Now, I know you people don’t know who I am, but I just started playing guitar three weeks ago, and these goyim at the coffee shop ask me to play some Boss song, “Born to Run.”

Oy.

How do you expect me to play “Born to Run”? I’m not the rock legend Bruce Springsteen, you know. I’m Bruce Springstein. SpringSTEIN. S-T-E-I-N. Don’t be a bunch of meshugeners.

Clearly, I’m not The Boss. I can’t play guitar worth the shmutz crusted on the front of this blasted thing. If you’re trying to schmooze, you can take your balugah to some other coffee shop that has a bozo playing guitar onstage. If you’re heckling me, well, then you are one anti-Semitic piece of garbage, yes sir, I’ll tell you that.

Yeesh, you would think it’s Germany in the 1930s the way they treat the Jewish talent around here. I’m just a man in a coffee shop trying to express my soul through the magic of music. So my name is similar to a rock ‘n’ roller and I play guitar and yadda yadda yadda. But cripes, that doesn’t mean I can channel all of his music just like that! What am I, a record player? A jukebox? Oy vey. Just let me play my chords and sing my lyrics. If you like it, buy me a bagel and a shmear.

How would you like it if I heckled you while you tried one of your hobbies? Oy. The yelling and the booing and the heckling and the other mishegas you crazy people you bring to the coffee shop. It’s enough to give a man a headache! The chutzpah of the people around here…

I schlep my guitar from my car, almost twist my ankle, mind you, and play my music for the patrons of my bubbe’s coffee shop, and this is what I receive. I get requests for a song I don’t even know! Goyim manners is as nonexistent as they have ever been.