Balance the Drawer

I paid $1.75 the other day for gas and happily idled for 20 minutes for an available pump. How sad is that? The year I got the keys, a quick look under the seats and floormats usually scrounged up enough money for a few gallons of gas. Gas was about .40/gal, a little less than the two Jack in the Box taco deal that was offered until midnight.

My first job, other than cleaning my grandmother's house on Saturday mornings and babysitting, was at the Donut Wheel. The cinderblock building sat all by itself in a field with a short gravel parking area on a busy street. People coming in had to hurry off the road and screech and slide to a halt. But they did because John made the best donuts in town, an assortment of cake and raised donuts for $1.50 a dozen.

The Donut Wheel was pretty banged up and had field mice in the back. A friend from school literally handed me her job by telling me to show up. I worked alongside a great friend, Carol, and earned $1.60 an hour which seemed like a deal at the time. The hours were 6-11:30 am on Sat/Sun, which left time for a social life and practice.

I became very fond of the regular customers and especially of the crusty, philosophical donut chef John who taught me how to balance the drawer. He'd show how to use the fryer, flipper and glazer when it was slow. On Sundays, Carol and I would ride home on our bikes, singing show tunes and balancing leftover boxes of donuts on the handlebars for my mother's office.

It's been almost 40 years since we sat together at the speckled formica counter talking about life and the real joy you get from working hard, no matter what you do. The kids today wouldn't look for work at someplace like the Donut Wheel. What a chance they'd miss by not seeing John flip 36 perfectly shaped donuts in three turns of the wrist. He was a man in balance, to be sure.