Bagel Head

You know what happens when you go to a city without a large Jewish (see left) population? You get shitty bagel service (see right).

I'm in Milwaukee, which is an Algonquian word meaning Pleasant or Good Place; I love the clean air and all the total obsession with beer.

I'm staying with my sister, Patrice. She just moved downtown two weeks ago, and she's very proud of her downtown apartment because she walks to work and feels like Mary Tyler Moore and she can buy stuff everywhere. Her building is fourteen stories tall and the ground floor is a Walgreens, which I don't mind at all, in fact I love drug stores because of my various ailments. I require drugstores to be located once every three blocks. I'm constantly in drugstores buying ointments, salves, pads, pills, razors, drugs, bottles, bags, aides, and creams, of all sizes and shapes and colors.

So I get into town yesterday after a glorious train ride on the Amtrak with all the old people including FOUR WW II (!) vets and a gaggle of Amish and a Mennonite who DID NOT FIGHT in World War II, who was, in fact, a conscientious objector, and I know this because I talked to all these people, interviewed a couple of them for my project, and I was riding high as I de-boarded at the Union Station in Milwaukee, thinking about how great the travels were going. Then it was time for shopping. First it was to Walgreens to get provisions and TJ Max to get clean underwear, then to Borders thinking, "yeah, they're corporate, but a bookstore, and bookstores support artists." they had wi-fi, but they charge 9 dollars! for a day pass. No siree, no thank you. A very nice Borders patron told me to check out Mocha's, a coffee shop in the area. I thanked her and complimented the unique shade of her eyes (that's a lie), and to Mocha's I went.

Immediately I hated the place. It was way too sanitary for my purposes. I'm traveling. I want to see hypodermic needles on the floor, strange locals, organ grinders, men in lederhosen. This place was Starbucks by another name. The set up of the counter, the espresso machines, the front display of a tiny selection of expensive cookies and sandwiches-- classic Starbucks. And very clean. You can imagine how relieved I was to have not one, but two highly satisfying movements two consecutive days.

Well, despite my initial hostility, yesterday afternoon at the Mocha Bistro wasn't too awful. I ordered a mocha. It was over 3 dollars. The place was basically empty so I plugged in my cell phone charger, my laptop, my curling iron and washer and dryer and Kenmore oven. I was very productive.

It was this morning, however, that Mocha showed it's true colors. The Hipster was back, sporting a red tie and shirt, very "Accountant Chic." There was another guy behind the counter, someone flabbier and balder than me so I felt bad for the guy, so I ordered a large coffee AND a bagel. The guy asked me if I wanted cream cheese, and I said, "What do you think?" I wish! I'm trying to be a completely different person on this trip. Much tougher than I usually am. I said, "Cream cheese would be great!" I probably smiled. I've got ways to go.

The bagel arrives, as two very large toasted halves on a plate, and totally bereft of cream cheese. A blank canvas. Next to the bagel halves was a three inch packet, like the sort you get at fast food places. This packet is quite inferior to the task at hand, as any one with a degree from the Wisconsin University System can clearly ascertain. The packet is really starting to get on my nerves, really bother me, like the skinny white guy who shows up to play pick up ball at Rucker Park. I squeeze the contents of the packet out, and this pathetic dollop squirts out, sitting in a lump like an albino turd covering barely 1/9 of the total surface area and just staring at me and making really annoyed.

I did what any other rational customer would do; I walked up to the counter and politely asked for three more packets. The Hipster retrieved them, after lots of staring at my forehead and mentally undressing me, from a cooler, handed them to me and said, "That'll be 1.25" I said, "for what?" The hipster said, "cream cheese is 40 cents a packet sir," and I said, "but the one packet you gave me for free wasn't up to the job." He looked at me and repeated the price. I said, "look I'll show you. " I went back to my table for the plate and brought it up to the counter to show the Hipster and Chubbs.

By now there were several well dressed office girls in tight skirts and sweaters (it's 45 degrees here) and high heels and one of them is Asian, the others are classic Wisconsin Nordic Blonds, and oh boy, was I getting aroused from my old fear of confronting authority figures in front of women, but I decide to act like I'm tough and indignant. "Look," I say, holding up the bagel, "this isn't enough! This dollop is puny." Chubbs is busy serving the office girls so he wants me gone, and so he asks, rather curtly, "You asked for three more packs, they cost 40 cents, so what do you want sir?" and I got all flustered and raised my pitch a notch or two. "I wouldn't have ordered if I knew I needed more than one pack! Did you see the size of the pack? It's insulting; it's an insulting size to offer the customer." Chubbs: "So, do you want the cream cheese, or not? I've got a lot of customers and you're holding up the line." It was true, I was, and the office girls were not having the reaction I wanted, which was wild swooning. I began to lose my nerve, and backed away from the counter before sayig, "No, you know what I want? A more honest description of your bagel policies." He didn't say it, but I could tell he thought I was a big chicken shit fake New Yorker from Brooklyn via Pewaukee, which sucks, because one of my goals is to stop compromising like a big flabby spineless paramecium. So, I said, "I hate this place, I'm never coming back."

And where I am writing this post from? That's right, Mocha's.