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 In my junior year of high school, just before Halloween, my friends and I decided to egg someone's house. Her name was Beth Walden, and a few of us probably had a crush on her, but her continual rejection of our advances had calcified our love into a cold lump of hate. Looking back, she probably didn't deserve the egging, but it was Halloween. Mischief looking for a home. I stored a couple dozen eggs in my closet for a few weeks, letting them get nice and ripe. (Easy way to check is to put them in water: rotten eggs will float, fresh eggs will sink.) The night of The Big Egg, I dressed up in black, snuck out the side door after the 'rents went to sleep, and waited at the end of the street, until my two friends, Kirk and Ted, came by to pick me up. Kirk was driving his dad's cream-colored Lincoln Continental, which I remember for its spotless interior, into which I threw my bag of filthy, rotting eggs. "Look out!" Kirk yelled. "Don't get egg on the seats!" I don't remember much about the actual egging. We parked a few blocks away, snuck suspiciously down the street (gee, I wonder where those teenagers are going with two dozen eggs, maybe they just like omelettes), and tossed a few stinkers at Beth Walden's house. Like most amateur eggers, not to be confused with bestselling author Dave Eggers, we got scared after the first few throws, then high-tailed it back to the car. So now we had a dozen and a half rotten eggs, a Lincoln Continental, and not an ounce of common sense. We drove around town, occasionally tossing an egg at anything that seemed funny: a parked ice cream truck, or the drive-thru window of a KFC (score one for the chickens). As we rounded a corner near our school, we saw a fellow walking down the street, a bit unusual at this hour of the night. "Get in close," I advised Kirk. "HEY!" I shouted, yelling out the window. It was a bearded guy in his 20's, and as he turned to look fearfully at the Lincoln Continental bearing down upon him in the middle of the night, I tossed out an egg. I still remember with vivid clarity how perfectly the egg swooped through the air as our massive car screeched around the corner. It cut a large, wide arc, almost in slow motion, and landed with a huge, perfect, and stinky SPLAT right on the guy's shoes. I couldn't shoot a basketball to save my life, but managed to throw that one egg with Olympic precision. We screamed with laughter into the night, as the guy stood there, unable to comprehend what had just happened. We were on a roll. (An egg roll.) Ted suggested we egg his dentist's office -- apparently he had some unresolved issues there. Laughing maniacally, we drove over to the parking lot of the darkened medical building, where Kirk did a donut. "THROW THE EGG!" screamed Ted. I was in the backseat, holding the remaining eggs. Kirk driving around in circles like a madman. It is a wonder we didn't drive through the side of the building. "THROW IT! THROW IT NOW!" Like a child on the Tilt-A-Whirl, the centrifugal force of the car spinning in circles pushed me to one side of the Continental's massive back seat. I chucked the egg out the far window, but my lack of coordination and the car's crazy orbit stopped the entire night with a single CRACK. Kirk slammed on the brakes, and the three of us fell silent. I had just egged Kirk's father's car. From the inside. "Oh NO!" Kirk gushed. "No no no no no NO!" An explosion of yolk on the window, flecks of wet shell all over the seat, and the most putrid stank ever. There are really no good words to say at a time like that. "Sorry?" I offered. We spent the rest of the night at the self-serve car wash, trying desperately to vacuum up the yolk and shampoo out the smell. By the time we were done, it smelled like a New York taxi: stench masked by three different types of air fresheners. Kirk's father never talked to me again, until ... well, I guess he never talked to me again. But I thought of him frequently. Especially around breakfast time.
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