Monday, January 6, 2014

It's Snow People- Why Does Everyone Need So Damn Many Eggs?

Dear America,

We need to talk.  I know you might not all be to blame directly due to the barrage of constant mass media
assaults and I am more than willing to point the finger and blame the media, but still, we are free thinkers in an independent nation so that begs the question –America, WTF?   It’s a snowstorm – not the Storm of the Century or Snowpocolypse or any of the other charming titles thrown up on screen in the days prior to any snowstorm promising to deliver more than two inches of the white fluff.  So why is it the moment a snowflake appears in the forecast everyone has an immediate need for eggs?

For quite some time I thought the immediate need to rush out and stock one’s home with milk, bread and eggs prior to the first flake was a distinctly East Coast thing.  But no.  In the past two days I was nearly trampled by groups of hungry Hoosiers desperate for a loaf of pre-snow Wonder bread and a 12-pack of eggs.   Come on Indiana, you are Midwesterners – you should be accustomed to snow.  WTF? 

While East Coasters have a bad reputation for being cut throat pre-snow, during my 14 years in the hostile City of Brotherly Love, never did I experience what I did with the happy Hoosiers these past couple days.  

Friday afternoon – a full two days before the projected first flake, I stopped at Meijer – a fab cross between Target and Walmart with a European flare – to pick up a couple prescriptions, diapers and a bribe payoff.  I should preface this with the note that prior to the stop, I had spent over two hours at doctor appointments for the Tiny Turk with the Midget in tow.  I was a bit off my game.  But I needed the prescription and I’d promised the Midget a Matchbox car for being agreeable – (Judge all you want, I bribe.  It works.  What of it?).  

Within seconds of making our way to the entrance I knew we were in a bad, bad place.  Having dodged geriatric drivers on icy asphalt from the far ends of the parking lot, somewhere near Ohio, while carrying a 75th weight percentile baby in an obscenely heavy baby carrier accompanied by a chirping 5 year old, my eyes were on the prize – a cart.  Alas – there were none.  The elderly greeter was useless.  “Well we seem to be fresh out of carts.  Would you like a shopping basket?”  Sure.  I can use it as a counter weight on the other arm.  Damn Hoosiers.

The shoppers departing were equally useless.  Not one offered the crazy lady with the fat baby and hyper kid their cart but instead looked at me as if they’d each stolen the last piece of cake and clutched their cart handles tighter.  Word had it there were some carts near the other entrance.  With 40 pounds hanging from my elbow and the chorus of “Mom where we going?  Slow down Mom?  What’s happening?  Why so fast?  Where’s the cart?” playing on a constant loop, we played a slow moving game of Frogger all the way to the other end.   We were steps away from a fresh row of carts.  If only I could get around the old lady in the camel coat who had left a trail of farts for the last 50 feet.  We were so close.  But within seconds – the mid-afternoon geriatric snow shoppers snapped the entire line of carts from my grasp.  One left…there is one left and as I lifted the baby into it- Fart Lady whipped it out from under me.  I was stunned.  I’d been hijacked by a granny on a high fiber diet in dire need of eggs.  Unreal.

I did the only thing one could.  “Screw this  boys.  We’re going home.”  Ok, it’s never that easy but after Sherpaing it back to the Matchbox cars – because if you don’t make good on a bribe they lose their power- we gave up and vowed to get up early and try the next day.

The next day was no better.  Though the sun was shining and the temperature was 25 degrees, we were now down to 24 hours before the projected entrance of the apocalypse.  Stop number one went well – we secured the diapers and were on our way in no time.  We got hung up in a bank line which set us back on our targeted arrival time at the food store.  Again we ran into the cart difficulty but we were prepared and having left the baby at home with his father, the Midget and I were able to ninja us a cart from an unsuspecting victim with relative ease.  We left some unassuming storm pregrocery shopping newbie cluelessly searching for a cart he believed had meandered into traffic when we looked away.  This crowd was easier to work with as it was made up of the worker bees of the world on their day off rather than those surly old ladies we’d encountered the day prior.  However once inside, things were ugly.  9:30 am and various shelves were empty – notably milk, eggs and white bread – even in a snow storm the average Hoosier doesn’t seem to want a nice pumpernickel.  The lines were all at least 8 people deep and, much to my surprise, few carts were filled with necessities like booze and toilet paper, while all seemed to have at least a dozen eggs.


The real question at the end of this is, why?  Why do we panic in this manner?  We are not on the tundra and within a day or two at best, things will be passable again.  Yes, I understand a snow day is a good day to pig
out in one's flannel jammies and watch trash television all day.  I get that one might need a gallon of moo-juice and of course bread is about as important as toilet paper to most but why the eggs?

I suspect that this is somehow related to the phenomenon that drives people to take photos of their lawn furniture covered in snow, as it is equally as strange.  Do you people even eat eggs?  I thought eggs were out after the South Beach diet lost favor.  What about snowstorm high cholesterol? What will happen if you need to go for two days without an egg?  Are you all just baking batch after batch chocolately-chippy goodness and there fore the need for eggs is strong?  Or is there something I just don't know?  Is the Egg Council holding out on me?  Why people?  Why does everyone need eggs?   Is there a special power held within the incredible edible egg that enables one to plow their drive without breaking into that horrible back sweat that runs down into your underwear and gives you a butt chill?  If that is the case then hell yes, get me some eggs!  But until then, I will keep my fridge stocked with eggs until the weather warms and avoid pre-storm shopping at any cost.


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