Passing a biker on a backroad in Utah, I slowed down and held a beer out the window. The biker whooped and hollered, taking the beer and holding it up to the sky in triumph. Driving into the outskirts of Salt Lake, looking for a place to get an oil change, I couldn’t help but notice the aggressive billboards.

THINK THIS IS BAD? written next to a woman with black eye makeup streaked down her cheek. She was arrested, holding a sign that says “WELCOME TO DUI LIFE” and the billboard goes on to say, WAIT UNTIL YOU LEARN THAT YOU KILLED SOMEONE.

Drunk driving must be a big problem in Salt Lake. Nearly every other sign is using various fear tactics to warn against drinking and driving. Isn’t all the alcohol under 6% here? Utah has the strictest DUI content limits (0.05%) in the country. A lot of people poke fun at these alcohol rules, blame those damn Mormons, complain, and stock up at the border. Personally, I think it’s great to limit alcohol consumption.

Pulling over at a Master Muffler, I go inside to wait in the lobby with my book. Doom scrolling on social media wasn’t really a thing back then, at least not for me. I was on a big Jack Kerouac kick then, already finishing On the Road, The Dharma Bums, and I was on to Big Sur.

Two men behind the counter watched a man get out of his car and make his way toward the front door with the bell.

“He’s got donuts,” one man with a big belly behind the counter says.

“I hope they’re for us. He knows how to win a man’s heart,” the other man with a mustache and no beard said.

“He’s got a new kid with him,” Big Belly says.

“That guys got a lot of kids,” Mr. Mustache agrees. I try to stay focused on my book, but I keep re-reading the same paragraph over and over again. Stealing a glance at the man with donuts walking into the store, he’s wearing blue jeans with a white t-shirt and a big cowboy hat. His kid stays outside and kicks a soccer ball around the parking lot.

“Hey how’s it going?” he asks, putting the donuts on the counter. I sense that they know him well, because Big Belly laughs and says, “Thanks man. How many kids do you have?”

Donut Dad laughs too and shrugs. “Oh, only seven.”

“Oh, I thought you had a lot more than that,” Big Belly said, taking a bite of a chocolate sprinkle donut. Mr. Mustache starts typing on the computer and rifling through a drawer behind the counter.

“After seven kids, I thought I’d figure the whole parenting thing out by now. But I haven’t, so I guess I’ll keep having more until I figure it out,” Donut Dad says. 

I can’t help myself, I laugh out loud. It’s more of a judgmental scoff than a haha good one laugh. The three men are looking at me now.

Donut Dad asks, “What? Is seven not enough?”

“That’s seven more than I would want,” I say, shaking my head.

They all laugh. 

“Oh so one is too many for you?” Donut Dad says with his hands on his hips, still friendly. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Feeding ten is easier than one. And once you have enough, the older ones just raise the little ones for you. It just gets better and better.”

Donut Dad points out the window. “That’s my seventh with me.”

He turns back toward Mr. Mustache and Big Belly and says, “I’ll be back at five for the car. Thanks guys.”

On his way out, he holds the door open with one hand and waits. Before leaving, he turns to me and says, “What if you change your mind and go for the half dozen?”

Donut Dad smiles like he knows something more than me. He smiles like he’s about to get a coffee without paying. He smiles like a man who can only see a woman as one thing: a vessel.

Shifting in my seat, I refuse to avert my gaze. I am not old enough to drink legally, yet it drives this man crazy to see me childless. Refusing to let Donut Dad make me feel uncomfortable, I smile sweetly and say, “Absolutely not. Have a nice day.”

And by have a nice day, I mean go fuck a donut, Dad.