Near my house is a Dunkin' Donuts where I go when I want a thing they call a Coffee Coolatta. I love the Coffee Coolatta. It's slushy, coffee-ey, chocolaty and icy. It's like a Slurpee for grown-ups! It's a great drink in the summer, which is really the only time I ever want one. If it wasn't for the Coffee Coolatta, I'd never go to that Dunkin' Donuts. Ever. The donuts are almost never good and they rarely have the kinds I want. So I don't buy donuts or regular coffee or bagels or anything else they have there. Just the Coolatta.
Last weekend I needed a Coolatta fix so I pulled my car into the Dunkin' Donuts drive-through. This particular D.D. location is run by a guy who I figure is an owner/operator. He's Indian, as in from India, and has an accent that, when I was younger, I found endless humor in imitating. He does everything in his store. He makes the donuts, makes the coffee, runs the inside counter and mans the drive-through. To a casual observer, he seems to be a happy, successful, hard working immigrant business owner.
Until a guy like me enters his drive-through and orders a medium sized Coffee-Coolatta.
HIM (in a happy, hopeful voice): Weeelcom to de Dorkin' Donnit. How me I heelp you?
ME: One medium sized Coffee Coolatta, please.
HIM: Yes. end?
ME: That's all.
HIM: No donnit?
ME: No, that's all thanks.
I heard him sigh heavily into his microphone. He paused just long enough for me to begin to wonder if he was all right. Then I heard him mumble lowly through the speaker, "Necks weendow." He sounded completely deflated. As though I had rained on his parade, burst his bubble and then shot his dog. Here he was, this hard working little guy just trying to make ends meet and I didn't even buy one stupid "donnit" or whatever he called them. I started to feel bad that this guy was all depressed because of me, but what did he expect? What, one or two or even a few dozen donuts are really going to make a difference in his crummy life? Was he really spending his whole miserable existence at that drive through just waiting for someone to pull up and order, "One small coffee, a dozen donuts and, oh yeah, I'd like to buy the business from you!" I mean, of course had I known in advance how much it meant to him I might have bought one of his stale, nasty donuts. But how was I to know? All I wanted was a Coolatta!
Buy one Coolatta, get free guilt!
I pulled ahead to the next window. The D.D. guy just stared at me. Now, I know my drink is going to cost $3.98, but I'm accustomed to the people working in the drive-throughs I frequent to actually tell me how much money I'm supposed to give them. I rolled down my window, leaned out ever so slightly, opened my wallet and fixed my gaze on my money. So here we were. Anyone casually walking by and looking at us would have seen what seemed to be two confused idiots. Him staring at me. Me staring into my wallet.
I'm not one for uncomfortable situations, so I broke first. I turned to him and said, "How much?" He sighed again, heavier this time and cocked his head slightly to the side. Like a dog that had just heard a new noise he'd never experienced before.
HIM: three, ninetate.
I handed him four one-dollar bills. He took my money and continued to stare at me. Like I had done something wrong. Or handed him a fistful of Japanese Yen. He stared for a couple of seconds before he finally turned to the register, put the $4 in and removed two pennies. Then he turned to stare at me again. I put out my hand. I can never decide what to do in those situations where I get such a small amount of change. I don't feel right telling the guy to "keep it, pal" when it's only two cents! Then again, I felt pretty cruel to take the two cents from such an obviously depressed guy. I wasn't even going to let him have that tiny bit of pleasure! But I decided that letting him keep the two pennies was even more cruel than just taking it, so I held out my hand. After he had stared a few more seconds, his shoulders slumped, he turned his face down to the counter and handed me my change. I really felt bad, but I didn't have any more one-dollar bills and there was no way I was tipping him a ten when I didn't even buy a donnit!
Just before I pulled away from this Mecca of sadness I took one last look at the depressed immigrant donut guy, leaned out my window and said to him, "Thanks. Have a nice day!" That's right. I - the customer, was going out of my way to tell him - the drive-through guy, to have a nice day. I really felt bad for him. He was so happy and full of anticipation when I first spoke with him. If only I'd ordered a bagel! Maybe one stinkin' cruller! Now that I have had a chance to think about it, though, I'm beginning to think that the depressed donut guy may be some sort of customer service genius. I mean, he had ME thanking HIM for MY business!
Well, I'll tell ya, I have a newfound respect for that guy and the next time I go to Dunkin' Donuts, I'll ask him if he has any fresh boston creams. He'll tell me yes and he'll be lying, but I'd rather buy a stale boston cream donut in peace than go through that again.