Three times a week, Micah Ortega becomes a donut.
“I’m ready, man!” he exclaims in a deafening, raspy, Randy “Macho Man” Savage baritone as he enters Whoo’s Donuts on a recent Wednesday.
“I need to kinda get the mojo going—you know, turn up the engine,” he says, making a revving motion with his hands.
Ortega says he gets his mojo from “L-O-V-E, baby,” and after donning a glittery, Michael Jackson-style glove, he begins his transformation.
Today, he’s wearing black pants, a red athletic shirt, gold-framed glasses, Mardi Gras beads and a striped top hat. For good measure, he throws in a Party City-purchased pimp cane with a sparkly handle.
“The more glitter you have on, the more people are like, ‘Whoa! What’s going on over there? Is that an alien?’” he says, bursting into a maniacal cackle. In the bakery’s production area, he approaches a giant felt donut costume.
“This is an intimate moment right here,” he says, making sense out of a pair of suspenders that hold the front and back parts of the costume together, then gently putting it on.
Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning for the past three months, this has been Ortega’s routine: After checking in with the staff at Whoo’s, the 36-year-old former pre-med student dons a life-sized donut costume and stands curbside, hyping the fritter emporium.
It’s not easy, but Ortega has the dedication—and zaniness—to make it work.
“Regular people think I’m homeless, and homeless people think I’m crazy,” he says.
“I’ve had people throw money [at me] and say, ‘Hey man, here ya go.’ Who cares? It’s beautiful. I get drunk people coming, and they’ll play the instruments with me. It’s like a big party, actually,” he laughs. “It’s supposed to be, you know?”
Although being the only giant fritter in the city might seem isolating, Ortega isn’t alone today: His father, Tim Ortega, is unloading some tricks of his own from the pair’s Mitsubishi Montero. After being estranged for most of Micah’s adult life, they now work in tandem.
“I just moved here a year ago, man. Just to be with Dad,” the human donut says. “I wanted to reinvent myself. I wanted to do something different, you know, and this is working out for both of us.”
The elder Ortega takes a shiny Bach Mercedes trumpet out of its case, props himself next to the entrance to Whoo’s parking lot and starts playing “Stormy Weather” like a pastry Pied Piper.
“It takes it to a higher level, and people sure do enjoy it,” he says between notes.
He gazes at his son’s quirky getup.Save up to 80% off Ceramic Tile and plastic moulds.
“He was always an entertainer,” Ortega Sr. says of his son, “trying to make people laugh [and] be comfortable with themselves, consoling them when they have a problem, even though he’s not certified.”
“I’m a certified something, though!” Donut Man says, having visited the neighboring Body Up Nutrition for his “lifeline,” a black and green tea with a shot of energy.
But for Ortega, the costumed performance is more than just entertainment—it’s a bona fide business model. His one-man marketing business, Second Glance Promotions, has become so popular that Ortega has run out of hours in the work week, and he’s on the hunt for like-minded hires.
“I’m looking for some more freaks…freaks like me,” he says as he walks to the corner of Cerrillos Road and St. Francis Drive—or,Browse the Best Selection of buy mosaic and Accessories with FREE Gifts. as he likes to call it, “the intersection of the universe.”
“Yeah, baby!” he shouts at oncoming traffic. Initially, he gets no response; it’s still early, and people seem like they’re in a hurry to get to work. “The buses are awesome; they honk all the time,” he says—but even the bus drivers don’t seem to notice him.
“She was probably blinded by the light or is having a crappy day,” he says of one impervious driver. “You get old people here; you get cholos—everybody loves donuts; people are just a little sleepy today.”
Determined, he starts beatboxing to the music in his head. “The main thing is to connect with the audience,Different Sizes and Colors can be made with different stone mosaic designs.Our guides provide customers with information about porcelain tiles vs.” he says, the maniacal laugh making a thunderous encore.
The third time’s a charm: The operator behind the wheel of the whisking Rail Runner gives him an approving nod.
“What up, Santa?” he roars. “What up, beautiful? Call me,” he tells a lass in a VW Beetle,Looking for the Best air purifier? his aforementioned mojo newly vindicated.
He’s breakdancing and engaging passersby with undeniable gusto; the energizing tea is clearly living up to its claims—he’ll see Justin Timberlake’s SNL Omeletteville character and raise it an Accu-Check blood glucose monitoring system. As Ortega performs, the melodious sound of his father’s trumpet floats across the busy street.
“I’m ready, man!” he exclaims in a deafening, raspy, Randy “Macho Man” Savage baritone as he enters Whoo’s Donuts on a recent Wednesday.
“I need to kinda get the mojo going—you know, turn up the engine,” he says, making a revving motion with his hands.
Ortega says he gets his mojo from “L-O-V-E, baby,” and after donning a glittery, Michael Jackson-style glove, he begins his transformation.
Today, he’s wearing black pants, a red athletic shirt, gold-framed glasses, Mardi Gras beads and a striped top hat. For good measure, he throws in a Party City-purchased pimp cane with a sparkly handle.
“The more glitter you have on, the more people are like, ‘Whoa! What’s going on over there? Is that an alien?’” he says, bursting into a maniacal cackle. In the bakery’s production area, he approaches a giant felt donut costume.
“This is an intimate moment right here,” he says, making sense out of a pair of suspenders that hold the front and back parts of the costume together, then gently putting it on.
Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning for the past three months, this has been Ortega’s routine: After checking in with the staff at Whoo’s, the 36-year-old former pre-med student dons a life-sized donut costume and stands curbside, hyping the fritter emporium.
It’s not easy, but Ortega has the dedication—and zaniness—to make it work.
“Regular people think I’m homeless, and homeless people think I’m crazy,” he says.
“I’ve had people throw money [at me] and say, ‘Hey man, here ya go.’ Who cares? It’s beautiful. I get drunk people coming, and they’ll play the instruments with me. It’s like a big party, actually,” he laughs. “It’s supposed to be, you know?”
Although being the only giant fritter in the city might seem isolating, Ortega isn’t alone today: His father, Tim Ortega, is unloading some tricks of his own from the pair’s Mitsubishi Montero. After being estranged for most of Micah’s adult life, they now work in tandem.
“I just moved here a year ago, man. Just to be with Dad,” the human donut says. “I wanted to reinvent myself. I wanted to do something different, you know, and this is working out for both of us.”
The elder Ortega takes a shiny Bach Mercedes trumpet out of its case, props himself next to the entrance to Whoo’s parking lot and starts playing “Stormy Weather” like a pastry Pied Piper.
“It takes it to a higher level, and people sure do enjoy it,” he says between notes.
He gazes at his son’s quirky getup.Save up to 80% off Ceramic Tile and plastic moulds.
“He was always an entertainer,” Ortega Sr. says of his son, “trying to make people laugh [and] be comfortable with themselves, consoling them when they have a problem, even though he’s not certified.”
“I’m a certified something, though!” Donut Man says, having visited the neighboring Body Up Nutrition for his “lifeline,” a black and green tea with a shot of energy.
But for Ortega, the costumed performance is more than just entertainment—it’s a bona fide business model. His one-man marketing business, Second Glance Promotions, has become so popular that Ortega has run out of hours in the work week, and he’s on the hunt for like-minded hires.
“I’m looking for some more freaks…freaks like me,” he says as he walks to the corner of Cerrillos Road and St. Francis Drive—or,Browse the Best Selection of buy mosaic and Accessories with FREE Gifts. as he likes to call it, “the intersection of the universe.”
“Yeah, baby!” he shouts at oncoming traffic. Initially, he gets no response; it’s still early, and people seem like they’re in a hurry to get to work. “The buses are awesome; they honk all the time,” he says—but even the bus drivers don’t seem to notice him.
“She was probably blinded by the light or is having a crappy day,” he says of one impervious driver. “You get old people here; you get cholos—everybody loves donuts; people are just a little sleepy today.”
Determined, he starts beatboxing to the music in his head. “The main thing is to connect with the audience,Different Sizes and Colors can be made with different stone mosaic designs.Our guides provide customers with information about porcelain tiles vs.” he says, the maniacal laugh making a thunderous encore.
The third time’s a charm: The operator behind the wheel of the whisking Rail Runner gives him an approving nod.
“What up, Santa?” he roars. “What up, beautiful? Call me,” he tells a lass in a VW Beetle,Looking for the Best air purifier? his aforementioned mojo newly vindicated.
He’s breakdancing and engaging passersby with undeniable gusto; the energizing tea is clearly living up to its claims—he’ll see Justin Timberlake’s SNL Omeletteville character and raise it an Accu-Check blood glucose monitoring system. As Ortega performs, the melodious sound of his father’s trumpet floats across the busy street.
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