Buddhist Catholic Contemplative Evangelical General Christian Hindu Jewish Latter-day Saint Muslim New Visions Progressive Christian

Beliefs

Topics

Columnists

Resource Library

Research Tools

Video

Podcasts

Thought Readers

Faith In Media Tracker

Newsletters

Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In Subscription Support

Follow Patheos

Jerseygirl, JESUS

Home
About

Home
Progressive Christian
The “-isms” of Experience: Here’s What Happened When I Called The Cops On The Bagel Guy

The “-isms” of Experience: Here’s What Happened When I Called The Cops On The Bagel Guy

Last updated on: September 9, 2016 at 12:17 pm by Kerry Connelly

The “-isms” of Experience: Here’s What Happened When I Called The Cops On The Bagel Guy 2016-09-09T12:17:31-04:00 Kerry Connelly

LOGO Patheos Explore the world's faith through different perspectives on religion and spirituality! Patheos has the views of the prevalent religions and spiritualities of the world.

The coffee was amazing, and the bagels — a work of art. There is nothing like a New Jersey bagel. When I travel outside of the New York metro area, I seriously laugh at the hunks of chewy dough that people refer to as bagels. And I don’t care if that makes me a snob. If you think I’m a snob, I am mentally sticking my tongue out at you.

And the coffee and bagels at this particular bagel store were no different. It was a small bagel store in town in a free-standing building with only one other store in it — my hair salon. The hair salon was owned by a woman, and my stylist there was also a woman.

It had all the stuff that makes a small neighborhood great. The bagel store was owned by a nice guy and his wife — I’ll call them Dan and Sally. There were a bunch of guys who worked there, all of whom were Hispanic. Everyone was friendly, and they got to know me so well that my order was ready by the time I got to the counter after waiting in the long line. A well-done everything bagel with cream cheese and coffee on weekdays; two egg sandwiches and coffee on the weekends. One for me, one for my husband.

Dan and Sally were super nice and we used to talk all the time. We even started talking about hanging out together at one point — the four of us. Dan, Sally, me, my husband.

Then one day my marriage was over. I ordered one egg sandwich, and Dan noticed.

It wasn’t long after that that it happened. It was a weekday, and I was on my way to work. I’d gotten my bagel and coffee and was back in my car, fiddling with something before I headed off to the job, when a knock on my car window made me jump.

It was Dan. Just Dan! I smiled, and lowered the window. The waist of his sweatpants was at about my eye level, and he looked down at me and said, “No seriously. When are we going out?”

I laughed, and I said something like, Sure, I’ll set something up with Sally and we’ll all go out. He didn’t really smile back. In fact, he had a strange look on his face.

Then he said, “Well, all I know is I can’t control what you do to me.” At that point, his hands moved to his sweatpants. He proceeded to demonstrate to me through the fabric exactly what he meant.

What you do to me.

What I did? What I did was walk into a store. I bought a coffee and a bagel. I was friendly. I smiled and joked around and talked to him and his wife.

“See what you do to me?” he repeated.

I remember recoiling, my mouth open wide in shock, and saying, “Get out of here!”

He shrugged and said, “I can’t help it.”

He can’t help it.

I put the car in reverse and pulled out of the parking lot. I went to work feeling like I needed a shower. I felt assaulted, even though he’d never laid a finger on me. I felt disgusting.

And I was angry. I was angry when my boss, who I’d told when I got to the office, protectively decided out loud, “Well, you’re never going back to that place again.”

I’d loved my little morning ritual; the steaming, nutty flavor of the hot coffee with milk; doughy goodness of the bagel, the creamy cheese, the daily chit chat. Suddenly my beautiful and wholly innocent little routine was disrupted, for no better reason than a guy with an erection that he needed me to know about.

Seriously. When I think about it now I think of all the self-absorbed, the-world-revolves-around-me-and-my-maleness bullshit.

But wait. It gets better. Actually it gets worse. Keep reading to find out about how the bagel guy showed up at my house.

Justice

Previous Post

September 6, 2016

Risky Love: On Temptation, Love, and Control-Freakishness

Next Post

September 13, 2016 What My First Tattoo Taught Me: The Secret Code of Jesus

Browse Our Archives

Select a Category Guest Bloggers Justice The Feminist Stuff The God Stuff The other stuff. Uncategorized You Need To See This

Select a Month August 2019 July 2019 February 2019 January 2019 October 2018 September 2018 August 2018 June 2018 May 2018 March 2018 February 2018 January 2018 December 2017 November 2017 October 2017 September 2017 August 2017 June 2017 May 2017 April 2017 March 2017 February 2017 January 2017 December 2016 November 2016 October 2016 September 2016 August 2016 July 2016 June 2016 May 2016 April 2016 February 2016 January 2016 December 2015 September 2015 June 2015 April 2015 March 2015 February 2015 August 2014 July 2014 September 2013 August 2013 July 2013 June 2013 May 2013 April 2013 March 2013 February 2013 October 2012

TAKE THE

Religious Wisdom Quiz

Who said, "For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain"?

Select your answer to see how you score.

Paul Peter James John