Bagels from heaven
Two days ago bread fell from the sky and almost buried me while I was looking for a quick lunch at Goldstein's Bagels.
Well, metaphorically that's what happened. But the literal truth of the matter ain't that much different. You see, the original plan was to duck out of church quickly, slam down an even quicker In-N-Out Burger, and jet off to the LA Zoo. As God would have it, the In-N-Out Burger on Santa Anita Ave. wasn't so in and out, which precipitated our pulling the car into the bagel shop next door. After all, if you're in a hurry then why not grab a quick bagel for lunch? Or at least it made sense at the time.
15 minutes later as we settled down at one of Goldstein's many empty tables, we were accosted by a middle-aged man in a red polo shirt. "You drink that stuff?" He probed, leering at my friend Scott's Powerade. "I drink coffee. It's all natural. That's shit's all chemicals." Slouching over the side railing next to our table, he stuck out a couple business card sized coupons. "Here you go. Free bagels. Do you mind if I had ten minutes of your time?" And with that we were off to the races.
It turned out that we were talking to Mr. Goldstein. Apparently what Mr. Goldstein wanted to do was "borrow our brains". Ten minutes of time stretched into forty-five minutes, and amounted to a barrage of questions ranging from "What do you think of the new menu I installed yesterday?" to "Did you know that we have a grill and a drive-thru?" And then there were a few mundane apocryphals--he had just bought a house in Asheville, NC and his son was about to head off to college--as well as the juicier tidbits--he'd been divorced and remarried and now had the wisdom of those experiences to support the ironclad law of the universe that having kids is hell on your sex life. For my part, I told him that the signage outside was essentially worthless, and that the menu he'd put up recently looked like a relic from Arby's. (Seemed like a fair trade to me...)
So, as the LA Zoo began to look like less and less of a possibility, Goldstein wrapped things up with the reassurance that when we returned once again to this location "you'll see changes!" When I mused out loud about what that meant, I was soundly informed that it would be a matter of two weeks. Apparently elated by comments about his franchise, he promised that "he'd take care of us." Take care of us? I thought. Did I just join the Jewish mob?
Jewish mob or not, what we did get was six dozen bagels, three bialys, a pair of bagel dogs, a pair of bagel pizzas, and a couple of other indistinguishable items. Then Goldstein slipped me a giftcard and decreed, "When you come here, you will not have to pay. Order whatever you want. Just let me borrow your brain." He grew ecstatic when he discovered that I was studying psychology, and insisted that I come in this Thursday to eat with him and his son. "I'm not doing therapy!" I spurted out. "No, no...of course not. But you think like a psychologist. I'd like to know what you think."
Well, it's a free breakfast. And, come to think of it, a free lunch. And a free dinner. Every day until I blow this town in three months. My mind still has trouble wrapping itself around this "free lunch" concept. Trying to convince myself that this bagel is free seems roughly equivalent to trying to convince my dietitian wife that Skittles are fruit.
But hey. It should be interesting, right? So, come Thursday at 9 in the morning PST, you know where I'll be.
Well, metaphorically that's what happened. But the literal truth of the matter ain't that much different. You see, the original plan was to duck out of church quickly, slam down an even quicker In-N-Out Burger, and jet off to the LA Zoo. As God would have it, the In-N-Out Burger on Santa Anita Ave. wasn't so in and out, which precipitated our pulling the car into the bagel shop next door. After all, if you're in a hurry then why not grab a quick bagel for lunch? Or at least it made sense at the time.
15 minutes later as we settled down at one of Goldstein's many empty tables, we were accosted by a middle-aged man in a red polo shirt. "You drink that stuff?" He probed, leering at my friend Scott's Powerade. "I drink coffee. It's all natural. That's shit's all chemicals." Slouching over the side railing next to our table, he stuck out a couple business card sized coupons. "Here you go. Free bagels. Do you mind if I had ten minutes of your time?" And with that we were off to the races.
It turned out that we were talking to Mr. Goldstein. Apparently what Mr. Goldstein wanted to do was "borrow our brains". Ten minutes of time stretched into forty-five minutes, and amounted to a barrage of questions ranging from "What do you think of the new menu I installed yesterday?" to "Did you know that we have a grill and a drive-thru?" And then there were a few mundane apocryphals--he had just bought a house in Asheville, NC and his son was about to head off to college--as well as the juicier tidbits--he'd been divorced and remarried and now had the wisdom of those experiences to support the ironclad law of the universe that having kids is hell on your sex life. For my part, I told him that the signage outside was essentially worthless, and that the menu he'd put up recently looked like a relic from Arby's. (Seemed like a fair trade to me...)
So, as the LA Zoo began to look like less and less of a possibility, Goldstein wrapped things up with the reassurance that when we returned once again to this location "you'll see changes!" When I mused out loud about what that meant, I was soundly informed that it would be a matter of two weeks. Apparently elated by comments about his franchise, he promised that "he'd take care of us." Take care of us? I thought. Did I just join the Jewish mob?
Jewish mob or not, what we did get was six dozen bagels, three bialys, a pair of bagel dogs, a pair of bagel pizzas, and a couple of other indistinguishable items. Then Goldstein slipped me a giftcard and decreed, "When you come here, you will not have to pay. Order whatever you want. Just let me borrow your brain." He grew ecstatic when he discovered that I was studying psychology, and insisted that I come in this Thursday to eat with him and his son. "I'm not doing therapy!" I spurted out. "No, no...of course not. But you think like a psychologist. I'd like to know what you think."
Well, it's a free breakfast. And, come to think of it, a free lunch. And a free dinner. Every day until I blow this town in three months. My mind still has trouble wrapping itself around this "free lunch" concept. Trying to convince myself that this bagel is free seems roughly equivalent to trying to convince my dietitian wife that Skittles are fruit.
But hey. It should be interesting, right? So, come Thursday at 9 in the morning PST, you know where I'll be.