Suspicious Bagels

A high-carb short story

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Every night, we threw away at least three dozen bagels at the cafe I worked at on 62nd street in Manhattan. I was making only $8 an hour and living in a basement in the Bronx, so I always took a few for myself since free bagels were one of the only things I could afford. But even a disgustingly broke teenager like myself could eat only so many bagels, so I threw them out with the coffee grounds, used paper plates, and half-eaten muffins and sandwiches of the day. 

One night, while walking to the subway and passing all the homeless people on the sidewalk, I got a bright idea: Why don’t I feed the homeless with the bagels? I felt so proud of myself for even thinking this. What a good person I was trying to feed the homeless! I couldn’t wait until work the next day so I could not throw away the bagels and give them to people in need.

The next night came and I had 26 bagels that were supposed to be trashed. I put them into paper bags, four bagels per bag, and put all those bags in a larger bag, from which I would present gifts to the starving unfortunates on Manhattan’s ritzy Columbus Avenue. The have-nots living among the world’s biggest haves were about to dine on somewhat fresh baked goods, courtesy of your staggeringly generous narrator. 

I saw a homeless man wrapped up in a blanket lying on the sidewalk next to a shopping cart overflowing with tied up garbage bags. I took out a bag of bagels and kneeled down next to him.

“Sir,” I said. “I have some bagels for you.”

He opened one eye and snarled.

“Get that goddamned bag away from me!” he said. “How do I know what’s in that shit? Get it away!”

I took back the bag and took a step back. Right away I understood this was a sensible reaction. This is a man who had to be on guard. The world is a cruel place and cruel people sometimes, maybe quite often, target the homeless. 

“I work at the cafe down the street,” I said. “These are just bagels we were about to throw out.”

The man sat up, still only opening one eye.

“So you think I eat trash?” What kind of animal do you think I am? Who the hell do you think you are?”

“No, no, it’s not that at all. They’re good bagels, but we just don’t keep them overnight. They’re good! They’re not trash.”

The man snatched the bag out of my hand and looked inside. 

“You poisoned these,” he said. “I can tell because you look like a goddamn psychopath little shit. You think I’d fall for this gimmick?”

He tossed the bag aside. It landed in a dirty puddle in the street. The water soaked through the bag.

“Now get out of here before I get mad,” he said. 

“Sorry,” I said, and walked away.

A few feet down the street, I glanced behind me to make sure the man wasn’t following me. He wasn’t. He was picking up the wet bag of bagels. He took one out and bit into it.

I kept walking. I understood. But that was the last night I gave out bagels.