I wish to use this public forum to apologize to my fellow bus riders. I’m sorry. I really stunk up the bus today.
Regular riders of TriMet are familiar with the usual smells. A lack of bathing or laundry, the after-effects of last night’s lasagna or enchiladas, a bag of Indian food or Mickey D’s, I probably don’t need to elaborate.
Well, I’m guilty of causing distress on the bus. And I’m not one damn bit sorry!
As I rode up Hawthorne, I spied with my red eye a Pepto-reminiscent stepvan near Jackpot Records, just west of the Bagdad Theater. I rang the bell and sprang into action. Within seconds I was drooling in front of the Voodoo Doughnuts van.
They didn’t have my favorite, the Memphis Mafia. In fact, things were picked over. (She mentioned Cap’n Crunch, my cereal killer alter-ego, but I wanted chocolate.) That’s when I noticed the hand-written sign in the window.
“Buckets available: $5.”
Oh HELL yeah!
For the uninitiated, Voodoo unloads their day-olds in five-gallon bucket servings. I haven’t counted, but a glance tells me there’s got to be 30-40 doughnuts in there. Since a Memphis Mafia costs about $4, I counted enough chocolate on the top layer to justify buying the whole bucket. Yeehaw!
Having hauled pizza home on the bus in the past, I braced to be taunted/begged/teased all the way home. The upside? I had more than enough doughnuts to feed the wolves until I could get into the house. Surprisingly, nobody said anything. I fully expected to hear “Check out the fat guy with the bucket full of donuts!” as I strolled up Hawthorne, but the lone commenter was the envious door greeter at Fred Meyer’s. I expected more comments as I took my five-gallon bucket of doughnuts into the men’s room. (Sorry, I’m not leaving it with customer service. Dude looked hungry…) After shedding a tear for Nixon, I grabbed some fresh tortillas and headed for checkout. Hungry-Dude smiled when I said, “One can never have enough carbs, apparently…”
The bus ride smelled great. I got a few funny looks. The cute young girl seated behind me looked over the seat into the bucket. I could see the longing in her eyes, but I know better than to offer sweets to underage girls on a public bus, so I pretended not to notice her sweet-tooth fangs protruding. Sorry, hon. See me when you’re eighteen.
If I weren’t the kid’s favorite uncle before, I am now. Teen nephew called his two hollow-legged buddies over. “Dude, you should see what my uncle brought home!” I figured I’d better pick and choose if I wanted dibs on anything, so I dug about halfway down and saw what I was looking for: A maple bar.
But wait! What’s this? Sweet Mary mother of god, look what they hid on the bottom! A half-dozen BACON-maple bars! I immediately issued one to sister and nephew, then scurried away with the rest. The sugar crash will be commencing shortly, I’d bet.
So, just because the top selection looks lame? Never fear. You never know what you’ll find at the bottom of a Voodoo bucket, but you can bet it’s worth a five dollar gamble…
{ 2 comments }
F’ing great. Thanks for posting this. Now what has been a great opportunity for Voodoo on the cheap will be picked over by all the rat bastards that read this site. Can’t you bloggers just keep it zipped?
Considering how long I’d known about the buckets before actually getting the opportunity to buy one, I’d say the rat bastards have been converging with a vengeance for a long time now.
My defense for posting about it? I refer to the title of the post…
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