“We need donuts and cereal Corus,” said Rondell. The Sleepy-time Suites hotel was in the peak of its season with a constant stream of visitors to the many historical places and mostly tourists looking for fun and excitement at White Hollow amusement park.

During the summer months, the quiet towns of San Dimas and Perhkol became Meccas for the reckless ganders from the north. Of course, the local police departments derived much income from the visitors whom most of the time paid the waivers on tickets because of their distance between fun in the sun and home. Many of the local population complained about the influx of humanity and the increase in prices at eateries and gas stations. Many of the local population also did not understand the economics concept of supply and demand.

At the Sleepy-time, the regular staff had been reinforced with seasonal helpers who were in the hospitality field for the first time. Turn over was high, after all, how much shit can the average person truly take. No, it was a tougher breed that bore the brunt of guest complaints ranging from the timid that were not seeking discounts but genuinely cared to the totally obnoxious pricks that were out for a free room.

Rondell had joined the staff just before the floodgates opened on the new season. He was a tallish young man fresh from failure in college and looking to pay off his debts and start his own business. Through his network of friends he had come to know Corus and was able to secure a job when Corus took over the general manager’s duties. An unfortunate accident had killed the previous GM. A late-spring thunderstorm rolled through the area, the GM was working second shift and taking a reservation when a bolt of lightning struck the roof and found its way into the telephone lines. All Tamerica knew was a loud bang, a slight pulse of burning and then blackness.

Robert and Johan quit soon after saying they could not work in the hotel any longer, most of the staff went on. Corus had seen the hotel take lives before.

One day late in August, at the end of the crush, Rondell, who worked the night audit, made a list of things that would be needed for the pressing weekend ahead.

“I know, dammit, these people are piggies,” responded Corus, making a pig-snort sound.

“A lil more quiet, one of them is going to hear you,” said Rondell, “but god-damned if you’re not right. How hard is it to be a neat person? These people spill milk all over the place, there are bowls worth of cereal dumped on the counter and the floor around the juice machine is so sticky it has to be mopped twice.”

“These people are paying to stay here and they think that means they can be as slovenly as they wish,” asserted Corus, a thick bit of disgust on his tongue.

The words were very true. Every morning the breakfast area closed at 10 a.m. Not only did many people race down at five minutes before ten, adding to the mess as they sped to grab as much food as possible, but they would then sit in the breakfast area even after it was obvious that they should vacate.

“Well I guess William will have to wait a bit longer,” Corus despaired. “I’ll call him and tell him to move back our meeting time an hour so I can get this work done.”

“Ya know you should call Angel and ask her if she would accompany you on your excursion,” Rondell Interjected. Angel was a woman Rondell idolized. He had told her before that he wanted her. She took it as jest, but he was truly fascinated by her, he could not put his finger on it, she was one of those people who “didn’t give a shit.” It was that aura probably that did it for him.

“Any guest opportunities last night Rondell?”

“Yeah, one. It was the usual crap ‘My bathroom was dirty, the staff was bad, I’m a hick,” responded Rondell.

“These dumb people, trying to get something for nothing.”

“Well if there is nothing else…”

“Nope, have a good day Rondell, and thanks.”

“No problem boss man.”

“Stop calling me that, dogface!”

“Seeya starside.”

With that Rondell left, he hadn’t been to the bar in a while and was thinking about Angel the whole way home. Actually, he thought about her all the way up until some jerk from Ganderland cut him off and he had to ram the bastard.

II

“Angel, this is Corus.”

“Oh God! What do you want?”

“I was wondering, I need to go get donuts and change for the hotel, would you like to come with me and keep me company?”

“Sure, I’ll be outside in fifteen minutes.”

Corus called the guests little piggies all the time, but he always meant it. It was as if they got on his nerves for being so damned ravished as if they had not eaten in days. The utter chaos of the breakfast area had to be combated constantly by the staff picking up after guests and wiping down tables.

One of the most annoying aspects was when guests held down the button on the orange juice machine hoping the water would turn to juice.

This would not have been so bad save the fact that the collection tray did not connect to a drain but rather filled up and overflowed down the face of the cabinets onto the floor, creating a sticking and hazardous spot on the floor.

Corus was going to pick up donuts sometimes more than twice a week.

The freezer held five cases of donuts and the fridge held two, but even those close to a thousand donuts did not satiate a week’s worth of guests in the 68-room Sleepy Time Suites hotel. Perhaps the biggest pain about retrieving donuts from the far away Blue Hole Lagoon motel was that many of the donuts ended up in the trash, and many of those totally untouched.

The fifteen minutes passed quickly, for Corus was busy explaining some things to second shift and dealing with a plethora of telephone calls and reservation requests. In through the front doors walked Angel, a portrait of perfection that Leonardo da Vinci himself did not capture in the Mona Lisa. Her hair was on the verge of bleach blonde, her ovular face pierced the atmosphere of the room and turned heads as when a pit crew admires their car racing around the track in perfect synch and faster by far than any other car.

“Ready Corus?”

“Of course sugar muffin.”

Angel and Corus walked outside into a steaming day full of humidity, but not so much full to hope for rain to cool off, for there was none due for weeks. Angel’s car was a Beetle out of the 60s that would make Janis Joplin proud. The hood was a backdrop of sky blue with a huge rainbow and a Monarch butterfly with a wingspan the entire width of the hood.

The ride to the Blue Hole was uneventful save for a moron from Ganderland who cut Angel off and then slammed on his breaks to make a right-hand turn.

“FUCKER,” Angel screamed as she emblazoned the moron’s car with her middle finger spotlight. His car swerved and struck a street sign, “God-damned right.”

Once they arrived at the Blue Hole some minutes later, Corus spoke with Isildur, the Blue Hole kitchen manager.

“Damn, you guys are going through a lot of donuts, this is the third time I’ve seen you this week. I go sometimes two weeks without seeing anyone from HoJo,” Isildur said.

“Yeah, well you know, piggly wigglies,” replied Corus.

“You know where they are, the kitchen people have left so don’t lock yourself in or anything,” Isildur added with a demonic giggle.

As Corus and Angel walked through the kitchen toward the first door they would need to transit to get to the donut room Corus asked Angel about her sudden bout of silence.

“Now you made that Ganderlandian crash but when you have the opportunity to talk here, you’re silent as a lamb.”

“That guy gives me the creeps. A combination between someone who knows something we don’t, and that Balrog thingy from that one comedy we watched the other day, what was it called?”

“Lord of the Rings?”

“Yeah that one.”

“What was the Bullfrog?”

“No, the Balrog, that big flame and smoke thing that killed Gandalf.”

“Gandalf?”

“NEVERMIND.”

Corus’ feigned ignorance subsided into sex-talk.

“You don’t think that guy’s hot?”

“Ill, no! Look at his teeth.”

“Were they perfect? They must have been perfect.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You find Marty Cordova attractive, no?”

“Dammit, he has good teeth, when will you people leave me alone on this?”

“Never, muuuhahahaha.”

“I’ll just start calling you Dennis,” Angel stopped Corus dead in his tracks.

“That’s reallllly low Angel.”

“I know, let’s get these damn donuts and get the hell out, my knee hurts and I need a Vicodin.”

“I thought you were on Darvasets.”

“Um, yeah, that’s what I meant,” said Angel innocently, batting her eyes at Corus.

“You’re right, let’s get these puppies and blow this Popsicle establishment.”

“Pop stand, moron.”

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

Corus and Angel passed through the three doors and finally came to the donut room. The room was large with three double-door industrial refrigerators on three of the walls, a stainless steel table in the middle and the donuts making station, including oven, on the fourth wall.

“Kinda looks like it could be a mad scientist’s lab, doesn’t it,” Angel asked Corus.

“Beware for I am Doctor Donut, poisoner of the masses.”

“Alrighty Mr. Donut head.”

“DOCTOR Donut, I didn’t spend 8 years of Donut Medical school to be called ‘mister’ thank you very much.”

“Aight.”

Corus opened one of the refrigerators and started taking out cases of donuts and setting them on the table in the center of the room. Once he had retrieved the requisite number of cases he closed the fridge door and went to open the donut room door, which closed automatically.

“Crap, it’s locked,” Corus blurted.

“You’re shitting me right?”

“No, it actually is locked.”

Corus banged on the door.

“HEY OPEN UP,” he shouted.

“Didn’t the Balrog guy say not to get locked in?”

“Yeah, and I’m sure he meant it too,” Corus laid the sarcasm on thick, “What is this supposed to be some chamber of death?”

“No,” replied Angel, “it’s a Donut Room of Death.”

“Now, that’s not funny.”

“HELP! HELP,” Corus shouted at the top of his lungs.

“Remember, the kitchen people are gone, and the front desk is four rooms away, no one is going to hear you, Corus.”

“Duh, on me, why don’t you pull out your cell phone and call the front desk,” Corus asked.

“I’d love to, but it is sitting in my purse in my car.”

“DAMMIT, and for the love of God.”

“Calm down, baby, don’t you think this is kinda kinky?”

Angel groped Corus’ chest, slid her hand down his body, over his tummy, around his backside, and then slapped his ass.

“Much as I’ve always wanted to do you, let’s find a way out of here.”

“Whatever you say big man,” Angel added as she blew Corus a kiss and did her best Marilyn Monroe courtsey. Angel immediately went for the storage locker on the wall opposite the room door. Corus started rummaging though the sink area.

“I got a knife, fork and screwdriver,” Angel announced. Corus looked up from his search and said, “What do I look like MacGyver?”

“Shut it Michael Dean Anderson, and pop the door,” retorted Angel. Corus inserted the fork into the crack between the door and jam. Then he used the leverage of the screwdriver to bend back the plate on the door whose job it is to protect against what he was about to do. Corus inserted the knife and popped the door, before Angel could grab it, the hydraulic on the other side of the door snapped it shut again.

“LORD ABOVE,” shouted Corus.

“I’ll grab it as soon as it pops next time.”

Just then, Angel noticed a high-frequency whirring noise. She turned around and found that the table in the middle of the room had risen, somehow, to the ceiling and where it had been was a large hole with a fan of blades chewing away at the air.

“SHIT, SHIT, SHIT,” she yelled into Corus’ ear.

Corus turned to see the blades going at it, and noticed that the floor was starting to tilt in toward the blades. He slapped Angel out of her stupor and they both turned toward the door. In another minute Corus popped the door again. Angel grabbed the door and wildly swung it toward them. The door met Corus’ face and slapped him onto his back.

Streams of water started to shoot out of the walls, and the tilt on the floor was increasing. Corus started sinking toward the blades. In a maneuver that can only be described as perfect grace, Angel flung the door open, dropped to a prone position on the floor and grabbed Corus’ pant leg, thus saving his life and keeping the door open.

Slowly Corus recovered from the meeting of his face to the door and helped Angel in his assent back toward the door. Angel crept herself backward and she and Corus escaped the donut room of death.

“This is the last time I help you get donuts Corus,”