A Story About Eggs

So yesterday I did my weekly food shopping.

[Pause for a nap. Just thinking about it makes me tired.]

I was by myself. Which is a shame, because the big kids were getting to be terrific shopping helpers. In addition to loading the belt while I bag, they can get the cheese at the cheese counter. But their schedules this year did not leave an opening for food shopping, unless I go after 4:00 and take the Small Tornado with me. And I really didn't want to play his two favorite games: "Eat Your Way Through the Store" followed by "I've Had Enough of This Cart Hold Me" (the second of which always occurs while I'm frantically bagging.)

Anyway, I did all the work myself, and was bumping my cart through the parking lot when, SPLAT, my eggs fell. And, as anyone whose eggs have gone SPLAT in the parking lot will tell you, the eggs will break. I was feeling very annoyed and figured I would just dump the eggs in the garbage and get more a different time.

But a helpful man was standing near the garbage and suggested I go back. "I think they will exchange them for you," he said. I was thinking probably not, since after all it was my fault they dropped, and it would be a great opportunity for them to say that beloved Israeli catchphrase, "Zeh lo kashur elay."

However, it felt churlish to then ignore this nice man and dump my eggs anyway, right in front of him. But, I had a cartful of groceries. So in one hand I held the carton of eggs, which at this point had started to gently drip, and with the other pushed the cart to my car. I unloaded the bags into my car, placed my dripping egg carton in my now-empty cart and headed back into the store.

I waited at the main desk. I put my eggs on the counter and explained my situation. Can I exchange the eggs? (Drip, drip, drip). The Man nodded thoughtfully. "I don't know. See that lady next to the front door? Go ask her." Back into the shopping cart. We wheeled over to the lady. Can I exchange my eggs? She thought for a moment. Yes, she decided. You can exchange your eggs. Get a new carton and then put the broken eggs (drip, drip) onto the counter at the main desk.

So my dripping eggs and I went careening through the store to the egg section, which of course is on the complete opposite end. I got a new carton and cradled it gently, like I was holding something fragile. Such as eggs. We re-careened back to the main desk (drip, drip) and left the broken eggs on the counter. For what purpose? I'm not sure.

After clearing nearly all the eggs-tacles (obstacles? An attempt at an egg pun? Did it not work?), there was only one left: Receipt-Stamping Lady. And naturally, my receipt was in the car, with my now-melting groceries. You could have probably made a decent hafuch with the milk at this point. She looked at me, pushing a cart that was completely empty save for a single carton of eggs.

Her eyebrows shot up. "Kabbalah?" she inquired. I, once again, explained my situation. Luckily she let me go.

And that is how Rami Levy managed to do the right thing in the most complicated way possible.

Drip, drip, drip.