Tea. Sleeping Kittens. The Smell of Old Books. Expensive Cheese. Painted Toenails. Lounging Around. Coffee Beans. Weddings. Poached Eggs. Napping. Candles. Secrets. Photographs. Harry Potter. Sex. Hand Holding. Fabulous Hair. Ribbons. Dinosaurs. Rage comics. Air Guitar. Montages. Swooning. Red Grapes. Sleeping. Paper Bags. Stockings. Canvas. Daydreaming. Piles of Book's. Cheap Dvd's. Cheeky Emails. Hand-made anythings. Whispering. Red Hair. Roller Derby. Jam. Laughing. Raspberry Lollies. Hugs. Letter's. Family. Batman. Flowers. Avocado. Art. Text's. Love.

Monday, May 26, 2008

Eimörder (Egg Killer in German, apparently)

So. If egg's had a world in which they all live happily, going about their little egg lives, living with egg families and having egg children, I would be Egg Hitler.
Let me explain,
I word at a restaurant that serves all day breakfasts. We go through A LOT of eggs. Fat people love eggs. Fat people love getting bacon and eggs at any time of the day. Therefore, on Friday afternoon, to prepare for the fat people and their egg-fest, I premake an egg mix ready for scrambling.
This is no easy feat. A typical weekend uses about three boxes of eggs (125 eggs each box) and 4 bottles of cream (8 litres), so a fuck load of scramby egg mix.
The whole process disgusts me.
You pretty much get a giant tub, pour the four bottles of cream into it, then proceed to crack the five million eggs into that tub too, add one electric mixer and TADDAAAA, Egg genocide. It's mind numbing really. All i can think about is the tiny little yolks, plopping to their creamy death with millions of their friends and family members. (yes, i do have an overactive imagination thank-you-very-much)

Now i have been working there for three weeks, and i have done this mass murdering of eggs three times, which means i have cracked one thousand one hundred and twenty five eggs in my short time making breakfasts. A tragedy.
But that is not all. Oh no.
On Saturday, i set about making my usual egg mix for the fatties. After i had cracked 375 eggs into the giant tub, and poured the cream, mixed, labelled blah blah blah, my boss comes up to me and tells me that the cream i used to make my scramby eggs of death is no good, and that there was a mixup with the ordering and that i will have to throw away the bottles of mix i had just spent the last hour creating and re-make the whole fucking bunch.
Oh yes.
SO, i ended up doubling my usual genocide and ruining the dreams of 750 eggs.
I am going to be walking alone one day and i am going to be pecked to death by the skinny, half starved little balding battery hens that spend days shitting out the eggs i feed to fat people all day.

Anyway, just thought i would share the fact that i am going to egg-hell.