Time to make the bagels

There is a great food scene here in Portland. We have access to so much good food here: so many local, organic farms. Wild salmon. Tons of restaurants to choose from, and a few of them are even worth going to. People from all over the US end up here in Portland, and we have a great bounty of yummy things to eat. Except bagels. (and a decent submarine sandwich but this is about bagels.) You'd think some of these east-coast transplants who still have their accents intact and the requisite uptightness would DEMAND some decent bagels. Or open their own bagel shops with a nice basket of pumpernickel bagels and some goddamn schmear. Oh no. What we have here are not bagels. They may be some kind of fun, round bread product, but they are not bagels.
There is a bagel shop in my neighborhood, and they have the closest representation of real bagels. It is a very small shop. They have all kinds of good stuff there, too. Unfortunately, I went in there one day to get an onion bagel veggie sandwich, and this happened:
1)Scruffy, dirty looking bagel employee reaches down and picks up a piece of trash off the floor.
(This guy has greasy hair, is wearing a crappy t-shirt, and can be seen smoking around the corner with regularity.)
2) Said dirtball then wipes his nose.
3) Dirtball takes my order.
4) Dirtball makes my order.
5) Dirtball has not washed his hands!
Ugh! He besmirched my whole lunch.
The end.