Mike Brinker

Interuptions #1

On Sunday of this weekend (8/31/03) I decided to get some much needed exercise. A cardiovascular workout was in order after pumping some iron, so I headed to the USC track on campus and began my grueling long 1 mile run. Needless to say, it had been quite some time since I embarked on those 5,280 feet, and at about the second lap I was pretty much ready to pass out. As I rounded the corner and headed around again, I noticed a large white box sitting next to the edge of the track and as I peered into it running by, I noticed that it was filled with old, leftover doughnuts. This was very weird at first, seeing lonely donuts on the edge of a track, but then I started thinking about how long those doughnuts might have been sitting there, or who might have carelessly forgotten them*. My stomach churned in disgust as I continued forward, past the hideous breakfast pastries. I felt myself turning green, realizing that I had to pass them two more times before ridding myself of their presence. I felt partially as if I had a moral responsibility to remove them from the presence of a fitness place, yet was devilishly compelled to leave them there. Being as tired as I was, all I could think about was finishing and heading home to a nice hot shower.
They went by a third time and I still couldn’t convince myself to not look at them. It was like a bad traffic accident on the 405 freeway. Everyone just had to stop and look at the blood and carnage, even if it was just a flat tire. They looked rotted this time, full of nastiness and disgusting maggots. My head spun as I lost stride, stumbling for a moment on the rubberized surface. Almost there! Must…finish…this…workout! Doughnuts danced in my mind, laughing and shouting at me with their gaping holes and their silvery shiny coating of glaze. “Come enjoy us, we are free!” they seemed to scream at me from the sidelines. No! I must overcome these vile baked goods!
The last lap was an eternity of doughnut vertigo and gritted teeth. Even through a sweat drenched slanty eyed gaze, I could still see them sitting there, taunting me. 30 feet, 20 feet, 10…almost there! The doughnuts were gone, I could finish…I could finish! As I hurdled past the point of no return, I realized that any doughnut I met in the near future, even if by pure accident, would not be welcomed.

*Authors Note: Let it be known that pastries are a fine cuisine in my world, a very delectable and delightful treat that tantalizes my every taste bud during times of indulgence. The situation was not to be taken lightly.