Doughnuts have been used as a coping mechanism probably as
long as they have been in existence. I,
too, use doughnuts as a coping mechanism when faced with situations which
threaten to undo me, to dissolve my usually calm demeanor into a puddle of
tears whether from sadness or joy, from feeling overwhelmed or even just
sentimental. However, my use of
doughnuts is quite unconventional. Here
is how it all began…
In early 1997, my husband, Barry, and I bought a convenience
store. It was situated way out in the
county and owned by an elderly couple who wished to retire. The premises were as careworn as the owners
and in desperate need of updating. The asking
price was a bargain even with the need for new gas pumps, a canopy over the
pumps, a renovation of the front of the building and a fresh coat of paint on
walls and concrete floor. A company was
contracted to replace the gas pumps and install the canopy. Family, friends and newly hired employees did
the grunt work of refurbishing and painting.
Barry’s connections to the local restaurant community through his
HVAC/refrigeration company guaranteed access to good used equipment which he
would install himself. A three year
stint as a deli manager while in his 20’s gave him the know-how to stock and manage
the sub and sandwich part of the store. Add
the groceries, the VHS movie rentals and an ATM machine and we were set. Oh yes, don’t forget the doughnuts—a whole
case full every morning, Monday through Saturday.
We stocked a very good doughnut product that came in pre-fried
and frozen. The doughnut “maker” would
arrive between 4:15 and 4:30am to be ready for the 5am store open. Saturday
opening was an hour later and we were closed on Sundays. Specific numbers of doughnuts would have been
taken from the walk in freezer and placed on trays in the walk in cooler the
night before. The first order of
business in the morning was to fire up the commercial convection oven and ready
the work space. Oven mitts, cooling
racks, powdered sugar, cinnamon sugar, glaze, white icing, chocolate icing,
white filling, crème filling, raspberry filling and so on. The easiest and first to be done were the
rings and twists. They were either
dipped in cinnamon sugar while hot or glazed or iced when cool. The filled doughnut shells were cooled, then
filled and then glazed or iced. Each day
had its list of how many of each type were to be made. Usually the store opened before all the
doughnuts were finished, so waiting on customers was added to the list of
duties.
When all was complete and the doughnuts were arranged on
their trays in the glass case, the clean up began. The unused glaze, icings, fillings and the sugars
had to be put back in their respective buckets and lugged back into the walk in
cooler. The donut filler machine had to
be dismantled and cleaned. The bowls and
utensils had to be washed and stored.
The counters had to be washed, the sink cleaned and the floor mopped. At this point it would be between 8 and 9am depending on the quantity of doughnuts
made.
When the Mennonite woman we had hired moved away, my dad
took over the doughnut shift and loved every minute of the process. First, he was a morning person. 4:15am
arrival? No problem. Secondly, he was very methodical and liked
being able to determine his own routine and way of doing things. He was also a people person who enjoyed
interacting with the customers and even forming friendships with the regulars.
Unfortunately, even the best employee for the job has days
of sickness or vacation. And I was the fill-in. My dad did have some sick days, colds and
what not. Then he had hammer toe surgery
which meant about six weeks of doughnut duty
Ugh! I am not a morning
person. I do not want to even begin to
think about getting up at an hour that to me is still the middle of the
night. But duty called. Working backward from 5am when the store
opened, I figured out the shortest possible time to have the fewest acceptable
number of doughnuts in the case when the store opened and discovered that if I
arrived at 4:45am and didn’t dilly-dally, I could have all the rings and twists
in the case and be within minutes of having one of the filled varieties
available, usually something that involved chocolate. Working backward from that, I subtracted the
ten minute drive and the time it took me to get dressed, brush my hair and
teeth and put a light layer of mascara on my too light eyelashes. I found that if I laid my clothes out the
night before, I could set my alarm for 4:25am
and make everything work. The big
problem? I hated pretty much the whole
ordeal. Handing doughnuts to the
customers was nice, but I was otherwise on auto-pilot, wishing I was back in
bed.
We sold the store in 2005, so specter of doughnut duty is no
longer part of my life. However, to this
day, while most people have pleasant, sugary thoughts about doughnuts, mine are
not. I can enjoy eating one, and have
even made some for Fastnacht’s Day, but when I am not partaking, the thought of
doughnuts is one of misery. I have found
over the years since that the thought of those early morning times is enough of
a hard reality to break whatever mental cycle I am in. Don’t want people to see me cry at a
wedding? I just say “Doughnuts,
doughnuts, doughnuts” in my head over and over and can enjoy the ceremony dry-eyed.
Upset at something someone said to
me? The same—“Doughnuts, doughnuts,
doughnuts”. A sad scene in a movie? More of the same. Too much on my plate and/or dropping the
ball? A doughnut memory is all it takes
to get me back on track. Something scary
in the news? Doughnut memories keep my
thoughts from running amok. Sound
cynical? Perhaps. But for this HSP (highly sensitive person),
it works.
