'I didn't ask to be made': An old-fashioned plain Timbit speaks out

CANADIAN BROADCASTING CORPORATION: First of all, we want to thank you for joining us. We know as a career Timbit, you've often been maligned, but we hope we can give you a chance to show the world what life is like for one of the least popular types of fried dough confectionary.

OLD-FASHIONED PLAIN: Thank you so much for the opportunity. Even sitting here across from you, it's nice that you look at me with journalistic neutrality, and not the judgmental grimace of literally everyone else I encounter.

CBC: Of course. In your own words, when did you first start to notice that you were different from the other Timbits?

OFP: In grade school we were all the same. It didn't matter. Just round balls of dough, playing hopscotch, dreaming of what we could become and how much being deep-fried might hurt. Apple Fritter, Honey Dip, Chocolate, Sour Cream, The Fruit Brothers (Blueberry, Strawberry, Lemon, Raspberry) and my twin, Old Fashioned – all of us were the very best of friends.

CBC: What changed?

OFP: I remember it so clearly. We were in the middle of a game of California Kickball when Apple Fritter sauntered toward us. She looked different somehow – she was carrying herself with such maturity. We suddenly realized why: she had been glazed. And in an instant, she was the coolest Timbit we had ever known.

CBC: And what happened next?

OFP: It's actually really painful for me to talk about. One by one, all my friends got dipped or glazed, and became too important for schoolyard antics. At first I thought, "What's their problem??" but as I slowly got outnumbered I started to feel really lame and childish. At least I had my twin brother to play with until…well, you know how the story ends. He goes by "Old-Fashioned Glazed" now.

CBC: How did you cope during such a trying time?

OFP: I didn't. Every day I prayed to my maker that I would be glazed. As I gave up hope, I pleaded for at least a light dusting of sugar. But it was not to be. Without the extra sweetening, I was brutally isolated from the only Timbits I had ever known and loved. I thought it would get better as I got older and found a career.

CBC: It didn't?

OFP: Have you met me? I am the least successful at my job [being a Timbit]. No one actually wants to eat me. I get passed up for a promotion time and time again, while all those with icing sugar and the works move forward. I want to retire in a nice mouth some day. I don't want to be sleeping on a wire rack my whole life. But day after day I'm passed by in favour of other Timbits apparently worth eating. It gets pretty discouraging.

CBC: Does anything bring you comfort in those moments?

OFP: Not really. Some days I feel hopeful. At the end of the night, when the store is nearly closed, sometimes a customer will request a box of two dozen Timbits. And of course, my plain brethren and I are all that's left. So we'll start getting packed up before the customer realizes what they're actually getting and ultimately rejects us with an "Oh no. No thanks. I'll just eat a napkin instead."

CBC: Does anyone have it worse than you?

OFP: Sour Cream Plain Donut, for sure. Eating the whole thing is a commitment most aren't willing to undertake. That guy has no shot at any sort of fulfillment.

CBC: I see. Moving on, now is your chance to rewrite your narrative. Tell us something surprising or expected that not many people would know.

OFP: Honestly, everyone thinks I just spend my time rolling around in a box that's hovering above a garbage can before some "hero" decides it would be wasteful to throw me out, and then bravely decides to eat me. But actually, a large part of my day is devoted to my music. I'm really into bluegrass; I have a custom banjo.

CBC: That's a start. Do you think you can reinvent yourself in the eyes of the public?

OFP: No. The kindest thing anyone's ever said about me is, "I guess I'll eat it."

CBC: What about those who claim you're their favourite?

OFP: I mean, let's be honest. I don't exactly want to be associated with the people who choose me. You know they're all still wearing Crocs in the winter and searching with Yahoo instead of Google. They're the real weirdos. The last people who would get chosen for any sports team in –

CBC: Go on….?

OFP: I just realized I'm rejecting my fans like they're…Old-Fashioned Plain Timbits. God. What a bitter thought.

CBC: Do you have anything else to add?

OFP: No. I've just got some things I need to work through. Would you at all be interested in consuming me?

CBC: Absolutely not. 

Don't miss anything from CBC Comedy - like us on Facebook.