The
Little Bagel Shop
I used to go to a bagel shop
pretty much every morning. They have really good ones. I was born
in New York City and we take our bagels very seriously; our pizza
too. When I moved south I worried that I wouldn’t be able to
get a good bagel, or a good slice, but I found this little shop,
Ben’s Bagels, shortly after moving to Charlotte. The workers
all know me and call me by name. Of course I know all of their names
too. A couple of months before my birthday, I received an email from
them with a coupon for a free bagel with cream cheese, or a schmear
as they call it in New York. Last year, I was sitting in the shop
eating my birthday bagel, accompanied by my usual orange juice, when
my cell phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Is this Ron?”, the
voice on the other end asked.
“Yes it is.”
Then the caller hung up. A
minute later, Amber one of the store managers, walked over to my
table. She was holding my business card in her hand, and she was
smiling.
“So it’s you, you
won.”
“Won what?” I asked.
“A baker’s dozen of
free bagels. You dropped your business card in that bowl over there
a couple of weeks ago, and I drew your name. I called and thought it
a coincidence that your phone rang at the same time, but then I
looked over, and saw we were talking to each other.”
We both laughed.
“Well thank you Amber,
that’s really nice.”
“I’m glad you won,
but…”
“But what?” I asked.
“Now you probably won’t
come in for a while and we won’t get to see you every day.”
I looked up at her, she actually
looked a little sad.
“Tell you what, I will only
eat these free bagels on Saturday mornings for the next thirteen
weeks. I’ll freeze them, and I’ll come in all the other
days.” I told her.
She smiled. I stood up and gave
her a hug.
“We really like you Ron.”
‘Well I like you guys too
Amber, and thanks for the bagels.”
It was a pleasant start to my
morning. Shortly after Amber delivered the good news, another
regular customer walked in, Mr. Little. He was at the bagel shop
every morning too. With his copy of the morning newspaper tucked
under his arm, he opened the door, the bell jingled, he looked over
at me, gave me his friendly nod, walked to the counter, and ordered
his plain bagel, with light cream cheese, cut in quarters, not in
half. I say he ordered, but of course he didn’t say a word to
Ben, the owner who was waiting on him. Ben knew exactly what Mr.
Little wanted. He picked up his bagel, got his coffee, with two
creams, paid and walked to his table, the same one he sat at every
day. He unfolded his newspaper, looked at me and smiled, took out a
number two pencil, and began to solve the crossword puzzle.
The bell on the shop door jingled
again, and in walked the cute, petite blond. I figured her to be
considerably younger than Mr. Little, or me for that matter, probably
around forty. I thought Mr. Little was probably retired, and likely
in his late seventies or early eighties. The blond looked towards me
and we exchanged a wordless greeting, just smiles really, then she
walked to the counter, and since she was also a regular, Ben sliced
her bagel, smeared the cream cheese on it, (she likes bacon and
scallion), while Amber drew her a coffee; one cream. Then she walked
towards Mr. Little, stopped and asked how his day was going.
“Oh fine, thank you.”
She smiled and walked towards her
booth, wishing me a good morning, accompanied by a smile as she
passed. Although I am in a committed relationship, and would never
act on it, I have to admit I had a childlike crush on this cute
little blond.
*********************
As I picked up the second half of
my bagel I found myself watching Mr. Little. Although we had seen
each other almost every day for the past twelve years, I realized how
little I knew about him. He was always dressed pretty much the same,
white shirt, and dark slacks. Every morning he would work the
crossword, and he always got his bagel cut into four pieces. I
figured he had been an executive at one of the bank’s
headquarters in town. Charlotte, is a large banking center in the
US; second only to New York. His white shirts were likely left over
from wearing suits and a tie to work every day. I also figured him
to be a widower, although I’m not sure why.
I imagined him at a large
conference table, discussing important bank business with his staff.
“Last quarter Wall Street
slammed us for missing their expectations. We’re going to be
implementing some cost cutting measures. I want each of you to look
for places to make cuts. I don’t want to lose any people, but
I know there is still fat in this department, get back to me by the
end of the week with your suggestions.”
Everyone at the table looked at
one another, Mr. Little excused them, and they all headed back to
their offices.
I was glad he didn’t want
to lay off any of his employees. I had always thought of him as a
compassionate man, and it would have disappointed me if he had given
the axe to any of his people. A good manager has to peel back the
layers and see what’s inside. They’re not just
employees, they’re people. They have families that depend on
them, children, husbands, wives, maybe even older parents they’re
taking care of. I liked his management style.
Next I
imagined he had a meeting with his ad agency. He walked into another
conference room, and the agency people were already there. There was
the creative director, dressed in black slacks, a black turtleneck,
and red sneakers, the Account manager, an attractive, early thirties
blonde in a short skirt and low-ish cut blouse, and the project
manager, who was dressed similarly to Mr. Little, in suit and tie.
Concept boards were set around the room, facing towards the wall so
as not to give away the creative ideas. Of course the bank’s
lawyers were in the room too. Mr. Little wasn’t terribly fond
of the lawyers, they were the ones who squashed every creative idea
the agency had… assuming they had any good ones. They
exchanged pleasantries and Mr. Little asked,
“So what do you have
today?”
The guy in the black pants,
black turtleneck and red sneakers launched into an animated preamble
setting up the campaign. Mr. Little’s mind drifted.
******************
“What am I going to do
without you dear Josephine? I’ll be lost. Fifty-two years. I
was supposed to be the first to go. Do you remember the trip to
Italy for our twentieth anniversary? It was so romantic. You looked
so beautiful in the pale yellow silk dress I bought you there. Oh my
dear Josephi…
*******************
“Mr. Little?”
“Yes?”
“What do you think?”
“Oh excuse me, I was
distracted.”
Mr. Little looked around the room
and all of the concept boards were still facing the wall.
“I see, but what do you
think of the premise, the foundation we built the campaign on? Do
you feel we’re on target, do you have any questions or
suggestions?” asked red sneakers.
“Too early to tell. Please
just go ahead with your presentation.”
The creative director asked the
project manager to hand him the first concept board.
********************
I took the last bite of my bagel.
Mr. Little was still working on his crossword puzzle. There was one
quarter of his bagel still sitting on the waxed paper. He picked it
up but didn’t bite into it, he just held it in his hand. I
think he was stumped by one of the clues. I’d have liked to
help him if I could.
“Have a nice day,”
the petite blonde said to me as she walked past, dropping her empty
coffee cup in the trash can.
I couldn’t help but admire
her legs.
“Have a nice day,”
she repeated to Mr. Little, who looked up at her and smiled.
It has troubled me every day
since, that I never saw him again.
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