I was ridiculously hungry yesterday, having been out and about all morning and trying to get home quickly. I had a few minutes before my bus came along down O’Connell Street and limited choices. Scratch that, one choice – the absolute closest place to the bus stop where I could grab a nibble – the Boston Donut stand. I grabbed a coffee and a Boston Creme donut and caught my bus.
Sadly, life doesn’t always work out according to plan. I had grabbed enough paper towels to prepare for the oozing filling contingency but was disappointed to not encounter any cream filling on my first bite, nor on my second, or my third… For that matter, I was still looking for the cream filling on my last bite without success. It was nowhere to be found. A bake fail. Bun-blocked (as a friend described it to me on Facebook).
That would have been the end of the story but my disappointment demanded to have the last word. I turned to the only social media channel on which the donut chain has a presence: Instagram.
Within the space of an hour I had a private message from a company representative, expressing regret that I experienced such hardship, trauma, and cream deprivation, and offering a twin pack of donuts for collection by way of compensation the following day.
We exchanged a couple of messages to arrange a collection, but I had to prevail on The Mister to alter his commute slightly to collect the promised donuts, offering up one of the donuts in payment for being inconvenienced.
“Sure,” he confirmed. “Just tell me what I should ask for when I get there.”
Gleefully clapping my hand in anticipation, I put the question to the Boston Donut employee communicating with me. I figured leaving my actual name or The Mister’s name would be sufficient. Maybe a phone number. You know, something normal.
“Just tell him to mention a collection for the feathered rose,” the message back to me read, referring to my Instagram handle.
I blinked.
In that split moment he entire scenario unfolded in front of my eyes.
The Mister alights from the luas carriage and strides down the platform. His boots confidently ring on the paving slabs, and he’s got a hand casually resting on the rapier strapped to his side. His cloak is swung back over his shoulder to keep his draw arm clear. The wind tugs at the big feather sticking out of his hat. He surveys the street and the pedestrians passing by and strides over to the shop window, resting an elbow on the counter in a deceptively casual pose.
“What can I do for you?” The girl on the other side of the counter asks cheerfully. The Mister’s breath might be causing puffs of steam in the cold air, but she is warm and dressed down in the heated booth.
The Mister’s eyes slide away from the passing pedestrians and looks at her as he shifts his weight forward.
“I’m here about a collection for the feathered rose.”
The girl’s smile vanishes instantly, replaced by a guarded expression. She looks around to make sure no one is paying them any attention and then reaches underneath the counter to retrieve a pre-packed box. She pushes it across the counter as if she couldn’t wait to be rid of it, trying to shoo The Mister away before another customer can appear and witness the exchange.
With a single move, The Mister puts a gloved hand on the pink donut box and smoothly slides it off the counter and into a waiting bag, being careful not to tip the contents sideways. He tips his hat the the girl and she returns the expression with a jerky, nervous nod. He pivots on his heels, the cloak billowing behind him, checking both directions before striding across the street and straight up the steps of a waiting bus.
The mission has been completed. The parcel has been collected with the secret message hidden safely inside one of the donuts detailing a treacherous plot against the King. He pulls out his phone and smiles fondly when he sees the last message from his wife. She always worries about him when he’s out and about.
“Just remember to be careful! The Cardinal’s men are not to be trusted!”
He lets her know he’s on the way home, with the package and sits back with a satisfied smile.
Thanks, Boston Donuts! This one idea pretty much made my day and that’s before I finally got to enjoy a creamy Boston Creme donut with my tea this evening!
The Feathered Rose 