Boston creme?"
"Six if you have them."
"I do. So that's six strawberry doughnuts, six Boston creme doughnuts and three dozen assorted munchkins, anything else?" She says with impatience.
"Did I say assorted munchkins?" Mark asks.
There was silence. She was fuming, and I'm trying not to laugh.
"Okay, that sounds good; that should do it." Mark said it was just fine and dandy with him.
"Drive up." No amount, no is that it, just drive up.
We did, and we paid her with no coupons this time. She looked at us like we were the dregs of society. So we pulled into a parking spot and sat there getting a sugar high when we realised we had nothing to wash the sugar down with, so it was back to the speaker.
"WHAT?" she says, and we look at each other, trying not to laugh. It was funny.
"Uh, can I have. . ." and Mark sat there squinting his eyes, thinking.
"Yes? Can you have WHAT? What did you forget?"
"Coffee, cream only," he began, but then he was interrupted by, "Yeah, I got it: one hot coffee, cream only, and one Splenda, one hot coffee, cream only."
We were smiling at this, so we drove up without her telling us to, and she slid the window open and leaned out, hissing. "Do you two think this is fun, driving up and ordering, then driving up again and ordering? Don't you have something or somewhere you should be?"
She handed us the coffee. Mark went to give her the card with another coupon. She looked at it and shook her head, "On me. See ya, not later, not tomorrow, not next Tuesday . . ." Her head was shaking like she had a palsy, so irked was she. We decided we had had our fun and were sobering up enough to realise we were being the customers from hell, and so we drove off with our free coffees and unused coupons.
Mark said he was going to stop at Starbucks if I didn't mind. I didn't, but I wondered why. Unlike Dunks, he ordered a white chocolate mocha venti without any more conversation, but what he wanted and a thank you when he paid for it. Then he turned the car around and started back to Dunks. I was like, "What are you doing?" He pulled in and up to the speaker, and I was now afraid for me life.
"Are you crazy?" I whispered as the voice came over the system, stiltedly and asked to take our order.
"No, I forgot something, can I just drive up?"
"Drive up," she said, and I could see her looking at her station to see what she had forgotten to give us. "Sir, I gave you your orders, all of them. There is nothing here," she said, annoyed as she slid the window open.
"No, that's not why I am here. Here, this is for you for putting up with us," he says, handing her the Starbucks. Her eyes bug out of her head, and she looks to see where her co-workers are because the last thing a Dunk's employee wants to be caught with is a Starbucks coffee.
"Oh . . . I can't possibly," she stammers, looking scared.
"Here, I'll leave it right here." And he drives off, and as soon as the window is up, he starts singing Christmas carols. She didn't know if he was being nice or trying to get her fired. I don't know either, but it wasn't a nice gesture, but I'm not sure. I was all the way back to our office, wondering if I dreamed the whole thing, and worse, wondering WHO DOES THAT? Well, we did, and I was riding shotgun and feeling very guilty now that I be sober. I have made a New Year's resolution to never go to that Dunks again (for fear of me life) AND never to tie on a few with Mark. EVER.
Gabe
Copyright © 2010 All rights reserved
