April 30th, 2006
The sun rose early today. Micky’s alarm clock had adjusted itself for daylight savings time during the night and dutifully woke Micky one hour earlier than it had the day before. Micky’s thin arms reached out from under the blankets in a blind attempt to turn off the blaring noise but the clock maneuvered its way out of reach so as to prevent Micky from going back to sleep. Eventually Micky rose from the bed, located the clock and switched it off. He then headed towards the bathroom walking the majestic, drunken walk of men who have had too little sleep. So began his day.
He met up with Ernie as usual at the Broadway Diner. Ernie was on-time. Micky was late.
“Mornin’ Ernie.”
“Mornin’ Micky. You look like you lost an hours sleep.” Ernie laughed heartily.
“You made that joke last year. You really need new material.” Actually Ernie hadn’t made that joke for two years.
“You know today is our twelfth anniversary – we met at this diner 12 years today.”
“Long time” said Micky.
“Yup.”
Micky waved to the waitress who returned shortly with a pint sized glass of orange juice. Everyone else got small 8 oz glass but Micky was special. He was a good tipper.
“I was talking to my dad yesterday.”
“The egg farmer? I thought he was in jail.”
“He was – but he might get parole this time. He’s been in jail now for almost 7 years. They say he’s reformed.”
Ernie and Micky’s friendships went through a hard time 7 years ago when it was learned that Ernie’s father had been involved in an illegal egg collection ring. “I doubt that, he was pretty adamant that he had a right to eating those eggs in the morning.”
“Well his psychiatrist gave him special permission to eat soy eggs and dad swears he can’t tell the difference.”
“A convict is allowed to eat eggs?” Even eating fake eggs was illegal in Britain. The belief that pushed the law through parliament was that if people were allowed to eat the fake kind, people would be constantly reminded of the real kind that they couldn’t have.
“Special ruling – Judge Blair himself signed for it. The jails are filling up and there’s pressure to get rid of the reformed ones, like dad.”
“Glad to hear it. Where will he go? He doesn’t still have his farm does he?”
“No, it was confiscated and given to a soy bean producer who had just graduated from UR.”
The University of Rochester was one of the most respected agricultural schools in all of Europe. It was also the first major anti-meat demonstrations back in the early century after a combination of Mad-cow disease and Avian flu had contaminated the school cafeteria food. A third of the students had gotten sick during those horrific times with 17% of those who were infected dying before proper treatment could be administered. Micky had gone to UR but had failed to maintain his average and was asked to leave weeks before the contamination. In shame he had transferred to Oxford. His parents had still not forgiven him.
The waitress arrived with porridge slightly sprinkled in brown sugar. Both men lowered their heads to their bowls and wolfed down their food. Once upon a time the oatmeal had had additives to increase the protein content. But an investigative reporter had determined the protein had come from eggs and milk secretly imported from Canada and the supplements had stopped. As a result, the population had slowly lost muscle mass and the government was now attempting to encourage high protein beans and lentils to solve the minor crisis.
“So where’s he going to live. Surely not your flat? It’s so small?”
“I’m sleeping on the couch. Then I guess I’ll have to think of something. Maybe he’ll get a job.”
“Maybe.” Micky paused. “Just don’t let him have any pet chickens.”
“Ha… ha… ha” Ernie said in a paused monosylable voice.
“Well I gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow and you can tell me how’d the parole hearing went.” Ernie grunted in reply and waved to the waitress to indicate they were done. Both men left exact change on the table and headed out. Ernie to the east to his private criminal law practice. Micky headed north to his position in the Ministry of Foodstuffs.
Twelve days later Micky arrived on time at the diner and it was Ernie who was late. Eventually he arrived with an old, frail man clearly suffering from Osterporis. Micky quickly grabbed an extra chair and signalled to the waitress to indicate one more.
“Good day sir.” Micky said kindly as the old man collapsed into the chair. Ernie’s dad grumbled something unintelligible. Micky looked at Ernie. Ernie shrugged.
The waitress brought over cutlery and set it down in front of the old man. “Coffee sir?” she asked which he nodded assent.
“Do you have eggs?” he asked. Immediately the diner went silent. Everyone stared. Eggs had not been served anywhere in England legally for almost 17 years.
“He means soy eggs, or those powdered eggs maybe?” Ernie corrected, his face feeling hot. His flushed face was matched only by the waitress’.
“No I certainly do not, nor have we ever served eggs of any kind!” she sputtered. “This is a respectable diner and if you…”
“Then just oatmeal dear,” interrupted Micky smoothly. “Just bring us all a bowl of oatmeal and ignore the old gent – he’s been away for a while and he’s forgotten some of our new customs.”
With a glare to the old man the waitress turned quickly to return to the kitchen. Ernie mopped his forehead. Micky drank his juice.
“You know it wasn’t that long ago that I could get a couple of fried eggs with bacon in a diner like this. Sometimes sausage, ham or even a steak to go along with the eggs. That was some good eatin’.”
“Quiet dad. We’ve already made a big enough scene today.”
“I’m just sayin’. It’d make us heavy sure – but we were strong. I used to have muscles like this..” he made a circle with his gnarled hands, “not like the pathetic guns you guys got. Your bicep isn’t any bigger than your wrist for cripes sakes!”
“There were studies sir,” Micky said carefully, “that indicated larger muscle mass didn’t indicate better health. Larger muscles actually decreased longevity. People who ate meat, eggs and drank milk only lived to 76 years on average while those who were vegetarians and vegans lived well into their 90’s”.
“Bollux” spat the old man. “I’m 82 and I ate meat every day for the first 65 years of my life.”
“But now you’re 82 and you’ve hardly had any meat or eggs. Looks like the new diet is doing wonders for your health.”
“Ah piss” and this time he actually spat on the floor. “If it weren’t for some fascist animal-rights activists who contaminated some meat at that cafeteria we’d all be suckin’ back bacon right now!” After the mass infections on the university campus there had been an inquest to determine if terrorists of any kind had had any hand in the catastrophe.
“That terrorist inquest determined there was no evidence of any wrong-doing – by any terrorists, activists or anything else for that matter. It was just bad luck.” Micky said soothingly.
“Bad bullshit more like.”
The waitress brought the porridge. The two younger men bowed their heads and immediately shoveled the gruel into their mouths. “Ah bollux! I had to eat this crap in prison.” The old man lifted his spoon letting the watery oatmeal slowly dribble off. “At least their I got eggs once in a while. You know I got a court order?”
“Yes sir, your son told me.”
“Judge ordered it and everything. Helped my reintegration into society it did.”
“Sure dad. Maybe we can find some.”
“I already know a guy. But because of my parole I can’t really talk to him. One of you guys will have to go see him.”
Ernie and Micky shared a glance.
“We’ll talk about it later okay.”
“Ernie tells me you get out early today being a holiday and all” the old man said to Micky.
“Uh yeah – its only a half day today. I was thinking of heading downtown to do some shopping.”
“Well could you talk to this guy – he lives right in London. You could go see him and pick up some breaky for tomorrow. None of this porridge crap – I’ll make you both some real food.”
Micky tried to find a way out of this awkward position. Ernie just looked down at his half-eaten porridge.
“Well I don’t even know how I’d contact someone like that. I mean it’d be blackmarket and there’s… um laws against meeting those types of people.”
“Oh I’ve got an address you can bang on the door of. Just show up with cash and he’ll give you the eggs and bacon.”
“You mean fake meat and eggs? You can still get that right here in London?”
“Well it’s not exactly fake you see” winked the old man.
“Uh dad Micky’s a busy guy and…”
“Oh it’s right on the way isn’t it Micky. Besides, it’s just once and it’ll be like a present for getting out of jail.”
“Dad!” hissed Ernie. “You went to jail because of eating stuff like that!”
“Well it’s only one time. I’d do it myself if police weren’t tailing me for my first week out – standard practice eh you see?”
“Maybe I can arrange for them to drop something off maybe…” responded Micky.
“Uh yeah – that’d work too. Just have them drop it off tonight when nobody’s out and then you two can wake up to the beautiful smell of eggs and bacon ‘morrow morning. That’s perfect.” In happiness the old man lapped up the rest of his breaky.
Micky left his oatmeal half eaten and went to work.
