Every Command with 'Eggs'actness

Assignment: "Something" funny.

I've shared this with several classes I've taught - or attended. I haven't quite figured out what makes it so "funny" yet - but I do know that even though it took place years ago, I continue to find parallels to life and lessons I've learned.

One summer during my college years while working as a waitress I was having a particularly 'bad' day. The dining room was extremely busy, at least one waitress had called in sick, and the cook was even more cantankerous than usual, as were the customers – or so it seemed. I wondered why I seemed to get all of the patrons who wanted special menu items, treatment, or substitutions. As the morning wore on, we quickly ran out of several items, which did not improve the attitude of the cook or the customers. It was in this state that I met Ms. Demanding.

Ms. Demanding ordered a "2 minute" egg, meaning an egg boiled for two minutes. My first reaction was to ask her where she was from. She looked at me a little quizzically, and curtly answered "California". I then tried to explain that a two-minute egg in California was NOT the same as a two-minute egg in Utah. Obviously dismissing my comment as one which made no sense, she emphatically restated: "I want a two-minute egg! NO MORE, NO LESS! Do--you --understand?"

"Yes ma'am!", I replied as I quickly walked away, trying to decide whether to give her exactly what she ordered as a sure way of educating her, or to simply translate the boiling time in consideration of altitude. My inner debate was cut short when the cook told me to put the order up on the wheel, or go away until I was ready to do so. Of course when he saw what was ordered, he swore – at the customer and me. He also started to explain in as demeaning way as possible what a two minute egg would be like. I just said "I know, but she insisted." A sinister little grin crossed his face as he put the egg in the boiling water, and set the timer for exactly two minutes.

A few minutes later when the cook rang the bell to indicate the order was ready, everything looked great. This was a relief as previous versions of pancakes, waffles and hashbrowns had come out of the kitchen that day with a hue ranging somewhere between charcoal and midnight black. The soft boiled egg was in a little bowl with the shell still perfectly intact. I delivered the meal to the table where Ms. Demanding sat, and was met with: "We need more coffee here as soon as possible!".

When I returned to the table with a pot of coffee, she had cracked the egg open and viewed a two-minute egg in Utah – in all its slimy splendor. "Take this back – I can't eat this! I ordered a TWO-MINUTE egg!!" she shrieked.

I replied as civilly as possible: "Ma'am, that IS a two minute egg in Utah. Higher elevations require a longer cooking time."

"Well take it BACK and give me what I WANT!" she shrieked again, her pitch even higher. I wondered as I returned to the kitchen, just what she expected me to do, put it back in the shell, and boil it longer? Just then I noticed.........the microwave!.

[In my defense, and at the risk of dating myself, I need to explain that at this time, due to their cost, microwaves were not yet common household appliances.]

Just then the manager walked by, and I told him of my predicament. He warned me that I needed to watch the egg very carefully, as they would explode in the microwave if cooked for too long. So I took extra precaution to set the 'dial' on the very first mark (digital time settings were a future design improvement) and waited. I did this about three times, until the egg looked perfectly soft-boiled. It did not explode. Finally, something had gone right for me today! I hurried to return the egg to Ms. Demanding. Upon receipt of the egg she informed me that her waffle was now cold, and to take it back and re-heat it – another command which I diligently obeyed.

As I was standing at the microwave waiting for the waffle to reheat, my manager hurried into the kitchen area and told me "You'd better go check on your customer – her egg just exploded on her!"

It seems that at the very moment Ms. Demanding had pierced the yolk with her fork, her egg had stunningly exploded. I was told that it sounded just like a gunshot, and that everyone in the dining room jumped. I tried to compose myself, and to stifle any trace of a smile as I approached Ms. Demanding's table.

The egg was literally (if not figuratively) all over her face, and down her shirt. By the look on her yolk-covered face, I thought I was going to need to treat her for shock, but she quietly excused herself to go to the restroom. As she left, her husband exclaimed: "What the hades do you feed those *%&!@# chickens in Utah anyway, gunpowder?" (edited version)

I spent the rest of the day cleaning egg off of EVERYTHING. It was on the ceiling, it was on the chairs, it was on the carpet, and it was even on the walls clear across the dining room.

What did I learn? Simply this: "Don't nuke the egg!" (even if the client's requirements seem to demand it) Although it took several experiences in software development to connect the day in the dining room to the day in the conference room, it is a strong analogy that I will probably not forget.