The Forgotten Egg Tantrum

Recently, I bought a dozen eggs. This is no big deal. I’m very happy it’s no big deal.

American grocery stores have always been a miracle; not just occasionally, for my entire life. Even before recent times of madness, I would take a moment to appreciate it when I walked into a grocery store. Maybe I’m a bit of a loon; pausing at the produce section for 30 seconds of silent reflection… even awe… but I don’t block the aisles, I’m silent about it, and gratitude is a good thing.

I’d never seen empty shelves in America until 2020. Gaps in stock felt ominous. Undeniable cracks in a very big edifice.

It’s good to think and re-think about any event you’ve experienced. Most people revert to denial. They misremember it; either deliberately or because they were instructed to do so. “I don’t remember writing that stuff on Facebook.” “A neighbor got ratted out for walking on the sidewalk, but the Karen calling the cops has always been a jerk.” “Sure it was statistically absurd but we got the results I wanted.” “Minneapolis was a one off, as was Portland.”

Denial is infantilizing. A fully realized adult saw what he saw and chooses to remember. We (and many other nations) went to hell so fast it’s clear the people craved it. It wasn’t one event, it was a cascade of them. “Two weeks to flatten the curve.” Cops arresting a lone surfer. Citywide riots aren’t new, but official consent sure is. The nation’s most statistically unlikely election might just be statistically unlikely, but it’s new that asking rude questions could get you censored, debanked, fired, or jailed.

When things collapse there are consequences. Within a year I was on a list of who was going to get fired. My job performance was stellar, and irrelevant. A mandatory medical injection was the only thing that mattered.

Imagine that. One month you’re in a workplace where HIPPA makes it illegal for an employer to even ask about your cancer treatment. The next month your job depends on submission to an injection. What happened to HIPPA? It wasn’t repealed. It just became moot. A lot of laws became officially/unofficially not laws anymore. People just accepted that it’s morally wrong to fire a man with AIDS but morally right to fire a redneck who hasn’t got the shot.

The people complied until they didn’t. Like the peak moment of a flood cresting and slowly ebbing back to normal, it ended. Or at least it’s mostly over. For now.

Some actions, once done, can never be undone. It’ll never be exactly the way it was.

When I go to the doctor I’m asked if I recently left the State. To what end? You don’t live in a nation where travel between States is an issue; until you do. Five years ago a medical decision was printed on a piece of paper that you carried around as a form of ID, now my doctor wants to know if I’ve flown to Texas. These are not unrelated.

Who knows where it ends? Maybe it didn’t really end? All I know is that some part of that interregnum of chaos is when eggs briefly vanished from the store.

The egg supply shouldn’t have anything to do with a human virus, or an election, or anything political. But we made everything politics. Sometimes that means killing a lot of hens. Killing hens affects the egg supply exactly like you’d expect. Now we’ve got a new generation of hens. Eggs will remain reasonably priced until the next time we freak out and mess up the supply.

I don’t remember what I paid. When a cheapskate like me buys something without bitching about it, the price is reasonable. Eggs aren’t as cheap as before. No shit! Nothing is. On average, nothing ever will be again. Inflation is a one way ride. A cycle of inflation is just another bullet point in the apocalypse we recently lived through.

Regardless, eggs are a lot cheaper than they once were. Have you taken time to appreciate it?

I’m more removed than most people. My homestead is a parachute. I can and have “raised” my own eggs. I had chickens for maybe a decade or so. Farm fresh eggs for the kitchen and a zillion dozen sold on the side. I could do it again. I don’t have to. Yet.

My homestead and capitalism are tools that solve many things. If eggs go to $10 a dozen I’ll have several dozen chickens running around my yard faster than you can say “invisible hand”.

I’m glad that’s unnecessary. I enjoy fully stocked stores. Savor it. We’ve regained something lost. Take a moment for gratitude.

I’ve thought about how eggs became a slogan and then were memory holed. I’m too lazy to Google it. Was it a year ago? What was the emotional attack word? “Oligarch?” “Authoritarian?” No that’s not it. Oh yeah “affordability”. They flogged the word a while.

Somewhere, right now there’s a person who shrieked about eggs because they were told to. The idea was implanted by whatever media they consume. Eggs weren’t important the month before, they aren’t now, but for a while they were all encompassing. That person isn’t appreciating plentiful eggs because it was never a thing that truly concerned them.

They’ve received new orders. They’re bellowing about Iran, or the newest disease, or “inequality”, or that dude on one side that schtoinked Fang Fang the spy but got tangled in a sexual harassment scandal, or the chick on the other side who’s scandal was a husband that liked to wear enormous balloon fake tits (what is it with perverts?). If all else fails the complaints get personal. Elon Musk looks weird and the Orange Beast is scheming to steal their cat.

The worst chumps bellow about what might happen. They imagine something somewhere potentially might turn bad. Then they scream about it.

The future is uncertain. Part of being adult is knowing that. Part of wisdom is knowing most fears never manifest. Part of resilience is knowing you’ll handle whatever happens. We are all going to die. The dumbass losing their shit about hypotheticals is a person who’s burning the present because they fear the future.

I think a lot of people like being ordered about. They’re happy bellowing about whatever reason they’re told is a source of terror. Anger feeds the hollow where a contented soul should reside. All they really want is attention. That’s why they like to carry signs and march in the streets. “Look at me! I’m so very angry. Pay attention to me.”

If you’re unwilling (or forget) to enjoy the resolution when a crisis (manufactured or not) is over, it wasn’t really a crisis. It was a tantrum.

If you were bitching about eggs, now’s the time to be happy. Buy some. Make an omelet. Get fancy and make a soufflé.

If they’re still too expensive, quit protesting and get a chicken. Hefting feed bags in a chicken coop is good exercise. Homestead raised eggs taste better. The soul benefits when you work to solve a situation. Whining that the government isn’t fixing your life is wasting your life.

But what do I know of such weakness? Maybe the sweet seductive cry of sorrow is delicious? I can’t be that way. I’m too enamored with the goodness in the world. I breathe life through motorcycle rides and pondering at quiet campsites. I find satisfaction in stacks of firewood and newly homebuilt things and new skills. I listen to the cranes cry out and think of dinosaurs. I smell cowshit and read the tides in the cycle of life.

I’ll never hold office. I’ll never take or give orders. A man who smiles at the smell of cowshit will never be on TV. I’m thus shielded from the addictions of political victimhood.

I think I’ll make an omelet today.