The Doughnut Incident

So it’s Friday morning and you’re standing in line at the little sundry shop in your office building.

It’s your turn, but you’re not quite ready to check out for whatever reason so you let the guy behind you go ahead.

Quite unexpectedly, the shopkeeper plucks the last doughnut from the tray – the very doughnut you planned on purchasing – and places it in a bag for the guy you just let go ahead of you.

What do you do?

1) Assume this is God’s little way of telling you that your ass is getting Quite Large and that you should have a banana instead, or
2) Freak Out and start screaming at the top of your lungs at the shopkeeper and the Alleged Doughnut Thief.

If you’re a relatively rational human being, you choose #1. On the other hand, if you’re an Angry Stupid Fat Woman, you choose #2.

This story is true. It happened Friday, was relayed to me by my co-worker (the Alleged Doughnut Thief) and corroborated by the shopkeeper.

It made me think of 9/11. Remember?

After 9/11, all of us with our flags posted proudly in our cars, all of us United Against the Bad Guys, all of US with a capital U and a capital S, were just a little bit nicer to each other for a while.

9/11 made us think twice about cursing the person who cut us off in traffic. It made us more patient with the person ahead of us scrambling for the correct change in the checkout line.

And we certainly wouldn’t scream over the loss of a doughnut, right?
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On the other hand, here’s this:

He’s leaving me. 18 years. Three kids. And I put his lazy ass through grad school. Now he’s leaving me for that skinny-bitch-whore-homewrecker. I won’t cry. Not today. I won’t cry. But it’s pretty bad when the best thing that’s gonna happen to me today is that doughnut sitting right there, on the tray.

It’s pretty bad.