Recently, I sustained a mild paragliding injury after an ill-advised attempt to ride a seagull off Nauset Light. Don’t worry—I’m fine! My bank account, however, wasn’t quite as lucky. (Turns out, medical insurance doesn’t cover donut-related adventures. Rude.)
With my glaze a little cracked and my funds running low, I caught wind of a job opening at Hole In One’s sister restaurant, The Fairway Restaurant and thought—why not? I’m a donut that makes donuts. I can do anything… right?
Spoiler: Wrong.
Rolling Into the Shift
I rolled (literally) out of bed, into a cup of coffee (what a rush!), and caught the bus to Eastham (they still won’t let me drive). Fueled by confidence and caffeine, I arrived feeling ready to crush my shift.
But the moment I walked through the door, it hit me: nerves. And then reality.
The team at The Fairway? They move fast. I don’t even have legs.
The servers? Carry trays piled with food. I have no upper body strength.
The menu? Extensive and delicious. My brain? 90% sugar puns.
Not ideal.
Table 3 Trouble
Undeterred, I waddled over to the hostess stand, tied on my apron, whispered a few affirmations, and approached Table 3.
They ordered water. Easy, right?
Wrong.
Six waters.
That’s practically all of Cape Cod Bay.
As I tiptoed toward their table, balancing glasses like a caffeine-fueled acrobat, disaster struck: my shoelace came untied. And just like that, a mini tsunami washed over the table. I turned a peaceful dinner into a water park. Not my finest hour.
The Pizza That Nearly Broke Me
Next up? Pizza. Now we’re talking! Pizza is made from dough. I’m made from dough. A kindred spirit! I was this close to joining the pizza line in solidarity. But I stayed the course.
Turns out, balancing a pizza is harder than it looks—especially when your arms are made of frosting. The pies may have arrived a little… abstract, but they smelled amazing. I count that as a win (even if it technically wasn’t mine).
Then came the final straw.
I was sent to sing Happy Birthday. Great! I love attention. I warmed up my vocal cords and gave a full-on Broadway performance… at the wrong table. The birthday was actually behind me.
Oops.
I’ve never felt so defeated—and I’ve been literally beaten to become dough. After just one table, The Fairway staff gently (but firmly) suggested I take my talents elsewhere.
To shake off the embarrassment, I met up with some lobster friends for a late-night card game. I lost all my pity tips. (Clyde’s definitely a cheater. He always draws aces.)
Final Thoughts
So, what did I learn?
This little donut belongs in the display case, twirling under warm lights and bringing joy to the early morning crowd.
If you’re looking for someone to serve the most amazing clam chowder on Cape Cod or carry a vacation-worthy hearty breakfast? I can personally recommend the incredibly competent humans at The Fairway Restaurant. They’re fast, friendly, and—most importantly—not made of pastry.
And to those brave guests who endured my short-lived serving career:
I’m truly sorry. But at least your story’s sweeter now.