For the past couple of decades, I’ve been very aware of the food that I put into my body.  That isn’t to say that my diet is consistently clean, but I am at least aware of the garbage that I sometimes consume.  My eating patterns over the course of a year look something like this.  Around July or August, after months of strictly monitoring the quantity and quality of my caloric intake, I start relaxing my restrictions quite a bit.  I allow a little more pizza, a little more ice cream. And by the time Holiday rolls around, I’m eating like I’m headed to the electric chair.  The more sugar and fat, the better.  Seconds?  You bet.  So, when January gets here, I’m several pounds heavier than I want to be and generally feel like a big slug, regretting the excesses exhibited as part of my Christmas cheer.  In February and March, my intentions are good as I slowly reign it in and begin to make better food choices.  Around April and May, I buckle down and get serious about my diet as vacation looms nearer, and then in July the whole cycle begins again.  I realize that this nutritional carousel isn’t the healthiest pattern to maintain, but it’s worked for me for 25 years, so it’s unlikely that I’ll change my ways at this point.  I also believe that I am not alone in this crazed effort to walk that fine line between a healthy lifestyle and actually enjoying your existence.

Everyone has his dietary Achilles Heel. For some, it’s bread, any kind of bread. For others, it’s Mexican food or pasta. These foods make us happy, and we are often pained as we muster up the will power to say, “No, thank you,” when the opportunity presents itself to indulge in our favorites. For me, sugar is my Kryptonite. I have a voracious sweet tooth (and by the way, sweet teeth are apparently the only things on the planet that might be voracious; I’ve never heard the adjective used in any other context. But I digress). I love ice cream. I love cakes and pies and cookies. I love Reese’s Cups and KitKats, and I believe that one of the most sorrowful feelings in the world occurs when you have been snacking on a KitKat and you reach into the wrapper to get that last stick of deliciousness only to realize that you’ve already eaten all four quarters and just weren’t paying attention. It’s heartbreaking.

One day during my annual April/May calorie deprivation cycle, I was having a particularly rough day at work which was made worse by my unfulfilled craving for something sweet, anything sweet.  I would walk out of my way to pass by the vending machines just to look at the assortment of goodies separated from me by a sheet of glass, a buck fifty in change, and sheer will power.  After I wrapped up for the day, I got in the car thinking about the grilled chicken breast and broccoli that were waiting for me when I got home.  I wasn’t excited.  Without much enthusiasm, I drove out of the parking garage to begin my commute home.

As I turned onto BeltLine Road, I was struck to see that the “HOT” light was on at the Krispy Kreme doughnut store.  Hot Krispy Kreme doughnuts are one of my favorite indulgences. The Krispy Kreme shops have neon signs in their windows that let passers-by know when a hot, gooey batch of fresh Krispy Kremes has just come off the line.   It’s really the only way to eat them.  The “HOT” sign is often illuminated in the mornings, but I have seldom seen the neon light on so late in the day.  As much as I knew I ought to fight the urge, I took the sign as…well, a sign.

My weak flesh and I pulled into the drive-thru, and I ordered two Krispy Kreme doughnuts from the awkward teenage voice squeaking at me through the speaker.  I eased my conscience by congratulating myself for only ordering two, showing great restraint considering the circumstances.  There isn’t much better than a fresh, hot, sugary, gooey Krispy Kreme doughnut… unless it’s TWO fresh, hot, sugary, gooey Krispy Kreme doughnuts.

I pulled up to the window to discover that the young man in possession of the awkward teenage voice was about what I had expected.  Lanky with bad skin and wild unkempt hair sticking out from under his regulation paper hat.  He was friendly enough, but it wasn’t a stretch to imagine that he wanted to be anywhere else but there.  I exchanged a few dollar bills for the bag of sugary guilt and shame, thanked the awkward teenager, and drove away.

As soon as I turned onto the street, I hastily put my hand into the bag to grab one of those delicious, gooey doughnuts.  My initial reaction to what I encountered was confusion.  Then I instantly realized that I had been duped.  What I pulled out of the bag was a far cry from a hot, delicious, gooey doughnut.  I had been sold two hard cold doughnuts that had likely been sitting in a tray for half the day.  To say that I was dissatisfied would be a gross understatement.  From this point on, my recollection of exactly what happened next is a little hazy.

I immediately turned the car around, pulled up to the front door of the store, grabbed the bag of hard, cold pucks of disappointment from the passenger seat, and stormed inside.  Anyone who knows me knows that I am characteristically even keeled and have made an artform out of conflict avoidance, but my reaction to this blatant misrepresentation of product was admittedly unreasonable, especially over $2 worth of doughnuts.  It was unexplainable.  Perhaps it was the low blood sugar that caused me to snap. The gall and acrimony that I spewed out at this poor kid who evidently just happened to forget to turn off the “HOT” sign earlier in the day was gratuitous and over-the-top vicious.  The kid was dumbfounded.  I don’t think he understood what was happening. I held nothing back.  I’m not even certain what words were coming out of my mouth.  I only knew that they were coming loud and fast, accompanied by lots of pointing toward the red neon glow in the window.  After my rant, and unaware if the teenager even tried to say anything back to me in his defense, I stormed out of the store with the same ferocity that I stormed in. 

I slammed my car door and just sat there for a moment.  My heartrate began to come back down.  What just happened?  Never had I overreacted on such a visceral level.  This was definitely not one of my finest moments.  I was ashamed of my irrational behavior and more than just a little embarrassed. 

But as I thought about it some more, I convinced myself that at least the kid would never again forget to turn off the “HOT” sign when there were not actually hot doughnuts to be had.  I’m sure I probably helped him learn a valuable lesson about responsibility and consequences.  I possibly even saved his job.

After telling myself that this wasn’t the most horrible thing that I would ever do in my life and that the kid likely learned something useful about customer service and being a conscientious employee, I started the engine and began the drive home.

And then, of course, I ate the doughnuts.