The Pick-Me-Up and Eat-Me Doughnut Story
by Tony Rawlinson
The Vicar finished the morning service. He positioned himself by the Church door as the congregation started to leave. He waited for that extra-ordinary mix of news, opinion, fact and fiction that always came forth as people shook his hand and then disappeared into Sunday. This day he learned that Mrs Jones pet parrot was missing; could the Vicar please pray for its safe return? He was told the speaker at the next women’s meeting could not come - could he please step in? Something on the joy of springtime would be most appreciated. The organist apologised to him for his somewhat wayward playing especially in the key of C. The cause was a dead mouse in the main organ pipe. The Vicar, with thirty years service knew the majority of his congregation well. He tried to serve them all with a Godly Grace but if the truth be known he was greatly tired. His wife had died some five years ago and although his grief had mellowed he missed her every day.
He walked the short distance to the vicarage to a meal of cold turkey and some ancient Christmas pudding. His cooking skills had shown little improvement since his wife died despite the best efforts of several well meaning ladies in the congregation. As he ate, his thoughts returned to Church issues. He felt keenly the lack of growth in the Church Organ fund - should they forget the organ altogether and use a simple piano? The last Church Council Meeting had been particularly fractious. The best Sunday School Teacher was leaving and the main organist was going deaf. So it was with great anticipation and pleasure that the next two weeks were his annual summer holiday. He was going to Lisbon, which, for him was the most beautiful city in Europe. He sang to himself quite unaware of causing his cat to make a hasty retreat to a place of safety. With a burst of renewed energy he washed up the dishes, checked his main suitcase for appropriate items of clothing, locked up the Vicarage and put his foot on the accelerator.
He had four hours to cover fifty miles so he was, in management speak, “time confident”. However, the beast, otherwise known as the M25, had other plans.
For the next two hours he endured the hopelessness of a thousand break lights staring at him. Finally when some movement came anxiety caused him to travel as fast as he could, and finally the car parks of the airport appeared. So did the accompanying signs “Car Park Full”. In desperation he proceeded to tour the car parks for another forty five minutes, finally to be rewarded with a space. He also managed to cause a six inch scratch on his wing as tiredness took over. He made his way to the Departure Board and was met with the information, ”All flights cancelled for two hours”. Oil had been spilt on the two runways and no planes could take off or land. He was not late, he would be able to catch his flight when they resumed flying. With relief came hunger and he made for the cafeteria.
As he queued he saw a notice advertising a cup of coffee and five small doughnuts for a £1. Having paid he looked for somewhere to sit. He noticed a spare seat at a table for two on the far side of the cafeteria. Arriving at the table he asked the gentleman sitting there if the seat was free. Without speaking, but with a smile on his face he indicated it was available. The Vicar, relieved, put down his suitcase, coffee and doughnuts. As he did so he glanced again at his table companion. What he saw was a man in his fifties with a settled mature air about him, grey hair a beard and lively, friendly eyes. The Vicar leaned forward took a sip of his coffee and took a doughnut from the bag. He had just finished eating the afore said doughnut, when, to his complete and utter surprise, the gentleman reached forward and took a doughnut out of the bag and proceeded to eat it. He managed to do this with a smile on his face as he reached forward and took another doughnut from the bag. This was the last straw for the Vicar.
He said to himself, of all the airports in all the world I have to sit next to a doughnut thief. He felt a volcanic eruption building up within himself. However, To reassure himself that the general laws of the universe were still in operation, and with those laws you didn’t pinch other peoples doughnuts, he decided to launch forth with a verbal broadside. As he sat there smouldering the gentleman opposite took the final doughnut from the bag, broke it in half, and offered half to the Vicar. Sometimes a small incident assumes a significance out of all proportion to its size. So it was with the doughnut thief. The Vicar had counselled murderers and rapists and dealt with those without any real anxiety or upset. But the doughnut thief lit his blue touch paper. About to pour forth his broadside the Vicar watched the gentleman get up from the table smile broadly at him and walk away. Unable to speak his words the Vicar decided to leave the cafeteria at once.
He drank his coffee, burnt his lip doing so, turned to pick up his luggage and there on the top of his suitcase was his own bag of five small doughnuts.
He sat there stunned and so he came to the cross roads of his response. He took the healthy life giving road and started to laugh at himself in a warm and wondrous way. Tears rolled freely down his face and as they did so they washed away the anxiety, the fatigue, the anger, the dead mice, the M25, airport car parking and they took their proper place in the ordering of his life.