Some days are bad because you’re late for your first day of work work (late delivering the bagels). Some days are bad because your girlfriend recently broke up with you(Sandra if you’re reading this, you’re still welcome to be my friend! I’m clean now!). Some days are just plain overcast (who likes bad weather?). Let me tell you this though, everyday is a bad day when you lose the bagels. My name is Tammy Schmultz and my professional career consists of delivering bagels to offices all throughout Baltimore. A lot of people think my job must be thoroughly mundane, since it’s pretty much moving bagels out of my car, collecting bagel money from bagel buyers, and heading back to my car to deliver more bagels. These people are wrong, of course, because if one doesn’t enjoy the repetition of going between cars and offices wielding either bagels or bagel payment, then their name sure ain’t Tammy M. Schmultz!
Still, despite my newfound immense enjoyment for providing people with the bagels they want, need, and mostly just feel obligated to buy from a government subsidized bagel company that employs people who recently finished rehabilitation, sometimes this job is tough. Now, one would think losing a close-to-eight-pound sack of bagels between a car and an office is a rare event, and indeed it is. Still, have you ever lost your mother to a freak tornado accent while she was vacationing in Wichita? Me neither, but I’ll bet whomever has wasn’t much comforted by knowing their mother’s bizarre release of this mortal coil was statistically weird. Anyway, my name is Tammy Schmultz. I sell bagels and sometimes, I lose bagels. I guess I’m not being forthright with you: my name is Tammy Schultz. I sell and lose bagels. I am also a self-prescribed methadone addict. You see, sometimes you finish a methadone program, but you’re not really done with it yet. Still, you know that going back to chasin’ the dragon is bad news bears, so you stick to good ol’ methadone. And you know, I’m not irresponsible either, I take methadone in the exact quantities I did when I was first being treated for my addiction. As I like to say in my head “meth-a-almost-done.” Ha ha! My cousin is a comedian! He told me I’m a “funny character!” Thanks Kyler Schmultz!
I keep losing track here, but that’s what happens when you’re on methadone. Everyday is a blur. Not that much of a blur; it’s not heroin, people. The thing is, sometimes you take all your daily self-permitted allowance of methadone all at once in the morning on an empty stomach. Technically, this wouldn’t be allowed in the program, but this is my system. Tammy’s methadone, Tammy’s rules. Speaking of rules, here’s another one, complete honesty: my name is Tammy Schultz and I have stolen money from my 13-year-old brother. We were in Maine and I snuck across the border to buy Tylenol III in Canada. It has codeine in it. It’s ok, he would’ve wasted that money on video games. My actions are alright because my own pleasure is my only real value in this world!
Anyway, when you take all your methadone at 7:30AM on a completely empty stomach, you’re hit with a wonderful blast of euphoria, almost as good as a second dragon-chasing injection of heroin, and you realize that this whole methadone/new bagel delivery job situation isn’t really that bad of a deal, especially when you can go home and sip on Tylenol III you brought home from Maine, at least until you pass out crying. Don’t worry, my little brother will wake me up in the morning without judging me; he’s too young to truly grasp wasted potential. Plus, he knows he has to pay the Tammy Toll! This consists of his lunch money or I’ll hurt him later, before mom gets back from work; methadone isn’t cheap, especially when you’re buying it off your pals who are still program! Hey, did you know that choking yourself with a belt while on opiates is a completely free and legal way to enhance the experience?
Anyway, bagels. On the topic of misplacing the quote-on-quote bagues (syllabic abbreviation of bagels), It’s not really the kind of thing you can readily explain or defend. For instance, going back to losing one’s mother in Wichita, that situation is easy to explain: nature took away your mother! But losing an eight pound sack of donut-esque Jewish bread isn’t readily reducible to an act of God. You see, my new boss really likes to pry when I lose the bagels. He says “Tammy, I don’t understand. Your job was to deliver three sacks of bagels over the course of an hour. How could you lose them?” Gee, boss, I didn’t realize the bagels were worth a million dollars, here I thought they were worth around $14 a sack. Oh wait, they are worth $14 each, so what’s the big deal? Of course, it’s not really about the money since my job is just a rehabilitation job and no one really trusts me with anything worth more than well, three sacks of bagels (around .8 gram of decent h). After the bagels are profoundly unaccounted for, my boss asks me to retrace my steps in my head. He makes a lot of intense eye contact with me and basically treats me like I’m some sort of morally bankrupt sensation-seeker; it really almost makes me feel ashamed. Not quite though, at least if I avoid eye contact.
Anyway, the thing is, I know where the bagels aren’t. They aren’t where they’re supposed to be. You see, it actually is close to impossible to 100% lose almost four kilos of a baked good that goes superbly with lox and cream cheese, at least, if you’re sober. So, I didn’t lose the bagels per se. After all, I know that losing the bagels would indicate I was of a very poor mental status indicative of a relapse, which would in turn mean I’d have to go back to program, which means that my 7:30AM oral dosage of h-replacement would turn into “a distributed and ever decreasing methadone allotment” AKA weaning me off my six year long relationship with smack. So, what I’m trying to say is that I didn’t lose the bagels in a drug-induced stupor, boss. I wouldn’t do that. Really, Mr. Goldman, I don’t like the consequences of my actions hence my actions aren’t real! Cause and effect is for schmucks not Schmultzes! It’s my first day for God’s sake!
You know what happened, Mr. Goldman, I ate the bagels. That’s right. I ate all 72 bagels. And the weird thing is, I’m not even that full. See, pat my stomach? Crazy, right? Who would’ve thought good ol’ Tammy Schmultz went from a heroin addict to a bagel-eating-machine sensation just like that!? Hey, come on, don’t scoff, boss, ok look I didn’t eat the bagels, that is “blatant fiction,” hahaha, great turn of phrase, but that doesn’t mean I’m having a relapse, Mr. Goldman. It really doesn’t. Mr. Goldman, please don’t call them.
Mr. Goldman, I know where the bagels are. Oh, silly me, I left them at the gas station! Mr. G, come on, no I’m not going to resist and make a “bad situation worse” because I truly have nothing to hide so you definitely don’t need to call security. Mr. G, please call them back, I’m an innocent man and P.S. I still know where the bagues are! That’s right, all 72. Right by the pump! What a silly mistake I made today that has nothing to do with my longstanding pattern of drug abuse and lack of regard for other people and society on a whole! How is this pathetic, Mr. Goldman? What’s pathetic is that you won’t listen to an innocent man. Someone call Atticus Finch, huh? Alright, I’ll be quiet. Yeesh. Here comes people who want to tell Tammy M. Schmultz what to do. Good thing I brought this flask of Tylenol III I got from Canada while visiting Maine. Better maximize my opiate buzz before vigilant supervision becomes part of my day-to-day. Yikes! Oh boy, now Tammy M. Schmultz is losing control of his extremities due to handcuffs. Hey those are too tight! Man, everyday is a bad day when you lose the bagels.