An Open Note to the Counter Guy...

...at Bagel World on Court Street.

I don't know if you were pissed at having to work on Memorial Day, or if you're just generally a dick, or whatever. But HEAR ME, COUNTER GUY. When I, having just walked a dozen blocks through a torrential downpour to get to the establishment that pays your bills, ask for an everything bagel with a little bit of scallion cream cheese, you do NOT:

• proceed to smear that bagel with enough cream cheese to choke Delta Burke and reduce the entire thing to a sodden mess

• slide the thing over the counter at me like a friggin' hockey puck

• give me attitude when I have to ask a second time for my coffee since your one-lobed brain wasn't firing fast enough to process the request the first time

• wait to be asked to put my foodstuffs in a bag, and THEN put it in a paper bag which aforementioned torrential downpour will reduce to shreds in about ten seconds.

Had I not been soaking wet when I got home and discovered the shit sandwich that passes for a cream-cheese bagel in your closely-spaced eyes, and had I not been so ravenously hungry and then calmingly sated after carving the excess pound of cream cheese away from said bagel and devouring it (because Bagel World does have some damn good bagels), I very well might have returned to your place of work in short order, wielding the closest blunt object at hand, which is currently a metal folding chair or an extremely heavy antique vacuum cleaner, depending on which hand you pick.

Mark these words, Bagel Man, and mark them well: you fuck with my bagel again, you best be ready to get a Hoover in the face.