Day 342: 383 Words About Egg Capsule Machines
It’s Thursday! Cool! It’s the day where I force people to pick writing prompts for me! You probably already knew this! I’ve been doing it for months! This week, my sister is in town, so I figured that since I would be ignoring her while I write, it’s only fair that she picks the subject. She wanted to see 383 words about Egg Capsule Machines, and damnit, here it is!
When I was 5 years old, the grocery store got old quick. In the first aisle, I got to look at cheese. In the second, I got to pick out some chips and pop. In the third aisle, I’d pick out my Chef Boyardee. But then, once we hit the cereal, that’s when childhood’s end kicked in. I knew that once I picked out my Kid Cuisines, there’d be aisles and aisles of stuff that I couldn’t for the life of me care about. The aisles dragged on and on. My mom became increasingly indecisive. And then, once we hit the dreaded bakery, she always ran into someone she knew. Never failed. Memories of looking at cheese were ever-so distant as I became the thing that I never wanted to be: bored.
There is nothing worse in the world than being bored as a kid. It made my bones ache. I had a few options. I could go back to the cereal aisle and look at the dusty toys that my Mom would never buy me. That was always a fruitless endeavor. You can only look at cap guns for so long. I could also go to the video section, but at that age, I had forbade myself to do it. That was where Chucky lived and he could pop out at any second. It was too much of a risk. So I went to the one place, the last spot in the store that I was remotely interested in:
The Egg Capsule Machine.
Many will remember the smaller capsule machines that had 6 different dispensers in one. The machine at the grocery store was much different. This one had a giant chicken in the center and when you popped a quarter in, it spun around and clucked as it laid an egg capsule. I was utterly fascinated by the thing. I thought it was one of the coolest objects in the universe. I would dream of someday being inside of one, rolling around in the eggs and being clucked at. Once enough time had been killed, my Mom would give me a quarter. I would wait with anticipation as the chicken spun, clucked and dropped me yet another crappy generic army dude. I swear, the cool rings that were displayed didn’t exist.