the day the donuts never came

Friday is donut day at the office. Lawyers, paralegals and secretaries alike volunteer for "donut schlepper" duty. It is probably the least hierarchical institution within the firm.

A few Fridays back, I arrived at the office with coffee in hand. I dropped off my personal effects in my office and headed to the small kitchen where the donuts are usually located on Friday mornings. No donuts in sight. There had been occasions when I'd arrived too late to partake, but on this particular Friday, there were no signs that donuts had ever been there: no crumpled box, no crumb, no remnant of powdered sugar or maple glaze smeared on the table.

Then I noticed them. Fellow coworkers wandering aimlessly with coffee mug in hand. They'd slow as they neared the kitchen door, peer in, wrinkle their brows, then move on to take another lap. I soon followed suit. I checked the other kitchen. (Friday donuts are never deposited in the other kitchen, but maybe someone made a mistake?) There, too, were coworkers wandering and peering.

Twenty minutes passed. This had become highly irregular. Unable to contain my curiosity, I stopped by the receptionist, who usually sent out the email announcing the donuts' arrival. "Pssst," I whispered. "Where are they?" She shrugged.

Not five minutes later, my computer pinged with a firm-wide email from the receptionist. It listed the donut-schlepping schedule for the entire year. It went on to explain that so-and-so, who was on duty, had switched with what's-his-name because so-and-so had to go out of town for deposition. But there was no news from what's-his-name; no word on his or the donuts' whereabouts.

Not two minutes later, my computer pinged again, with two more firm-wide emails. So-and-so emailed from her blackberry, confirming that she had indeed switched with what's-his-name. What's-his-name emailed from his hand-held device, as he had also been called away from the office on a different case. He had forgotten to find another substitute; he apologized profusely.

There it was: the donuts were not coming. It was disappointing, but also a relief to let go of the anticipation. I grabbed my wallet and headed downstairs to scavenge for an alternative. When I reached the cafe, half the office was there. We grumbled and commiserated; we laughed at our attachment to our weekly ritual. We shared ideas of how to ensure this never happens again.

At around 3:30pm, my computer pinged with yet another firm-wide email, this time from the office manager, who had sensed the trauma that earlier reverberated through the office. "Ice cream cake in the kitchen," it read. "Come and get it!"