Check out this Miami sweatshirt:

Pretty unassuming, right? Wrong! How I happen to come into possession of said shirt is the direct result of one of those less documented categories of occupational hazards in the restaurant industry: CURIOSITY!

Now, I’m not a fan of Miami mind you. I’m UVA all the way. But this has become my favorite article of clothing. Not only because of the story behind it, which I’m about to tell, but just as importantly it serves to piss off the rabid Virginia Tech fans that surround me in this town.

I came into possession of this fine article of clothing due to the utterance of the following innocently posed question: What about the egg? Alright. Simple question. Nothing unusual you say to yourself. What about the egg? EXACTLY!!!! That’s how easily I got sucked in. So what does an egg have to do with a Miami sweatshirt you’re asking right now? Well, I wrote a story about. Wanna hear it? Here it goes.

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, I had in the not so recent past, worked downtown at Tudor’s Biscuit World. Our shift ran 5am to 2pm. I can honestly admit that most of my better decisions are not made that early in the day, as will be evidenced by the following sequence of events:

Let’s rewind a bit shall we to, oh say, approximately 5:30am. My co-worker Margaret (hence forth known as M.), all 5′-3″ of her, was rooting around in the supply room and stumbled across an errant egg. Now, this egg looked a wee bit larger than your normal chicken egg, not implying that any one egg is more normal looking than any other egg. (Trying to keep it P.C. here.) Maybe it was a goose egg, we surmised, brought in perhaps and forgotten by one of the Tudor children. “Let’s break it open” said M. with a twinkle in her eye. “Oh, yea!” said I. (“Hell yes!” is a bit more accurate, but again, trying to keep it P.C.) Unfortunately orders started pouring in and we had to divert our attention. (If you believe in Divine Intervention, here is your proof!) Anyhoo, 2 o’clock rolls around, the egg being a forgotten thing, and I’m heading out the front door. M. taps me on the shoulder and says (wait…….here it comes) “what about the egg?”

Remember when your mother told you that curiosity had killed the cat? (Although, I think our neighbor’s dog had more to do with it.) Well, this is where that sage advice comes into play. If only I had listened.

I suggested to M. that we go out to the alley just in case it smelled a bit. (Again, Divine Intervention.) So out back to the alley we went. We walked over to a stack of cinderblocks and M. lit a cigarette. With baited breath and a hint of anticipation, we both leaned in close as I softly tapped the egg against one of the blocks.

WELL…… The resulting EXPLOSION blew my hand back, my hat off and M’s glasses askew! It sounded like a shotgun blast! We stood there shell shocked. (No pun intended.) Both of us were covered in some kind of greenish-yellowish, baby-pooish fermented liquid chicken! We looked at each other and started to giggle. And then…….IT HIT…..

THE SMELL! Beyond foul! A nose-hair curling, eye-watering, putrid stench is the only way to describe what surrounded us. As we stood there momentarily, trying to assess the situation, the back door SLAMMED SHUT! The smell had permeated the kitchen and the crew had locked us out! That quick! So much for never leaving a buddy behind.

Only after much cajoling, pleading, and the last of the customers leaving, were we allowed back in to clean up. We did what we could, washing as much of the slime off as possible. I thought we had it licked, but as soon as I was ensconced in a vehicle and got downwind of myself I realized- maybe not so much! I had an appointment to keep and only time for a quick stop. Home was too far off, so I ran into our local discount store. Being the tightwad that I am, I found a sweatshirt on sale for 8 bucks. It just happened to say Miami. Funny how one thing leads to another.

And that, my friends, is what an egg has to do with a Miami sweatshirt.


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