The Great Muffin Battle
Krikor Daglian
December 08, 2000
But, it was true - she had anticipated my order. She recognized me and knew exactly what I wanted to drink. And if that wasn't enough, she asked, "What kind of muffin do you want?" Notice the subtle wording of that inquiry - not "Banana Walnut muffin?", which would imply a specific type of muffin. No, she knew my habits enough to know that I usually alternated between two different muffin types, with a third thrown in every once in a while.
It seems a bit strange to me that I should be so bothered by this. After all, I rather like other similar manifestations of my consistent weekly schedule: I enjoy the fact that I can tell how soon the bus is coming based on a local fellow rider's arrival time to the bus stop. I like the fact that the bus driver knows how much to charge me when I hand him the three bucks. And the newspaper stand guy knows me well enough that I can hand him my 75 cents and pick up my paper all in one sweeping motion as I walk towards the subway.
But this newest development bothers me, and can't seem to shake that feeling. Maybe it's because a person's food tastes are a window into their personality (although, the same might be said for which paper someone buys). Perhaps the problem is that I'm ordering a muffin, a food that I really enjoy (and since learning from people in London that the muffin is a new American import to that country, and that the Brit bakers can't get them quite right yet, I feel it's my patriotic duty to enjoy one of our best food creations), but feel admittedly somewhat sheepish about ordering it sometimes. Maybe what is actually bothering me about this, though, is that I can't deny that the lady behind the counter of a dumb pastry shop has been able to pigeonhole my habits so quickly.
Now, I'm sure she's really a nice lady and perhaps a good mother or sister or something, but she is now my mortal enemy. Not the type of enemy who I would seek to harm, but rather my psychological enemy, the one I seek to outwit everyday. My mission every morning when I enter that store is to make my selection again become mysterious, thereby receiving the benefits of regular customer-ship without feeling like a bit of a loser. So, no longer will I always order a plain tea and a muffin. The tea will be replaced at irregular intervals by a fruit beverage. While the muffins are so good that I may never successfully ween myself off them, I can resist them some days, and order their less impressive croissant or standard bagel. And then, as the coup de grace, some days I won't even enter the store at all. Ha, I bet she didn't expect me to eat at home. Oh sure, I will have to eat lunch at 10:30 am, but it's a small price to pay to beat muffin lady.
My only fear is that I won't be able to keep up this struggle. Right now, it's a nice little game I can play just before work, but after a long winter of commuting, I may just collapse to the pressure and let the woman behind the encounter predict my order. I have thought of always eating at home before I leave for work, but my stomach seems to be unable to generate hunger until I've been awake for an hour or so, and I'm not getting up any earlier! I could try going to another store, but since the exit of the subway seems to practically lead into the door of this place, going somewhere else might seem like a needless time-waster; besides, those muffins are damn good. I suppose my breakdown might feel bad at first, but soon the ability to order those great muffins and a nice hot tea every morning with minimum effort on my part will turn out to be a blessing. But 'til then, the struggle continues...
