This morning I was watching the news and realized that it was Fauschnaut Day. It is also known as Shrove Tueday, or Fat Tuesday, but we have always called it Fauschnaut Day. On this day my great grandmother would make special donuts that are in a diamond shape. Since then, my grandmother and now mother have carried on the tradition by purchasing the donuts at a bakery. They come in a variety of "flavors", but our favorites are powdered and cinnamon-sugar, without a filling. On the news it had people lined up at dawn outside area bakeries to get these donuts. Usually my mom buys donuts for the whole family, but given the situation with my dad, I wasn't sure if she would get out. I was going to be in the vicinity of the nearest fauschnaut making bakery, so decided to stop in. Even though it was around 9 am, the parking lot was packed and there was a line of people to the door. I grabbed my number, 26, and queued up. About 5 minutes into the waiting, number 20 was called and the couple in front of me decided to leave. I was relieved because it would mean I moved up a spot in the line. Then they handed their number to the woman behind me. I thought "What the heck?" and my mind started racing as to what to do when #25 was called. I could feel my blood pressure rising and my heart beating faster as I anticipated the confrontation. Because I wasn't about to give up my rightful spot. (Some may say that it shouldn't make a difference to me if the lady behind me took the place of the couple in front-- my placement wouldn't change. BUT I really couldn't stand by and let her "butt" in front.)
SO.
The counter lady called out "#25!" and I was ready with my answer.
I stepped forward and said,"They left, I'm next, I'm #26"
The lady behind me protested, "I'm here! I'm #25"
"No, #25 left, I am next, I'm 26" I repeated, stepping closer to the counter. The lady also repeated, "I'm here! I 'm #25!"
At this point all eyes were on us in the bakery. Everyone in line just stared. The counter lady looked at us wearily, "What's going on?"
I then explained,"There was a couple in front of me, they were # 25. They left, and handed off their number, but I should be next, I am 26".
The other lady scowled at me but conceded, "I'm 25, but just let her go first!"
I placed my order as the other lady stepped up to the counter and glared at me. When I turned to look at her, she just shook her head and looked away. I decided to ignore her. Unfortunately I spent an uncomfortable 5 minutes while my counter lady took FOREVER to get my donuts in the box and ring me up. Meanwhile, another counter lady called,"26!"
The lady next to me said,"I'm #25, and she is 26, but she went first!" as she turned to give me one last glare. At that point my order was done and with my adrenaline surging, I carried my fauschnauts away, a whole 5 minutes saved.
6 comments:
sweet justice...
It is like pulling your car into the path of cars trying to merge into traffic as far into the closing lane as possible. Never have the nerve to do it, have to suffer some ridicule for it - but there is the satisfaction of knowing you are keeping them from doing something wrong. That lady knew she was wrong, unfortunately you took the brunt of her self-loathing. Well done.
Ugh! Sounds like something I would have done...in the name of justice and all, but oh the angst! Whether you let her go first or claimed your rightful spot, the angst could not have been avoided.
The doughnuts sound delightfully delicious though. :) I hope the incident didn't sour the treat!
No, they were delicious, AND I got a good story out of it, so...win-win!
How rude. Too bad you didn't get the last doughnuts...
...oh now that's my nasty side sneaking up.
xoxo
yo, those donuts look good.
Ah, Fastnaught Day! Here in New Hampshire, there are no bakeries or donut shops that carry these delights -- so we've always spent the day frying them up ourselves. We "dredge" them with powdered sugar, which melts into their hot surfaces and then pop them into our mouths -- yum, yum!
Growing up in Memphis, the Monday before Shrove Tuesday your mom and I would go to bed to a house filled with the smell of warm yeast dough rising. Mim would get up early (3:30 AM) and start cutting and frying the dozens and dozens of fastnaughts she would need for the day. And all day long, friends and neighbors would make a steady stream of visitors, stopping in for coffee and fastnaughts and just to "catch-up." It was one of the friendliest holidays in my memory. A day without agenda -- a day of giving -- of just inviting all the people you knew to share some sweet treats and time with you.
All the fastnaughts were supposed to be eaten before the end of the day -- but because Mim never wanted to run out she would always fry up hundreds and hundreds (no kidding!). We'd come home from school to breathe in the sugar in the air!! Even after a day of fastnaught eaters, we generally had some left over, which Yai would freeze to munch on after Lent. Yai's favorites to freeze were the doughnut holes (Mim would actually make several different shapes, including regular doughnuts and their holes -- not just the classic diamond shape you buy).
I'm glad to hear that your children's fingers too are tightly wrapped around this warm cord of family memories.
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