Egg-asperation

Not since my father's green egg fiasco has a breakfast order caused so much fuss.

Apparently, the local diner has trouble with scrambled eggs. My order came, not with a mound of fluffy butter yellow eggs, but as a thin failed omelet crumpled like a used bed sheet. I didn't want to complain so I tried a bite. It was rubbery and, since I'm a texture person, totally inedible. When the server asked about our orders, I explained that my eggs were fried, not scrambled. "Ya. That depends on who's in the kitchen." How reassuring.

"I'd like my eggs scrambled, please," I said, handing her my plate.

In one minute she returned with the same plate, same eggs and a solid explanation. "That's the best they can do."

Not good enough. I explained that I'd had properly scrambled eggs here many times before and would like my eggs scrambled. The server took the plate back to the kitchen.

As I waited, I looked at the menu, and on the back it clearly states, "If you are not completely pleased with any aspect of our food or service, please let us know and we promise to fix the problem. Your immediate satisfaction every time you visit us - Our Promise!" Feeling reassured by this enthusiastic sentence fragment, I envisioned a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs being placed before me.

Almost immediately the server returned and handed me my breakfast. Their fix? The eggs had been chopped into bite-sized pieces. Like a bit of mincing would fool me. "Do you think I'm stupid?" I heard someone say.

Who said that? Oh. It was me.

To be fair, when I told her the cook's latest handiwork wouldn't do, she did ask if I'd like my eggs done another way. No. I only like scrambled. "What would you like to do then?" she asked.

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