Donald's Donuts and Coffee...May I Help You?

The coffee maker whirs as Lane struggles to keep her eyes open. It was another sleepless night. Stupid neighbor’s dogs. Next time they bark at two in the morning, she’s getting her rifle and scope from the garage. She swore she’d never use it again, except in an emergency. But this certainly counted as one. This was the third night in a row that she’d not been able to sleep because of the incessant barking.

No one would have to know it was her. She could do it from her window.

None of that mattered now. Lane had to be to work in thirty minutes, and with the way she was feeling at the moment, she’d be lucky to dress herself.

 She’s heard of people using toothpicks to prop their eyelids open. She reaches for the box, but her hand hovers just over it. Her arm shoots backward, as if someone slapped it away. What was she thinking? If she doesn’t get a grip, she’s going to end up with pierced eyelids before the coffee is finished brewing.

Two cups of coffee and an energy drink later, Lane walks into work. She pauses at the cubical next to hers.

Randy.

He’s not there yet, but his pictures are. There’s one of him hiking through the alps. Another of him kayaking in Hawaii.  It’s almost better this way because Lane can stare without him getting creeped out. It didn’t hurt that Randy wasn’t wearing a shirt in any of his pictures. He looked far better that way than in his business casual attire. Abs like that weren’t meant to be covered up.

The elevator chimes and Lane glances over her shoulder. Randy walks out of the elevator with three of their co-workers. He seems far too interested in a new employee. A blonde who apparently was a triathlete champion and had also hiked the alps.

Maybe Lane should buy some tennis shoes and take up jogging. She doubted she’d make it half-way down the street. Maybe speed-walking then. It was an Olympic event, or at least it had been at one time, so it had to count for something.

Lane moved on from Randy’s cubical and slid into her own. She picked up her headset and clocked in right at eight.

“Thank you for calling Donald’s Donuts customer service. How can I help you?”

This particular woman was complaining that her donut’s icing had melted off by the time she arrived home and had left a chocolatey mess all over her front seat—as opposed to the woman last week who had also had icing melt off and leave a mess, but this time on her rear seat.

Lane was pretty sure they were the same person, and she wanted to point out that it was August, so yes, things did tend to melt. Maybe the woman should try turning on the air conditioning for the ride home. It could help.

But she couldn’t say any of those things. Instead, she followed protocol and promised the woman a gift card would be arriving in the mail shortly. Oh, and sorry for the trouble.

After three calls about coffee that had been too hot and one about an employee who had apparently not worn deodorant that day, Lane signed off for a break.

It technically wasn’t time yet, but the bladder waited for no one, and hers was the size of a lima bean.

When coming out of the bathroom, Lane paused. Two women—one of them being the new blonde—were talking in hushed tones between their cubicles, which could only mean that something interesting was happening.

Lane bent down and held her ankle, like it hurt, then leaned in closer to see if she could hear anything juicy.

“Were you able to put in a good word for me?” the blonde asked.

“Of course. You know I have your back,” the other woman said.

Were they trying to help each other with promotions? Was there some underhanded scheme to get in good with the boss?

Lane scooted closer to the cubicle as the women’s voices dropped further.

“Don’t tell anyone, but you’ve been placed at the top of the list. Number three, I think—didn’t want it to look too suspicious.”

The blonde sounded relieved as she heaved a long sigh. “I don’t know what I would have done without you. What was I going to do? I can’t bring a three-year-old here. He’d wreck the place.”

Wait…what were they talking about?

“I know, it’s ridiculous,” the other woman said. “Every daycare in the city has a year long waiting list. And this one is the best, so it’s more like, get your kid on the list the second you know you’re pregnant.”

All that conspiratorial talk was because of daycare?

At first Lane was disappointed. But then she realized, the blonde having a kid was good news. Lane doubted that Randy would want to be weighed down by a kid while he was backpacking through the Amazon rainforest.

Lane straightened up, then rotated her ankle, just in case anyone had been watching.

Just as Lane was about to return to her cubicle, Randy waltzed right past her and into the blonde’s cubicle.

“We still good for hiking this Saturday?” he asked. “I borrowed a hiking backpack from a buddy of mine, so bringing your son is no problem.”

Wait, Randy knew about the kid?

Lane’s shoulders slumped as she walked away.

Today sucked.

The rest of the day didn’t get much better, though there had been one customer who called to tell Lane what a lovely person she was and how much she loved Donald’s donuts and coffee.

Lane made sure to send five gift cards her way. And a gift basket.

That night, after a dinner of leftover spaghetti and stale garlic bread, Lane crawled under her covers, grateful that she was one day closer to the weekend.

That was when the dogs started barking.

It wasn’t two in the morning this time. It was only eleven.

It didn’t matter.

Lane went out and grabbed her rifle.