Griffin and I went to Noah’s Bagels today to purchase bagels for our camping trip. Little did we know that we would stumble upon a wormhole to a parallel universe. A universe much like ours, except stuck in the 1950s. And their agents were buying bagels.

When I entered the store, Griffin was in the Baby Bjorn on my chest, just starting to doze off to the cadence of my walk. The nearly asleep time is fragile for him (and most of us), so when I reached the counter and stopped walking, he got frustrated and started crying. I rocked him back and forth and placed my order as quickly as possible. (The store clerk, I must say, was great—working quickly and efficiently so that I could get out ASAP.) While completing the order, Griffin got more agitated. The store was loud, so it wasn’t like he was making a big scene, but anyone nearby was definitely aware that my baby was upset. Nearby customers were friendly and tried to cheer Griffin up. This was nice, sort of. A few folks were friendly and sweet. Others were the mildly annoying sorts who offer unsolicited, usually bad, advice (my favorite: “You should give him some chocolate.”)

And then there was the lady who kept asking Griffin where his mama was. And her friend who chimed in, “Awww, baby, did Mommy abandon you with Daddy?” And the woman who smiled at me, knowingly, “Bet you can’t wait to hand him back to his mother.” And, of course, the nut-job who never looked at (or spoke to) me, but delivered an earnest, baby-voiced monologue to Griffin: “When you get home to Mommy, you be sure to tell her about this! You tell her how Daddy’s just not the same. She’ll know how to cheer you up.”

I’m not kidding. It was like I’d busted in on a lost cult that never got the newsflash that dads can change diapers too. Fortunately I was just a mildly offended father rather than a single parent. Or a divorced man. Or, gasp, a gay man. Or, God forbid, a widower…

And, I might add, when I pulled Griffin out of the carrier (so that the time-traveling-crazies weren’t in his face) and hummed a little tune, he cheered right up. No chocolate or mom required. (Though we do both adore his mother.)