The Morning Thus Far (or, I Just Wanted a Bagel)

I heard the following exchange on the train this morning:

"I ran into Bruce the other day."

"Bruce that taught at Harvard?"

"Yeah, he's driving a cab now."

This happened just as I was getting off at my stop, so I never heard how Bruce went from an Ivy League professor to a cabbie. The mind boggles at the possibilities. And how exactly did this guy find out about Bruce's new job? Maybe they bumped into each other at the supermarket...

"Hmmm...Gold Bond Medicated Powder, half off."

"Bruce? Bruce is that you? It's me, Dave. You know, from Steve's thing."

"Right, Dave. From Steve's thing. So, how have you been, man?"

"Doin' good, doin' good. How about you? Still teaching up there at Harvard?"

"Oh, no. I gave that up a while ago. I drive cabs now."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's been a dream of mine ever since I was a kid. I'm a huge fan of Tony Danza. But, you know how it is. Things get side-tracked and you put your dreams aside to go get your Master's degree."

"So what happened?"

"Well, one day I was in the middle of an advanced political science lecture and it just hit me. 'What am I doing here,' you know? This isn't the life I dreamed of. So I just walked out and never looked back."

"You walked out in the middle of class?

"Half the students didn't even notice! Is that insane or what?!"

"Wow. That is just...I mean, wow."

"I know. I know. But I'm living my dream and I'm having a blast. I think for the first time in my life, I can say that I love my job."

"Well, hey man, good luck. It was great running into you. I've gotta go, the wife's expecting me home with...hell, what did I come here for? Dammit. Sandy's going to kill me!"

But I think we all know it was probably closer to this...

"Fleet Center, please. Bruce? Bruce is that you?"

"Uh...no hablo ingles.

"C'mon Bruce, you old rascal, you're name's right there on your license."

"Alright, alright. It's me, keep it down."

"What are you doing driving a cab? I thought you were a professor at Harvard."

"Well, now I 'm not. Let's just get you over to the Fleet Center, okay?"

"Wait. I remember reading something a while back about a teacher that had all those inappropriate..."

"Can we just not talk about this please?"

"That was you?! You're the Naughty Professor? Bruce, you sly dog, you."

"Alright, that's it. Get the hell out of my cab. Jesus."

We may never know what actually happened, but one thing is clear. Pondering the assorted vocations of Bruce makes you want bagels. The section of town where I work is somewhat of an anomaly in that it may be the only section of New England where there isn't a Dunkin Donuts every five feet. There's a Finagle a Bagel on Boylston Street, so headed over there to get my fix. But they had a line going out the door. I didn't want to wait that long, so I went back in the other direction to Au Bon Pain.

I walk by it all the time, but I'd never been inside before. They had a rack with a bunch of bagels in the middle of the place, but I wanted it toasted with cream cheese. Don't they do that here, or am I supposed to do it myself? I looked around to see if they had toaster for people to use. I made my way to the back of room, where I saw people picking up their orders, and a sign that read "Bagel with Cream Cheese." There we go. As I was standing there, waiting for someone to take my order, I looked down and noticed pads of paper and pencils. They were forms. If you wanted a plain bagel with cream cheese, you'd mark of the little box next to "plain bagel" and the little box next to "cream cheese." The hell with that! I'm not going to fill out a form for a stinking bagel. Anyway, I also wanted an orange juice, and I don't think I had two forms of identification and my birth certificate on me.

So I got out of there and set off for the Park Square building. I knew they had a little cafe in there. Surely I could get a bagel with cream cheese there. I was about to walk in when I noticed there were two doors. I didn't see any signs that said "enter" or "exit," but I think I hesitated a little too long, because the people inside started to stare at me to see if I was going to go inside or not. Too embarrassed to go in, I kept walking.

In the same building, I found a place called Croissants de Jour. It sounded too fancy, but I went in anyway, hoping to at last get a bagel with cream cheese. The guy at the counter with the ambiguous ethnicity (Greek? Pakastani? Symbionese?) took my order and I finally got my bagel with cream cheese. And an orange juice. Hooray for Croissants de Jour! I wonder if the guy at the counter ever taught at Yale...