Cinnamon Twists (Part 1)

When I took a sales job working in pharmaceuticals, the company described the area I’d be working in as being a little “rough.” Needing a job, and not knowing what else to do I  thought, how bad could it be?  Once I started working there, I realized it made the bad areas of the Bronx look like Scarsdale. 

But for the most part it was fine.  I adjusted.  The people were nice enough, and it was all okay, until the one day somebody tried to take my cinnamon twists.  

I was going to see a doctor who didn’t speak to me, so I bought some cinnamon twists hoping that would at least make him look my way.  My dog responds to treats.  Why not doctors?  Besides, who doesn’t like cinnamon twists?  

Can we talk about the genius who invented them for a moment?  Fried dough, with sugar and cinnamon.  Heaven!  This is a dessert that makes sense.  When I see shit like baklava, I wonder what douche bag thought of that.  It looks like a pastry with meat loaf in it.  I’m supposed to eat something that’s laden with fat and calories, and this is what it looks like.  But everyone loves cinnamon twists.  Delicious and beautiful.  What’s not to love?

 I walked into the doctor’s waiting room holding my twists proudly.  The stagnant air in the office  smelled like a mix between urine and sweat; like a sack of un-showered balls.  It was dirty and crowded.  People were sitting in their chairs as though they’d been waiting for years to be seen by the doctor.  I hoped my twists would get me in and out quickly.  

I walked up to the bullet proof glass, trying to get the receptionist’s attention with my box of twists, when this female patient in the waiting room screamed out, “I want those cinnamon twists!”  WTF?  I looked over to see this skinny chick with a ton of attitude defiantly looking at me.  She was acting like the Queen of England.  Did this grub chick think I was going to just hand over my cinnamon twists?  

I gave her all attitude when I said, “Yea, they’re not for you.”  Trust me, I was a total bitch.  It surprised me a little because when it comes to work, I can really put on a show.  I can be nicey, nicey, sweetie, sweetie pie sales rep 99.9% of the time.  I can pretend to care all day long.  But not this time.  The demanding way she screamed out for my twists really pushed me over the edge, and I wasn’t having it.   

Little did I know, there was about to be a chick fight over cinnamon twists, and I was totally out numbered. 

TO BE CONTINUED...