Saturday Morning Bagel Shop
There were only two people on line when I walked into the bagel shop.
Incidentally, there seem to be two kinds of people in the world. There are people who say they wait “on line” and people who say they wait “in line”. I’ve always been of the “on line” stripe and I never really knew why. Is it a regional thing? I noticed folks from the Midwest tend to say “in line” rather than “on line’. Is it purely a dialect kind of thing or is it something deeper? Are those of us who say “on line” somehow being snobbish or superior because “on line” seems to connote (or is it denote?) standing above something while saying “in line” implies being one with the waiting masses?
This is something else I’ll lose sleep over. I know it.
Where was I? Oh yeah. When I went into the shop (I say “shop” as a noun even though that’s not regionally correct. Most people would say “store”, I think. Why do I say shop? More sleep lost…). I went into the shop and there were two people on line. Given what transpired I think it’s more likely they were in line because they were definitely in. And I definitely was not.
Anyway, I was thinking “This shouldn’t take long.”
Ha.
“Hey, Cathy. Cathy. Yeah babe, just the iced cawfee wid de other stuff.”
“You wanna lid for that?”
“Nah baby, it’s beautiful the way it is.”
Suddenly Cathy produces a box from beneath the counter. A cardboard box kind of like the ones that carry cases, 24 count can cases of soda. It has at least half a dozen individual white paper bags on them presumably with breakfasts in each. Cathy starts ringing up the bags.
Is it still appropriate to call it “ringing up” in the age of electronic cash registers? I suppose if “dialing a number” still has meaning in an age when nobody under 30 knows the etymology of the phrase then “ringing up” still works.
As the bags were being rung up, the guy behind the guy getting the box of bags scrolled through some text messages. “Scroll”, hmmm….
There was a small Hispanic kid behind the counter, back to the crowd furiously flipping innumerable scrambled eggs for innumerable customers totally oblivious to it all.
“I need help with the loine!” Cathy yelled.
I looked around and noticed two other employees socializing with people at the tables, refilling coffee and bringing food items from behind the counter. Cathy was going to sink or swim on her own. She looked to be the youngest of the crew, pushing only 55 or so.
I never knew they had table service at this shop I thought, looking around at the scene.
One of the other counter-ladies went back to fetch a donut for one of the tables.
“I need help back heeya wid da loine” Cathy whined “Yaw not supposed to be out there servin’”
So they don’t really have table service here. This is just the staff being friendly in exchange perhaps for “a little somethin’”.
Cathy finally finished totaling up the bags and Mr. Box o’Breakfasts picked up his bounty and left.
The Hispanic kid cracked a few more eggs onto the griddle, never looking up.
The guy in front of me started giving his order to Cathy. He was short, booth-tanned with a pack of smokes rolled into the sleeve of his tight shirt. Slicked back graying hair and a gold earring. In other words, a true middle aged Staten Island local.
He ordered. Slowly.
Clearly Mr. Smokes-In Shirt was a guy who once got the wrong stuff on a breakfast sandwich and he was going to make sure that didn’t happen again by ordering them one at a time. As he got the sandwiches he wrote on each one. It is the most important meal of the day, I thought. Best to get it right.
I stared at the headlines memorializing Tim Russert and zoned out for a bit, longing for my cup of coffee that I left in the car. This was going to be a long one.
I came back in time to here him say “Yeya, the cawfee and the last two egg white an’ cheese samwiches and gimme, uh, gimme, uh, gimme one a dose big apple turnovuhs.”
“And, hey you gotta box a'Marlboro box under there?”
Hmm, cigarettes from under the counter? Maybe I’d better just look the other way right now. I don’t know and I don’t want to know.
Finally, it was my turn.
“Two onion bagels and one sesame please.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“One sesame and what?”
“Two onion”
“Right, OK hon. A dolla atey foive”
I paid and went back out to the car where my wife awaited. “Sorry”, I said and flipped the bagels into the back seat. As it turned out, they weren’t even particularly good bagels. Sometimes you just pay for the ambiance.
Incidentally, there seem to be two kinds of people in the world. There are people who say they wait “on line” and people who say they wait “in line”. I’ve always been of the “on line” stripe and I never really knew why. Is it a regional thing? I noticed folks from the Midwest tend to say “in line” rather than “on line’. Is it purely a dialect kind of thing or is it something deeper? Are those of us who say “on line” somehow being snobbish or superior because “on line” seems to connote (or is it denote?) standing above something while saying “in line” implies being one with the waiting masses?
This is something else I’ll lose sleep over. I know it.
Where was I? Oh yeah. When I went into the shop (I say “shop” as a noun even though that’s not regionally correct. Most people would say “store”, I think. Why do I say shop? More sleep lost…). I went into the shop and there were two people on line. Given what transpired I think it’s more likely they were in line because they were definitely in. And I definitely was not.
Anyway, I was thinking “This shouldn’t take long.”
Ha.
“Hey, Cathy. Cathy. Yeah babe, just the iced cawfee wid de other stuff.”
“You wanna lid for that?”
“Nah baby, it’s beautiful the way it is.”
Suddenly Cathy produces a box from beneath the counter. A cardboard box kind of like the ones that carry cases, 24 count can cases of soda. It has at least half a dozen individual white paper bags on them presumably with breakfasts in each. Cathy starts ringing up the bags.
Is it still appropriate to call it “ringing up” in the age of electronic cash registers? I suppose if “dialing a number” still has meaning in an age when nobody under 30 knows the etymology of the phrase then “ringing up” still works.
As the bags were being rung up, the guy behind the guy getting the box of bags scrolled through some text messages. “Scroll”, hmmm….
There was a small Hispanic kid behind the counter, back to the crowd furiously flipping innumerable scrambled eggs for innumerable customers totally oblivious to it all.
“I need help with the loine!” Cathy yelled.
I looked around and noticed two other employees socializing with people at the tables, refilling coffee and bringing food items from behind the counter. Cathy was going to sink or swim on her own. She looked to be the youngest of the crew, pushing only 55 or so.
I never knew they had table service at this shop I thought, looking around at the scene.
One of the other counter-ladies went back to fetch a donut for one of the tables.
“I need help back heeya wid da loine” Cathy whined “Yaw not supposed to be out there servin’”
So they don’t really have table service here. This is just the staff being friendly in exchange perhaps for “a little somethin’”.
Cathy finally finished totaling up the bags and Mr. Box o’Breakfasts picked up his bounty and left.
The Hispanic kid cracked a few more eggs onto the griddle, never looking up.
The guy in front of me started giving his order to Cathy. He was short, booth-tanned with a pack of smokes rolled into the sleeve of his tight shirt. Slicked back graying hair and a gold earring. In other words, a true middle aged Staten Island local.
He ordered. Slowly.
Clearly Mr. Smokes-In Shirt was a guy who once got the wrong stuff on a breakfast sandwich and he was going to make sure that didn’t happen again by ordering them one at a time. As he got the sandwiches he wrote on each one. It is the most important meal of the day, I thought. Best to get it right.
I stared at the headlines memorializing Tim Russert and zoned out for a bit, longing for my cup of coffee that I left in the car. This was going to be a long one.
I came back in time to here him say “Yeya, the cawfee and the last two egg white an’ cheese samwiches and gimme, uh, gimme, uh, gimme one a dose big apple turnovuhs.”
“And, hey you gotta box a'Marlboro box under there?”
Hmm, cigarettes from under the counter? Maybe I’d better just look the other way right now. I don’t know and I don’t want to know.
Finally, it was my turn.
“Two onion bagels and one sesame please.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“One sesame and what?”
“Two onion”
“Right, OK hon. A dolla atey foive”
I paid and went back out to the car where my wife awaited. “Sorry”, I said and flipped the bagels into the back seat. As it turned out, they weren’t even particularly good bagels. Sometimes you just pay for the ambiance.
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