Om Pikka

Saturday is a Holy Day in several religions, but not to Plotnikkies, who celebrate every day as sacred, especially at the dinner hour. Still, The Great Plotnik loves Saturday the best of all days, because he gets to play plotzketball in the morning, go to the farmer's market and bagel shop afterwards, then come home, take a shower and stuff himself with a Plotnik Combo # 2: Poppy seed bagel, toasted with cream cheese, tomato and onion, plus a large latte. Oh, Mama Pajama, it doesn't get much better than that.

Today after plotzketball, Plotnik took his usual ride to the bagel shop. As reported on August 27, after Dave and Daisy retired, their helpers, who are Filipino and Korean, took the shop over. Today, Manhattan Bagel was empty.

Plotnik walked in, and the new owner, a man in his thirties, said: "Ah! 5 poppy 1 chedda!"

"Right," Plotnik smiled. He looked around, saw only one other person in the shop, whereas in Dave and Daisy's day there was always a long line.

"Where is everybody?" he asked.

"Don't know, don't know. Weather bad maybe. You shoulda seen Thursday."

"Thursday?"

"Oh, yah, place packed all day. All day. We run out of bagels faw thutty."

"Really! Thursday. Why do you think that was?"

"Om Pikka."

"Pardon?"

"Om Pikka. Om Pikka."

Plotnik racked his brain. Om. Hindu word. Pikka. Flicka? Picture? Hindu movie? Om Pikka?

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. What is Om Pikka?"

"You know, holiday. Om Pikka. Om Pikka. People buy bagels all day long. Can't get enough bagels. Sell jalapeno. Sell chocolate chip. Every bagel. All gone. Om Pikka.

The light goes on. "Yom Kippur! You mean Yom Kippur!"

"Yah, yah, Om Pikka. Holiday. Bagels fly outa here."

"That's great. Well, I'm sure business will pick up later."

"Oh, yeah. 5 poppy 1 chedda. Faw Twenty.

Plotnik pays, hops on his plotzkicycle and rides back, uphill, wind in his face as always, already dreaming about all the shots he made and the bagels he will consume.