Into this popular brand donut house I stroll and take a look at the merchandise. I channel a Little Larry David and start to ask the sort of mind numbing questions that drive minimum wage slaves to drink.
What’s Kreme? I demand to know. Is it some sort of demented oil sugar mixture or rather real cream but warped in name only.
‘which ones are most popular??” my humble attendant ponders, looking startled. Completely missing even a vague idea of what I was inquiring about. err sorry, she hazards.
I point at the donut, she can't see, What's creme with a K?
Woken from her stupor with my inane line of questioning, she came around the front to see what I was blowing on about. Kreme with a K? what are they playing at. She didn’t seem to know. Real cream mixture. Could be any poison really. So I order my poison packet of non-cream, Kreme injected deep fried bread. Reaching into the back of the tray she pulls the ugliest specimen and squeezes it hard enough with the tongs to leave a mark.
Guess I left an impression on her too.
