The Future of American Eggs

The Sack is a breeding ground for the inane, odd and unpredictable.

Today's entry examines three recent minor events that exemplify the sometimes unusual nature of Sack life. Your agent, of course, had great difficulty in putting an appropriate title on the whole affair. In the end, a nonsensical one seemed to make the most sense.

Hopefully, you didn't arrive at these pages expecting a treatise on the state of American agriculture. Similarly, I hope you weren't anticipating an essay on the ethics of in vitro fertilization.

I have no idea about either of those subjects.

***

Last week, we noted Phillip's unfortunate encounter with a Ford Fiesta. Now, Weed reports a fender-bender of his own.

His accident was quite similar to Phillip's. He backed into another vehicle. It occurred when he was leaving the local grocery emporium. There wasn't any major damage to either vehicle, but insurance companies are involved in the matter.

Weed admitted that he wasn't paying enough attention when the accident occurred. He was thinking about the quality of his life during the previous week, when he should have been paying attention to the parking lot.

Weed, of course, fancies himself as the developer of a daily rating scale that gauges one's contentment with life. The scale ranges from one to ten, with ten representing, as Weed describes it, "pretty darn groovy."

At the time of the accident, Weed said he was calculating his daily average for the previous five days. He was performing this task in his head while he was backing out of the parking spot.

***

Doing long division in one's head, of course, isn't recommended when operating a motor vehicle. Weed said this was the wisdom he would take from the affair. He said the accident also caused a significant reduction in his average daily contentment rating.

As he reversed from his parking spot, Weed was unaware that a small van had stopped directly behind him. He hit the passenger's door of the vehicle. On the spot where the collision occurred was the name of the owners' business. Weed said the business was called Future Plumbing Ltd. He thought the name was quite amusing.

"I backed into the future, man," he told me with a grin.

***

On Wednesday evening, your agent and Mrs. Wonders reclined on the front porch. It was a delightfully warm spring evening. For those who keep track of such things, it was the warmest of the year, so far.

Little Doug and his grandson, Baby Doug had joined us on the porch. Weed and Daisy had gone to an early movie. Little Doug was trying to keep his grandson occupied until they returned. Mrs. Wonders had brought out a collection of plastic containers for the little tyke's amusement. Baby Doug was in Tupperware heaven as he tried to make sense of these foreign objects.

From across the street, we could see Oscar emerge from his home. He started to make a beeline toward the Wonders' porch. His head was bobbing up and down as he walked.

This usually means that Oscar has news of great importance.

***

"You have big news," Mrs. Wonders said, as Oscar joined us on the porch.

Oscar nodded quickly and then sought a tissue from his pocket. His nose was running with great gusto. This is another sign that Oscar has news of great importance.

"How did you know that?" he replied as he quickly rubbed his nose with the tissue.

"Just a wild guess," Mrs. Wonders said.

"And because you still have food on your face," Little Doug said with a grin. There was a small dribble of what appeared to be tomato sauce on Oscar's chin. He stroked his chin with the same tissue, but missed the reddish streak completely.

"That's barbeque sauce," Oscar said impatiently. "I had ribs for supper." He held his chin up and asked if the spot was gone.

"Yeah, you got it," I replied, nodding my approval.

***

Oscar settled into a Muskoka chair and glanced at each of us.

"Guess what I learned about Rental Doug today?" he asked with a look of superiority.

"I give up," I answered quickly. I don't like to make guesses about things unless there is some kind of prize at the end.

"Is it something Devil-related?" Little Doug interjected.

Oscar, of course, believes that Rental Doug is in the Devil's employ. At some point in the future, he expects mayhem of biblical proportions to emerge in the Sack, with Rental Doug playing a leading role on Satan's behalf. Continuous evidence that Rental Doug is actually a very fine fellow hasn't diminished his belief in the slightest.

"Not really," Oscar said thoughtfully.

Oscar looked around quickly to make sure there were no interlopers about. He even glanced at Baby Doug for a moment, even though the tyke was lost in his Tupperware adventures. Finally, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, Oscar said:

"Rental Doug is American."

***

Mrs. Wonders rose from her chair and joined Baby Doug on the porch floor. Baby Doug cooed with delight as she built a tall Tupperware tower. He squealed with glee when it toppled down around them.

Meanwhile, your agent's attention wandered to the front lawn. Another month would have to pass before I could cut the grass for the first time. I enjoy cutting the grass with our reel mower. It's really quite therapeutic.

Little Doug, on the other hand, remained with rapt attention to Oscar's announcement. Unfortunately, this will only encourage Oscar to tell you more about something.

"Rental Doug is really American?" he asked with a serious tone. Little Doug, of course, has been somewhat suspicious of Americans ever since his wife ran off with one from the Internet.

"As American as apple pie," Oscar replied.

***

Earlier in the day, Oscar encountered a friend he hadn't seen in a few years. Apparently, this friend attended the same high school as Rental Doug.

According to this friend, Rental Doug moved to the old town when he was about sixteen. His father worked for a pharmaceutical company and was transferred here by his head office. Apparently, Rental Doug originally hails from the great State of Maine.

"He's from Maine, eh?" said Little Doug. This is the same state from whence his ex-wife's new husband originates.

***

Oscar said this new information about Rental Doug will take some time to digest.

He said it would have little bearing on Rental Doug's status as an employee of the Devil. After all, he added, Satan doesn't discriminate when it comes to one's nationality.

"That's true," Little Doug agreed. "It doesn't matter if you're dealing with a Canadian devil or an American one. A devil's still a devil."

Oscar nodded his agreement. He said he was most concerned about Rental Doug's apparent deception surrounding his nationality. For almost two years, he added, the man has been acting completely like a Canadian. He places little flags on his porch on Canada Day and even plays street hockey with his blended family kids.

Although Canada is inundated with American culture on television, Oscar pointed out that none of us actually have any in-depth, personal experience with Americans. He said his only direct exposure to Americans was during university. Apparently, half of his professors were draft-dodgers from the Vietnam War.

Little Doug admitted that, other than his ex-wife's new husband, he didn't know any Americans either. Rental Doug, he noted, would be his first American neighbour ever.

Oscar nodded his agreement. "He's my first American neighbour, too.

Both glanced at your agent at the same time. "Okay," I said quickly, "Rental Doug is my first American neighbour, too."

Oscar went on to explain that he has had neighbours from many different countries, but hoped that one day he would have an American one. Now that he finally has one, he said he couldn't help but be disappointed.

"Finally, I get my first American neighbour and it turns out that he's masquerading as a Canadian and he's hooked up with the Devil."

***

Our final tale will likely sound unbelievable, if not ridiculous.

The Wonders' driveway has been the scene of several food mysteries. The most notable was the unexplained appearance of a low-fat blueberry muffin. It was discovered in the middle of the driveway.

On another occasion, a small, but perfectly-intact pile of Caesar salad appeared near the foot of the driveway. It wasn't on the driveway itself, but it was close enough to be deemed intentional.

It would be hard to imagine, therefore, that another food mystery would arise. But that's exactly what happened this week.

Your agent was on the street talking with Weed. He had stopped his car for a brief chat as he was leaving the Sack. He was telling me about his aforementioned fender-bender. After concluding our conversation, I walked back toward the Wonders' home. As I headed up the driveway, a small shiny object caught my eye. It was lying in the same general area where the low-fat blueberry muffin had been discovered.

The object was a small, chocolate Easter egg. It was covered in shiny, green foil. It was about the size of a loonie.

***

A reasonable explanation of the matter isn't too difficult to imagine. Easter passed less than a month ago. The chocolate egg could've fallen from a garbage bin or from the pocket of a rambunctious Sack kid.

Your agent, of course, leans toward healthy skepticism when it comes to mystical matters. And, of course, I'm not even a food person. But the appearances by a low-fat, blueberry muffin, an intact Caesar salad, and now a shiny, green Easter egg, can certainly cause a man to wonder.

Oscar thinks the food objects may have some kind of secret meaning. He says it's my job to decode the message. I told him I had no idea about such things. Then I asked for his opinion on the matter. He thought for a moment and said he hadn't the foggiest idea about the message.

"It's a head-scratcher, man," he said with a shrug.

***

Personally, I'm trying not to think about the matter very much. Some mysteries are best left unsolved. This could be one of them.

Weed, of course, agreed with my position when I told him of this latest development. He said it would be a grand waste of brain power to search for an explanation for the mysterious driveway food.

Everyone, he explained, is born with a finite amount of brain power. He said it's best to conserve this power for when you find yourself in a real jam.

"At least," Weed said with an experienced look, "that's what I try to do with my brain."

***

So there it is. The Wonders' driveway has now yielded a low-fat, blueberry muffin, an intact Caesar salad and a shiny, green Easter egg. If you can see the meaning in this culinary message, then you're a better man than I am, Gunga Din.

In the end, the mysterious driveway food might be best viewed as the suburban equivalent of crop circles.

***