February 13, 2010

Did you know there was a nation-wide Eggo shortage? It seems that Kellogg has had to close some of their frozen waffle plants in the U.S., which means less of the tasty, round gridirons for an Eggo-centric nation. We ran out of said breakfast treats yesterday, and set out immediately for our local edible disc dispensary.

Upon arrival at Freezer 12, Section 38, we found a note from the grocer where the Eggos should have been. It read, in part, "Dear Eggo Slave, your reason for living is in short supply, due to supply shortages arising from unforseen deficits in the amount of Eggos. We believe it is related to the fact that the manager of our plant in Crowville, GA forgot to bring his keys to the building. Production was delayed for two days while he searched for the keys, had lunch, searched some more, took a nap, greeted his kids when they came home from school (They and their pot-smoking friends were very surprised to see him.), greeted his wife when she came home from "work" (She and her boyfriend were really surprised to see him.), went to a bar and drank all night, slept in his clothes in his car, woke up and realized that he had left his keys under the Welcome Mat by the front door of the plant, then went back and unlocked the door so that all the Eggo Elves could get busy with production. We at Kellogg's are sincerely sorry for any inconvenience this may cause you. Also, when the Eggos are restocked, they will be twice as expensive. Thank you."

Inconvenience? How about distress? How about desperation? I did not sleep at all that night, worrying about how I would fuel up for my morning run without those 200 empty calories and artificial fruit flavor. How did they solve these dilemmas in days gone by?

In the end, I turned to Charlie Chaplin's Little Tramp for inspiration. Starving, and with nothing to eat but a shoe, he made of it a feast. So, when morning broke, I fished the empty Eggo box from the trash, cutting out the picture of the Eggo itself. I placed it in the toaster as I would usually have done, except that I had to remove it when it caught fire and set off the smoke alarm. With the flames doused, I put it on my little plate and slathered it with butter. Then I poured on some Essence of Blueberry. No, it did not taste good. I couldn't fool myself to that extent. In fact, I couldn't distinguish the flavor of burnt, buttered paper-board from the coffee grounds in the bottom of my cup. But my belly was full of something, and those calories would be enough to fuel me for six miles, interrupted though they were by horrible cramps and retching.

I received word while I was here in the Emergency Room, that the Eggo Wagon would be pulling up to our local Grocery Garage before sunrise tomorrow. I will be there, bagloads of money in hand. 'Cause there aint nothin like the real thing, Baby.