Explaining Massachusetts’ Dunkin obsession
Sitting here ripping a way-too-late-in-the-day large Dunkin iced with a shot of espresso to ensure I don’t fall asleep instead of doing my job again and got to thinking about this tweet:
And it made realize something — people from Massachusetts and most of New England (hippie parts of Vermont/Maine and rich dick parts of Connecticut notwithstanding) don’t really have or understand our fascination with Dunkin.
Granted we’re not alone in our infatuation with a local chain. Canada has Tim Hortons. The west coast has In-N-Out. Philly has a gas station that is also a deli apparently. Every region has a place they swear by.
Where Massachusetts differs is we don’t actually like the product at our chain.
Dunkin is more of a lifestyle than anything. It embodies the true Masshole, working class spirit. Picture it:
You wake up in a shithole apartment that somehow costs you $1900/month on a freezing cold January day.
You get your dumb kid out of bed, assuming this is the week you have visitation, and drop him at a daycare that is run out of someone’s home.
Then you brave the cold and walk a mile to your office/work site because it’s too annoying to own a car and deal with bumper to bumper traffic for a job that’s in spitting distance. You’re trudging along, freezing your balls off, dreading the day and your stupid job and wondering why you didn’t follow that girl to Ft. Lauderdale in your early twenties and open that beach bar.
All the while you’re bracing for the next gust of wind that will hurl loose snow from the top of the eye-level snow banks directly into your eyes.
The exhaustion of your life is weighing you down and you realize you need a caffeine boost if you’re going to make it to lunch.
Ok, now you’re telling me that in your miserable, freezing mood you’re going to stop in to Starbucks and get some cheery peppermint mocha bullshit that takes a full minute to order and another 10 for a girl with 15 facial piercings to make?
No, you’re going to go to one of the five Dunks on your block, get a weak coffee that’s more than likely burnt just to feel some semblance of warmth, and a breakfast sandwich made with fake egg, microwave bacon and government cheese that immediately makes you feel like shit.
Then you’re going to walk into your office, throw your shit on your desk chair, and spend the first half hour of your workday blowing up the handicapped stall.
That’s the true Dunkin experience. This SNL sketch is more of a documentary than a bit:
And btw, this is coming from someone who RIDES for Dunkin. I get Dunkin like four times a week. I own a Dunkin sweatshirt.
But I understand what it really is.
Dunkin is no frills, on every street corner, and features zero consistency from one store to the next.
Case in point, there are 13 Dunkin locations within one mile of my apartment and every single one of them varies widely in quality. That’s the beauty of it. They aren’t trying to be perfect. Hell they aren’t even trying.
It’s not supposed to be good.
Dunkin’ isn’t going for any Michelin stars. They serve relatively cheap coffee and relatively hot slop for relatively unhappy people who just need fuel to get through their shitty day. And if that isn’t the perfect chain for Massachusetts, then I don’t know what is.
