Dunkin’ Donuts, Shots, Old Drivers, Christian Dating
by John Worster
Picking up where we’ve left off with my good friend John Worster, former mixologist and Detroit-area working man, entrepreneur, and, lately, social critic. I always look forward to JW’s rapid-fire take on things absurd or out of sorts in our neck of the universe. The acronym ROFLMAO had to originate in his imagination. I hope one day he will write a book, because it will be therapeutic to be its editor. In this column John responds to my own bit of daily-grind observations about the famous Dunkin’ Donuts enterprise and its foibles.
Hey Brian. I just read your Dunkin Donuts article. Funny and true. I have ordered those small cups and noticed the third degree burn level. I figured there isn’t enough storage space so they keep the cups on the hottest part of the sun and then teleport them here when ordered. Such a waste of advanced technology but I digress.
You also mentioned the sandwiches in your article. There are days when I need some protein after a workout. Usually that is filled with a Panera bread egg white sandwich,(Good stuff) but I saw a commercial for a DD fried egg sandwich. Something looked off about the egg in the commercial and when in DD I didn’t see a place to cook eggs. I asked the counter girl if the eggs come in pre-cooked.
They do, she said they come pre-cooked in baggies. I don’t want to overreact but that is the most vile,disgusting thing I have ever heard or seen in my life (and I have seen Brad Pitt and Keanu Reeves act, so that’s saying a lot). When I worked at McDonalds almost 30 years ago even we made the eggs fresh and I shouldn’t have been allowed near anything hot at that age.
I even e-mailed the company to tell them my disgust, pleading with them to find a way to cook eggs in store. I wish I had saved the response. Two lines of “we appreciate feedback” and six paragraphs of lawyer-speak. I was pre-law in college and even I got bored. I figured it was just full of subliminal messages and mind control but I am probably reading too much into it… hmmm, I am kind of hungry though… fried egg sandwich.. hmmmmm… Maybe it is OK… Wait. What just happened? DAMN YOU FREUD. Thank god I didn’t complain to the people at Cohiba.
I also have to discuss something that I find strange. I am 43 years old and have been drinking for years. When are all of us drinkers going to band together and stop doing shots. It is never a good idea. I have never done shots and had something good happen. Three Jaeger’s does not have you wake up with an attractive brunette. It has you wake up in OCJ with a 63-year-old urine-soaked vagrant asking if he can have your fried egg sandwich. (Wow, they even cook the eggs at the jail.)
Haven’t we outgrown shots? Is this still the Old West? Tell you what, I will do shots if I can get a sarsaparilla as a chaser.
Who needs that much whiskey at once? At my last golf outing, someone decided at the turn we will all do a shot for a fallen friend. (Don’t see how my vomiting honors him, unless he found that funny.) Bourbon was what I was given and not a skimpy one-ounce glass. It was a rocks glass almost full to the rim. Since I have no backbone, I acquiesced and did the shot with everyone. It took three gulps to get it down and it didn’t stay down for long. The minute it hit my stomach I ran for the bathroom.
Apparently the bourbon had metamorphosed into a cat and also possessed the speed of said animal when it wants to get outside. The minute I got over the toilet it was just like opening the door at home and all I see is a vapor trail. (Does this mean the bourbon is trying to get out just to kill birds… another topic I guess.) Such an unpleasant experience and waste of bourbon.
Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day drinking coffee to get the taste out of my mouth—see DD coffee can be useful—and not getting off the tee once. Since we have no real choice for president I will now be a write-in candidate under the NMS (no more shots) party. I have the liver and stomach vote already locked up….now if I could only get the brain.
Two Parting Points
This part will have salty language and is for adults only.
I was out driving yesterday and got behind a car with a “veteran” license plate. I was thinking happy thoughts about that person. Great job doing what I would suck at, until I noticed which war. It said WWII. My mind immediately went from honor these gentlemen to… GET THE FUCK OFF THE ROAD… MY GOD MAN, DID YOU ENLIST WHEN YOU WERE 3? Even non-history majors (yes a double major for those actually reading this) know that WWII ended in 1945.
Here is a new idea. If you were finishing up military service when my mom was two, then it’s time to start bumming rides. I am not trying to disrespect my elders but come on… you all know you agree.
Lastly, Is it wrong for me to want to register at Christian mingle.com, where God will find my match, but take on the user name HARDCOCK12. I know, very crass, but still funny. Even funnier if I actually do it. Thanks for letting me rant from time to time. It saves money on therapy. Stupid Freud. Talk soon, friend.
Stay gold Ponyboy.
 Reference to an idealistic young man in the morality-play, Francis Ford Coppola movie set in the 60s, The Outsiders (1983), in which several big stars make their early appearances on screen: Tom Cruise, Matt Dillon, Patrick Swayze, Rob Lowe, Emilio Estevez, Ralph Macchio, Diane Lane, and C. Thomas Howell. Howell plays “Ponyboy,” the kid who struggles to do the right thing in the face of social pressure.
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