Doctor Breadhole

A Big Breadhole Down at the Donut Factory October 2016: I flee from an awful call center job into the warm embrace of a cushy job filing and arguing insurance claims on repossessed vehicles to mitigate loss for subprime lending entities. Most of my coworkers are fellow big insurance carrier expats looking for a position that would use their knowledge base without the punishing corporate culture of most major carriers. Geico? Liberty Mutual? Progressive? Everyone's overriding goal seems to be avoiding the pain in the ass bureaucratic morass of corporate America as much as possible. They also share a lot of communal sweets. I fit in. 2017: I discover White House Donuts, bringing them in each Wednesday to share with coworkers. I rise quickly through the ranks at the company and became a respected and accomplished employee. For a time, I like it. I am good at it. I develop a reputation for sharing doughnuts and Oreos . 2018:  Coworkers suggest different bakeries for

March 11th, 2020: We are in Louisiana for my sister Emma's wedding to her fiance Jonathan. Jonathan was born and raised in Lafourche Parish, in a town called Mathews, about an hour south of New Orleans and half-hour north of Houma. None of those distances meant anything to me in the three years I'd known him leading up to the wedding, but I wanted them to, so in planning our week-long trip to the wedding I made sure we had time to visit his hometown. To see his old haunts, his childhood spots. To understand where he came from. Oh, and to visit his local used bookstore. Earlier in the day we celebrated Breadhole Jr.'s first birthday with beignets at Cafe DuMonde, the iconic coffee shop in the French Quarter of New Orleans. Even that morning we can see signs of the time. Of the virus. We were all aware of the virus before leaving on the trip, and it's been a constant anxiety for my wife and I. Here we are, with both sides of my family and her parents in New