The Little Bagel Shop

Ron Osso – 1/17/16

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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