I run on Dunkin. Since I've lived in the city, I've made it a point to visit the same Dunkin Donut several times a week. They say its a franchise, but I like to think the little shop on Western Avenue is unique. A donut boutique. A one stop shop for all caffeinated needs. The small, but energetic Indian family who own and operate, brews great coffee with precision and their ice cream cones are always shaped without flaws (same space also houses a Baskin Robbins in which im currently having a feud with the girl who scoops the mint chocolate chip. still, my opinion does not diminish her ability to scoop perfectly round balls of ice cream).
Good morning, what would you like?
Hello. Medium coffee, cream and two scoops.
(if you just say sugar, they will automatically give you 3 tablespoons. no thank you, im sweet enough as it it.)
Anything else?
Nope, just coffee (I do think it over though. Contemplating. Apple fritter. French Crueler.)
That's $1.67.
Here you go, have a good one.
You too. NEXT!?
Its entirely too formal. Everyday I walk in thinking they will remember me, this will be the day they will recite my order as I approach the counter or gasp. gasp. have it ready for me when I walk through the advertisement laden windows. they see the same boy, with the same face, the same hair, the same black coat, the same scarf, the same height, the weight fluctuates, but still. Come on. why not. never, not once.
I'm working on one girl though. She's there most AM shifts. She still employs the great costumer service traits as the small energetic Indian family, but has shown me a little extra. She smiles and has an attitude, but it's the 'yeah, im being a bitch, but just to be funny' kind of attitude.
One day I could have sworn she said, 'here comes a two scoop,' as I approached the counter. I think I misheard. I'll keep you updated. I need some compassion in my life. Please, black girl with the nice braids, remember me.
DUNKIN GO'NUTS YO. I GO NUTS FOR DUNKIN DO'NUTS.
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