Bagel Girl to Porn Star?

In the Bagel Industry, verbally abusive customers are considered especially heinous. In San Francisco, the dedicated elevator operators who investigate these felonies are members of an elite squad known as the “Vicious Vag Productions”. Here is my story. (🎶DUN DUN🎶)

I was 19 years old and crying hysterically in an elevator the day I was propositioned to be in a porno. I’d recently dropped out of college after deciding it was more important to work 14 hour days at minimum wage between Jamba Juice and Noah’s Bagels than achieving a higher education. Hopping on a train at 5:45 am to get to my job in the Financial District, wearing a XXXL men’s uniform shirt and surrounded by carbohydrates, made me feel like I was really going places in life.

I was basically the Noah’s Bagels poster child as I was the only person in our shop with any sense of work ethic, and whose native language was English. Therefore, I was nominated to be the professional delivery girl to drop off large catering orders to high-rise buildings filled with testosterone fueled corporate leaders making millions of dollars a year.

On the day of the porno proposition, our 65 year old Chinatown bagel maker, SooYun Chin, decided that slicing onions while jamming out to The Eagles was more important than preparing our catering order. My boss Luis, the 40 year old depressed alcoholic who looked at me with a deep sexual yearning, was busy sleeping off his hangover in the back office. Yazmin, the Cholita that spent her days flashing a pierced tongue at sexy male pedestrians was too busy smoking a blunt on the back porch while making out with her boyfriend Chuy who spent his days loitering around the back alley. It was up to me, the college dropout formally known as “Linda” by my Hispanic colleagues, to bust out the order and haul ass eight blocks to get to the office by 10:00 am.

SooYun helped me pile boxes of bagels on a two level rolling cart and bid me farewell with a smack across the ass. I was off! Tearing through the streets of San Francisco, bobbing and weaving through pedestrians, busting through intersections with green lights, yelling at bums in my way, and flipping the bird to any car that dared to honk its horn at me. It was the ultimate obstacle course and I was making it my bitch.


As I approached the elevator to the building, I was greeted by a very large man named Marcus. Marcus was a jolly man who looked like he enjoyed copious amounts of 711 Slurpees and was often found singing, “Afroman likes tallllll cansssss.” You could tell that he loved his job. He was a social butterfly who got to chat with random strangers while riding a large electronic toy all day long. He danced in and out of the elevator and pressed those buttons in pride. Marcus was the definition of “KEWL”.

As I reached my floor I thanked Marcus for his elevator assistance and took a step into what would eventually become my Judgment Day.

I barely made it two feet out of the elevator before I was approached by the scariest human being on earth who welcomed me with, “WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN!” He was a tall, intimidating, bland looking white man who largely resembled John Cena, minus the faded 90’s style jean wrestling shorts, and with the addition of a stuffy black, “Takin’ Care of Business”, themed dress suit. He rushed me down the hall to the back conference room where he proceeded to scream, humiliate and berate me about:

  • How late I was
  • How incompetent I was
  • How stupid I was
  • How uneducated I was
  • How pathetic I was

And lastly, how I would never amount to anything more than a “mother fucking bagel girl.”

Meanwhile, every single person in the room silently hung their heads in horror pretending that if they didn’t make eye contact then they wouldn’t have to acknowledge the disgusting portrayal of power and status unfolding among them…all in the name of bagels.

After he tired out of degrading name calling, he hoped off his soap box and moved on to a more intimate form of humiliation. He forced me to provide a fine dining experience to each person in the room by producing individual plates of gourmet table service breakfast. His employees sat awkwardly in silence as I brought them plates, toasted their bagels, and lathered the perfect amount of cream cheese to fit their liking. As the humiliation set in, an uncontrollable tidal wave of tears was released. I slowly moved around the table with a bright red face covered in tears as John Cena stood behind me and monitored my service time and quality per bagel. When I finished serving my Master’s minions, I grabbed my cart, wiped my face dry with my XXXL men’s t-shirt, and hightailed it out of there with hatred and horror seeping from my pours.

That was by far the worst and most degrading moment I’ve ever experienced in my 19 years of life.

As the elevator doors opened, Marcus stood there like an angel with extended arms waiting to embrace my sad and emotionally beaten body. He obviously saw my brutal welcome greeting before the elevator doors closed and knew I’d need some serious comforting. I walked into the elevator and accepted his hug while tears flowed endlessly into his big, soft, teddy bear body. We hugged for 35 floors until we reached the lobby. As our embrace came to an end he looked at me and said, “Here’s my card. I can give you a better future.” I walked out of the elevator, said goodbye, and made my way back onto the streets of San Francisco with my tail between my legs. I looked at his card and it read, “Vicious Vag Productions”, with a silhouette of a naked lady and an image of an old fashioned video camera.

That week I re-enrolled into college and was a full time student by the next semester.

I’m not a fucking bagel girl. I’m not a fucking pornstar.

In the wise words of Afroman – “Bacc 2 School”

I said, “Honey, you got some sexy looks. You need money to buy your textbooks?”

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