The Great Timbit Incident

For those of you sad, silly boobs who've never experienced the joy of a fresh Timbit, this is a Timbit.

The chocolate glazed Timbit is currently the most awesome flavour, although the blueberry Timbit they made around here in the 90's was probably the closest thing to baked perfection I'm ever going to know. I hope there's a Tim Horton's somewhere that still makes those. Some place where the sun lights the glass up like fire and an angelic chorus thunders every time a new customer enters.

Blueberry. (sigh)

It happened when I was in high school, "The Great Timbit Incident" of '88 that is. Mr McCutcheoun took our geography class on a field trip all over the contryside to experience the glacial landforms left behind by the ice that once covered this area. It was actually cooler than it sounds.

So partway through the trip, we stopped at a Tim Horton's for a break. I felt generous, so I bought a huge box of Timbits and offered them to everyone. I'd always wanted a valid reason to buy the party-sized box of timbits and it was great.

We headed for the vans, a gaggle of noisy, sugar-hyped teenagers thrilled to be outside instead of trapped in the classroom. I excitedly bounced around, talking about something goofy and gesturing madly with both hands. Hands that were swinging the precious Timbit box.

Apparently the box didn't like the way it was being treated. Suddenly and spectacularly, the bottom of the box came apart. A hail of assorted Timbits launched into the air like mad missiles, dropping onto the pavement and rolling for freedom.

Horrified, I ran. I had to save them. That's when the screaming started. Somewhere in the back of my mind the screaming became more important than the escaping Timbits and I froze in confusion.

That's when the transport truck arrived. Horn wailing, a huge gasoline tanker truck from hell blasted across my path, obliterating the fleeing Timbits and spraying me with dust, dirt and mashed donut matter.

I wept quietly as I rescued the surviving Timbits from among the smashed bodies of their fallen brothers. I gently, reverently placed them back in the box where they could be safe once again.

Poor little Timbits.

The girls laughed and thought it was awfully gross when the guys ate the Timbits that had fallen on the ground. We knew better. It was a badge of courage.

We honoured the fallen by eating the survivors.

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