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Krispy Kreme requires students to stop acting like a donut



Jayson Gonzalez is a senior who is just trying to make money. He has worked at Starbucks. He has made candles. He has sold iPhone cases. Like all good Gen Z kids, he's been trying to develop an app. But earlier this year, he hit upon a scheme that actually earned him some real money: importing Krispy Kremes from Iowa to the Twin Cities. But now Krispy Kreme has ruined the whole thing.

Krispy Kreme arrived in Minnesota in 2002 with great fanfare and left quietly six years later. The state is not completely smashed by donuts but Minnesotans still have a soft spot for Krispy Kremes. Earlier this year on a trip to Iowa with a youth soccer team he coached ̵

1; another of his playing jobs – Gonzalez spotted a Krispy Kreme store. He posted a message on Facebook Marketplace asking if anyone in the Twin Cities would want him to bring them back some Krispies. He received more than 300 responses from people who were willing to pay twice the market price for donuts. Thus, a business was born.

A reporter for Twin Cities Pioneer Press accompanied Gonzalez on his 19th run and produced a charming story about the operation. Gonzalez would take orders through a dedicated Facebook page ( Krispy Kreme Run Minnesota 3,341 followers) during the week and then get up at 2pm on Saturday for the four-hour drive down to Iowa. He had established a friendly relationship with Mary Paredes, the manager of Krispy Kreme in Clive, Iowa, who admired his entrepreneurial spirit and wanted the donuts ready when he arrived. His order was usually 100 boxes, as many as his Ford Focus could hold. On his way home, he would make eight scheduled stops, usually in destination parking lots. He put a Krispy Kreme case on the roof of his car to alert buyers about his presence.

"His customers range from all walks of life," Deanna Weniger wrote in Pioneer Press "from pregnant women with donuts to businessmen from Tesla to police officers. A surprised man stopped his car in the middle of the street, opened the door and screamed: "Are the Krispy Kremes?"

Gonzalez charged between $ 17 and $ 20 per dozen, which was about twice the retail price, but, at least according to Weniger's article, customers were happy to pay, not only because they missed Krispy Kremes, but also because they wanted to help Gonzalez pay through Metropolitan State University, where he is a senior studying accounting.

Being a donut mule was exhausting, but profitable: Gonzalez said he could make more in one run than he did from 80 hours behind the counter at Starbucks.

But then Krispy Kreme got a whole wind of history, and instead of being impressed with Gonzalez's drive and initiative (not to mention the weekly sale of 1,200 donuts in one place), the company asked him to quit operations . He posted an update last Thursday and elaborated to Weniger: "I know they told one of the great leaders in Nebraska directly, and he called me. He said the company asked him to & # 39; cease & # 39; and & # 39; relinquish. & # 39; & # 39; His customers responded with indignation and advice.

The story might not be over yet. Earlier today, Gonzalez posted a video on Facebook informing his followers that he had plans to "wait and see" what Krispy Kreme had to say, and that there may be some "work-arounds." As Minnesota weather is, he said, everything is unpredictable.


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