Six of One . . .

This morning I was driving into town for work about a half hour early and decided to stop off at Mr. Donut to pick up breakfast for the branch.

It all sounds so easy, doesn't it?

No surprise, it ended up being a huge pain. It was so smoky inside Mr. Donut that after about five minutes I smelled like I'd spent the previous evening in a night club and then slept in my clothes. It was disgusting. Then I made the mistake of asking for a "dozen" donuts. I don't know how they group donuts here (a co-worker pointed out that it's probably a "set-o" which I bet is correct) but it's ain't by the dozen. So we spent a few minutes giggling over the word "dozen" and then blushing because we didn't know what that was. (Well, we didn't all do that, but some of us did.) Then I came up with the word "twelve" in Japanese and we still didn't know what to do, but we thought it was pretty funny how I pronounced the word. So then I said "twelve donuts" and after a few minutes of contemplating that, we started making progress. Until one of the ten girls behind the counter tried to fit the donuts into the carry out box. There was a lot of rearranging going on because the donuts didn't look nice in the box. So she put them all in the box in a row, and then took them all out. And then put them all in the box sideways, and then took them all out. She finally settled on kind of a mix of sideways and stacked. God, I was about to lose my mind by that point.

I ended up being late for work and paying $16.50 for a dozen donuts.