Origins... Adventures in Doughnutland

The idea of actually understanding the English language may be lost on some. I understand that if your first language isn't English or if you have immigrated from somewhere else then it's fully understandable not to get what I'm saying. But if you're a white girl from the 'burbs then it's a fucking problem. Add on top of that your math skills --and when I mean math skills. I'm talking simple math-- suck, well maybe, you shouldn't be the one allowed to take the orders.

"I'm sorry, I wanted a dozen doughnuts," I said to the plump girl that looked like she'd rather be anywhere on a Sunday morning than standing behind the counter of Dukin' Donuts.

"And that's what I gave you."

"Um, no. You're missing one. See..." I pointed to each one as I counted. "There's only eleven."

She looked at me like I just asked her to stuff a cat up her ass. "And that's a dozen."

Wanting to be nice and not call her a fucking dumbass, I smiled, chuckled, then said --nicely, "Um, sorry. A dozen is twelve."

"No. It's eleven."

"Really? You can't be serious?"

"Serious as a heart attack." --yes, she actually said that. "Now stop trying to get something for free."

"Free? Sweetheart, I'm just trying to get what I paid for. That being a dozen doughnuts. And a dozen is twelve."

"No. It's not."

"Yes, it is."

Talking to her was starting to feel like talking to a two year-old. I looked behind me for moral support only find that I was still the only fool to make the trek in-doors instead of the drive-thru. Figuring it would be faster since that's where the line was (telling me that possibly they knew better... maybe? probably not) and that when I usually have had problems in the past with fast food joints the drive-thru was criminal number 1.

I sighed then tried to figure out how to explain simple math to her. It would of just been easier to call her a fucking idiot and leave, head down to the next D&D --like cockroaches you could find them everywhere and in fact there was one less than five minutes from where I now stood. But she would see that as winning and being right. And I just could stand for that.

"Listen, Sweetheart--"

"STOP calling me that! You don't know me--"

"Fine. Fucktard --there, is that better?--  a dozen is twelve. Not eleven. If you would've possibly gotten past the second grade would know that."

"I think it's time for you to leave."

At this point the Indian manager (owner?) interjected himself. "Wat seem be the problem here."

"I was just telling this rude man to leave."

"I was just trying to get a full dozen so I can."

The manager/owner looked at the open box turned, grabbed two doughnuts from the rack behind. "I'm sorry, sir. Please take an extra doughnut for your trouble."