We just started selling hash browns over at Timmies. They taste like heaven, but they are kind of small - about three-quarters of the size of what McDonalds has.
Well, around 5:30 a.m. one of our regulars pulls-up and notices the hash brown addition to the old order board.
"Hash browns, huh? Well, by golly, I think I'll have one."
"Sounds like a plan, a good one," I say.
My fingers scramble around the cash register like a cat after a mouse. I find the button, tell the regular to pull up, and type the whole order in.
I hand over the goods, give a fake smile and the regular pulls off toward the icy, snowy roads. But wait. That's not the end of the story.
About 10 minutes later the regular is back in the lobby. He doesn't look happy. His face is all scrunched up like an old catcher's mitt. This particular regular has had problems before. He's kind of a douche-bag.
"I didn't get my hash brown. Where's my hash brown?"
Buddha Baker rushes over to him. She inspects his bag. Low and behold, it's in the bag, at the bottom; but of course, it wasn't the regular's fault for not seeing it. It's our fault.
"Looking there," he says. "I thought it would be thicker."
"That's what she said," I say without missing a beat. Buddha Baker starts cracking up. One of other girls tells me to stop it.
I'm not sure if the regular heard me, but I kind of hope he did because big-baby complainers deserve a bit of lip if you ask me - Doctor Donut.