It was a screen door summer day in a sleepy Midwestern town. July came on like a blowtorch, augmented by enough humidity to form a small lake. And on this one day, nothing would have been more refreshing than a root beer float from the local drive-in.
And that’s where Steve and his Schwinn were headed. However, not for the float. Steve needed a summer job and needed it badly. His allowance didn’t get him through the week and he was getting intense pressure from his folks to get a job.
Walking into the drive-in, the smell of freshly baked doughnuts enveloped him in a sugary haze. That’s when he remembered that doughnuts were the other claim to fame of this establishment. They made the kind of doughnuts that doughy dreams were made of. Local legend held that the owner had some incredible machine in the basement and this machine produced the perfect doughnut.
Before he knew it, Steve’s ship had come in. The owner needed a doughnut maker and needed one now. Within minutes, Steve was donning an apron and following the owner downstairs to become an official doughnut maker.
Orders were being yelled. “I need 6 maple glazed!” Seconds later, “Gimme’ a dozen chocolate and two strawberry!” The place was way behind in doughnut orders and the frazzled owner soon had to run off to a meeting. So Steve’s learning curve on this giant, bubbling, burbling stainless steel doughnut birthplace was scary short.
“Kid, you get your batter into this big vat. Then just pour it in, like now!”
“While it’s pouring, press these three buttons in this exact order, Green. Blue. Red.
Do ‘em out of order and you got problems.”
“Make sure the fat stays above this line.”
“Get the frostings outta’ that fridge before ‘dem donuts come floatin’ to you like an armada.”
“Go back to the buttons and hold…I mean HOLD the blue button for 5 seconds. Miss that step and…well, you don’t wanna’ know what could happen.”
“I gotta’ go.”
With that, the owner scampered up the stairs and was gone. Meanwhile, the vat with the batter continued pouring a prodigious batch of batter into the boiling fat and one immense doughnut was forming. It was never Steve’s intention to create the world’s largest doughnut. That one weighed 1.7 tons and measured 16 feet wide. But this one was quickly becoming a strong contender for second place.
In full panic mode, Steve looked around for something, anything, he could use to rescue this fast-growing doughnut. He spotted a shovel and somehow hoisted a doughnut the size of an airplane tire out of the fat. Rolling it across the floor, he spotted a canvas drop cloth and covered it.
As the orders continued to be shouted down from above, Steve spotted an exit door, hopped on his Schwinn and spent the rest of the summer at his grandma’s house in a nearby town.
Once she heard his story, she raised his allowance.
With his years of working as an advertising agency creative director in his rear view mirror, James now enjoys the freedom of a freelance writing career. He also enjoys the relaxed dress code.