The day the donuts died
By Robin Dearing“Sup Tyrel? Sup foo’?? That was the first fake phone conversation Margaret ever had on her little-kid, fake phone. She was about three. She was pretending to talk to our friend Ty. She used to call him by his full name, Tyrel. There was something about the way that she pronounced it, like she had a southern accent, •Tah-rel,? that always made me laugh. She always really liked Ty. She would cling to his legs and claim, •My Tah-rel!? • just in case we weren’t aware that he belonged exclusively to her. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that he always treated her like a person and not a little kid; not everyone sees the distinction. I met Ty 4-1/2 years ago when I started working for The Daily Sentinel. He worked in the pre-press department (I still really have no idea what he does exactly). Today’s his last day. He put in his notice and is moving to the Pacific Northwest to learn to do cool stuff. I’m glad for him. I’m sad for me. And for all of us who call Ty our friend. Ty is a great co-worker. He’s hardworking and dependable and he’s fun. He has an arcane sense of humor that has kept me in stitches over the years. And he would bring in donuts, which he would generously share. He learned that my favorite donut, really the Holy Grail of Donuts, was the glazed, chocolate old-fashioned. It’s an elusive donut here in Grand Junction and on those days when he found one, I’d inevitably receive an e-mail that would read only, “Mmmm … donuts!? Richie and Lynn, my haute mama cohorts, also have benefited from Ty•s donut generosity. Richie likes herself a donut but in an attempt to combat what she claims is extra post-baby weight (it should be known that Richie was wearing jeans — regular, pre-pregnancy jeans — a mere four weeks after Soren was born! I know, who can do that?), she only lingers around the donuts, enjoying them from afar, rarely allowing their sugary goodness to pass her lips. Lynn on the other hand will actually eat a donut … well, part of a donut anyway. She’s one of those people who thinks it’s fine to cut a donut in half, inspect both halves, choose the half with the most cream filling and leave the cast-off remains for some other poor sap who didn’t get to the donuts quick enough. Sadly enough, today is the day our donut gravy train leaves the station and we have to say good-bye to our dear friend. Good luck, Ty. I’m going to miss you, you floornt.