Last week, Republican vice presidential nominee JD Vance stopped by Holt's Sweet Shop in Valdosta, Georgia, where he tried to order doughnuts like a normal, air-breathing mammal and failed completely.
Valdosta is 55.5 percent Black, so at least 50 percent of the population wants nothing to do with Donald Trump and his little buddy. The Black woman behind the counter was visibly unimpressed with Vance, who told her, “I'm JD Vance, I’m running for vice president, good to see you.” Her response was a curt “OK.” There is great Black lady shade and then there’s flatly replying, “OK” when some fool introduces himself with a lot of undue pomp. She wasn’t thrilled with this circumstance.
It’s weird that Vance said he’s “running for vice president,” rather than simply calling himself Trump’s running mate. Based on his approval numbers, especially against Tim Walz, he’d get crushed in a solo VP election. He needs to ride the convicted felon’s coattails.
So, the lady clearly wasn’t happy to see Vance, nor did she wish for anyone to see her on camera. Vance told his entourage that the woman didn’t want to be filmed but the request was mostly ignored. (Watch the edited version below … or don’t. You only have so much time on this earth.)
Vance proceeded to conduct small talk more painful than when the dentist asks about your summer plans while performing a root canal. (The dentist at least has the decency to numb you beforehand.) He asked the employees how long they’ve worked at Holt’s, but he didn’t bother with any followup questions. It’s like he’s conducting a job interview but he’s already bored with the applicants. The average A.I. chatbot is more personable.
He also asked the staff how long the shop has existed — as if they were supposed to know and care. Did he think new employees have to watch an orientation video about the company’s history, like that scene in Being John Malkovich?
According to Holt’s website, the business “began in 1962 with Cecil & Lucille Holt, a young couple with a container of flour, little bit of sugar, and a big dream.” People just trying to get through their work day probably love it when creepy politicians drop in unannounced and ask them basic questions that are answered on the internet.
Then, as political science students might study decades from now, Vance bombed the doughnut-ordering part of the doughnut-ordering assignment. He said, “I mean, a lot of glazed here. Some sprinkle stuff. Some cinnamon rolls. Just whatever makes sense.”
No, sir, this is your photo op. You pick the doughnuts and, I guess, cinnamon rolls. The staff will put your selection into boxes without sneezing on them when you’re not looking. I’ve ordered doughnuts for large groups before because I’ve worked in professional settings and I have human friends. (Vance’s corporate sponsor Peter Thiel wants to consume human blood so his doughnut preferences are probably atypical.) I’d start with at least one box of plain glazed and then go wild with the second box. People like the idea of variety but the plain glazed is always the first to go, so you should really get at least two boxes. There’s always some lonely jelly doughnut left at the end of the day. Also, don’t bring cinnamon sugar doughnuts into the workplace. You need a Silkwood shower to get clean after eating one of those.
As a southerner, I should point out that you don’t order cinnamon rolls when honey buns are available.
Walz out-runzas Vance
This tragic scene played like a clueless, entitled rich kid ordering doughnuts for the first time in his life. I think King Charles would’ve done a better job.
The obvious comparison to Vance’s doughnut disaster is Tim Walz’s recent stop at a Runza restaurant in Nebraska. At an earlier campaign rally, Walz said Vance would call a Runza (a baked, yeast dough pocket sandwich) a “Hot Pocket,” an alleged food item. Not only was Walz more comfortable around the Runza staff, he actually made the Runza look good.
“The bread consistency, all that really matters,” Walz said, going full Guy Fieri on us. “I got the swiss and mushroom. It’s kind of a classic. The cheese is solid. You can be a little bit creative, but this is it. If you’re going to Nebraska, if you’re gonna go to a Nebraska football game, if you’re just gonna be a good person, you stop at Runza.”
Walz filmed an impromptu commercial for Runza, whereas I think Vance caused doughnut sales to plummet nationwide. “Some sprinkle stuff” doesn’t sound appetizing.
Walz obviously had the superior advance team: The Runza staff knew who he was and was happy to see him. They responded like it was an exciting celebrity visit, not an annoying corporate order. In fairness to Vance’s advance team, Walz is capable of normal human interaction. He shook hands with the staff and seemed genuinely interested in what they had to say. These folks went home and told their friends, “Guess who I met today?” The Holt’s staff probably silently repeated that line from Clerks: “I’m not even supposed to be here today!”
Some liberals have objected to Walz dinging Vance about attending Yale. They think this is “anti-intellectual.” However, I’m glad that a Democrat has openly challenged the notion that Ivy League graduates are any more “intellectual” than someone who attended a public state college. Yale might seem like a presidential training ground (Bill and Hillary Clinton met there, and George W. Bush’s dad got him in), but recent graduates like Vance and Josh Hawley haven’t done the school any favors.
Of course, Yale graduate Bill Clinton would’ve ordered doughnuts like a master. Despite his flaws (perhaps even because of them), he always felt like a normal person. Vance doesn’t simply seem uncomfortable in his own skin. It’s as if he shed his skin, and his vestigial humanity, when he left rural Ohio and settled on the island of misfit weirdos with Peter Thiel and Trump’s matching dummy sons.
Writer Jessica Ellis posted on social media, “I honestly think [Vance] saying ‘whatever makes sense’ about which donuts to get is so desperately, F Scott Fitzgeraldly telling. He genuinely doesn’t know how to put together a donut order. He hopes desperately someone will tell him. It would be sad if he wasn’t, you know, vile.”
Vance is a wannabe Tom Buchanan but without Jay Gatsby’s charm and relatable goal. Gatsby seeks power as a means to achieve true love. Vance just wants power at any cost, but he can’t even order a doughnut.
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If you can't even order donuts, then you should never be one step away from the nuclear codes!
Periodically, I feel bad for JD Vance, because I understand the awkward bright people deeply. But the donut shop situation is a clue as to why he doesn’t actually deserve too much pity: because while interacting with people can be tough when you are self conscious, it’s really not too hard if you actually like them and care what they have to say. And he neither cares, nor thinks they have any expertise to offer.
He didn’t ask the easy questions to draw them out or suss out if they want to talk: “what’s your favorite?” or “what’s the best donut you guys make?” These are questions that allow them to politely lie if they want. They make a suggestion, which you take because a. They are most likely correct about what is tasty and b. Taking their advice is flattering, which is helpful in conversation. This is an interaction that lets you see if they want to chat or if they just want your order and actually hate donuts (or You). Pay attention to their cues, and they will know that you cared about their opinions, their expertise, and their preferences.
You can care about the people serving you, or you can pretend you care about people serving you, but doing neither is bad politics, JD Vance.