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Krispy Kreme

Something reminded me of Krispy Kreme donuts earlier today (the closest of which is 135 miles away in Ft. Worth), and since I should be writing twenty pages about Paul's opponents in Galatia, I will tell of my first encounter with the KK phenomenon.

The first place I ever set foot into one of these aromatic bakeries was, oddly enough, Tuscaloosa, Alabama. I had gone there in August of 2001 to the National Campus Ministries Seminar at the University of Alabama (I had no idea at the time I would end up working there).

As ignorant as I was about the necessity of ordering the regular glazed variety off the assembly line, I, in my stupidity, asked for a cake donut out of the glass case. Of course, it was good, and I was eventually able to taste the glory of the glaze.

But my first experience was not all good. In fact, the more I think back on it, the more traumatic my memory becomes. My friends and I chose a seat that sat right next to the large window that overlooked the donut assembly line. I was impressed with this because we were right next to the "glaze waterfall" that all the donuts pass under on their way to the stomachs of overweight America. This was a fascinating process to watch and I realized that this was a huge part of the mystique of Krispy Kreme - freshly made right in front of you.

But then it happened. A single donut, riding in the shoulder lane of the donut highway, hit one of the uprights that supported the waterfall. It stuck in place while the others glided underneath. "Uh oh," I said. Everyone turned to look. The coming pileup was already in the making. Soon another pastry slammed full speed into the first disabled ring, jamming itself under the falling glaze. The carnage only continued from there, as other donuts had no other option but to ramp the second, third and fourth donuts, forming a golden dam that quickly disabled all traffic under the glaze bridge. By this time several of us pressed against the glass, staring in horror as the stream of pastricity innocently on their way to their cardboard homes were faced with sudden and certain death. Many chose suicide, hurling themselves over the side into the tiled abyss below. Some tried to desperately climb over the mass of doughy bodies to seek survival. It was all in vain. The carnage that lay before them, and the total helplessness on our part, created a tragedy of traumatic proportions. By the time it was all over, dozens of classic Krispy Kremes destined for certain glory and appreciation had met a horrific, premature end, never even realizing their calling as America's Favorite Donut. It was all so senseless. The horror. The horror.

I've had some professional counseling since then, but there are nights when I wake up in a cold sweat, the terrorizing vision of a donut screaming to his death, having not even seen his glaze yet, sweeping through my mind.

The only fitting thing I can think of is to honor their sacrifice by bringing a Krispy Kreme to Abilene.


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