(No) Dollars to (No) Donuts

No donuts!

And a mouthful of gab from a customer.

Such begins my morning in Kingman, Arizona.

Every small town needs one, has one or has a substitute/stand-in: a donut store.

Donut Depot, this one’s called, is a family-owned business that’s changed hands twice and has been in its current location on Stockton Hill Road, the town’s major artery, for five years. Location, location, location and a big improvement from its former digs on the north side of town.

Now, donuts as a topic is one unto itself. Today’s not the day to discuss the attributes and characteristics of a fine donut. That can wait.

Today’s about: no donuts! So read the notes scrawled on 8 x 11-1/2″ paper taped to the doors’ windows. “We are all sold out of donuts. We have none.” And smushed into the corner: “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

It happens here not infrequently. It’s a small shop with a night-time baker who produces x-dozens of donuts as most of the world slumbers. No frozen dough. Fresh dough, fresh donuts.

A run of a handful of customers buying 3, 4, 5 dozen at a swipe will wipe ’em out, which is reportedly what happened this morning, early. Before 9 early. Leaving Donut Depot with 4-5 hours of business operations … and not a crumb of a donut … or crumb donut … in sight.

To be fair, Donut Depot has other foods. “Real” foods. Nutritional foods. Like omelets. Sandwiches. Subs. Salads. Chicken strips. Breakfast burritos. Hamburgers. Patty melts. Your basic limited diner fare.

Oh, and coffee. Another topic for another day, definitely. For now, take the word “rugged” and chew on that for a spell. Or order the coffee. Same difference.

So the deal is, Donut Depot with no donuts. Not a one. Not even a donut hole! Just a hole in the center of the shop where they’d normally be.

And a mouthful of gap from the 65-ish woman, a regular customer who loves to bake — and eat — as evidenced by her considerable girth. If 80 pounds slipped off her frame, she’d not miss it. Her husband, she yakked, is like 350. He couldn’t come this visit. I forget why. I know it wasn’t because he was too busy pumping iron at the gym.

She was one of those who’ll tell ya every intimate and uninteresting detail of Aunt Jo’s sciatica if you lend an ear. I put a stop to her diarrhea of the mouth before my eyes glazed over.

Speaking of glaze, no donuts, glazed or otherwise, today!

But it’s a trip not entirely wasted. But the coffee’s consistently and reliably awful. Black rotgut that could awaken the dead. Not even the best donut in town can do that.





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