Ryan Smith
September 18, 2008
Period 4
Mrs. Wood
Frozen Bagel, Anyone?
I put myself in a dangerous situation, all for a bag of bagels. Now, that statement may seem a bit exaggerated to you, but it is the truth. Next time you eat a bagel, perhaps you’ll remember this story.
It happened on a Sunday afternoon at about 12:30 P.M., with one-half hour of brunch left at Grand Island Resort. I work in the kitchen there, and I noticed that the bagel tray was empty, so I got the keys to the freezer and headed for the basement.
“I’m going to get some more bagels,” I hollered as I left the kitchen. “I’ll be back.” The cooks barely looked up from their food preparations.
“Okay,” I heard one of them mumble as I descended the basement stairs. I turned left at the bottom and walked across the large storage room to the freezer at the back.
I had never been in the walk-in freezer before, but I thought nothing of it. I opened the door, dropped the keys in my pocket, walked in, and shut the door tightly behind me. Then I began hunting for bagels. After a few seconds, I decided there were none to be found, so I returned to the door and gave the latch a gentle push—nothing. A shiver crept up my spine. I quickly joked it away.
I gave a slightly harder push—no response. I then decided to use a little force. I pushed, kicked, and rammed at the door—nothing! I tried pushing and pulling the safety latch with all my might, but the door was so solid, just like the other three walls in the freezer. Panic and claustrophobia were definitely beginning to set in.
By that time, I was becoming exhausted by all the futile lunges against the unyielding door, but I still continued to pound. The frigid temperature inside the freezer was taking its toll, so I finally stuck my hands inside my pockets to warm them. I pulled the key ring out. These were the keys to open the freezer from the outside! I wondered if someone had another set, or was I truly sealed in? I immediately resumed banging on the door, even harder than before.
I knew I had to get out eventually; someone had to open the door. But when? All around me, I noticed frozen shrimp, crab legs, and lobster. I realized I couldn’t even eat any of this, if I was starving! My hands were now turning numb. I took the insulation cover off the light and held my hands up to the only source of heat—a 60-watt light bulb. It offered little warmth, so I returned to pounding on the door.
Suddenly, I heard a noise outside. I pounded louder than ever. The door swung open. A blast of hot air enveloped me. All around me there was light, and there was the smiling face of Kirk Krempel, one of the fry cooks. I breathed a huge sigh of relief.
I went up to the kitchen and told my story to the other cooks. They sat me by the ovens to warm up, and jokingly, one of them said, “By the way, the safety latch on that door is broken.” (Gee, thanks for the warning.) The clock on the wall said 1:05 P.M., brunch was over, and we didn’t even need the bagels.