dear person who made my breakfast bagel:

I paid $6 for an overpriced airport bagel, because I’m hungry and while I try usually not to indulge in breakfast bagels, I had to wake up at 4.30 this morning so I wanted to treat myself.

“Over medium,” I replied, when you asked me how I wanted my eggs.

You obliged.

I waited, in eager anticipation of my over medium egg, sausage, and cheddar, all wrapped together tightly in a warm bagel.

I took the finished product to my gate. Opened the lid of the box and was greeted with a wonderful aroma, the kind that smells like greasy breakfast but you don’t care because you’re so ready for it.

I went to pick up my bagel. I had barely lifted the structure when… *ttthhhpppttt*

Egg yolk. Squirted all over my jeans, my bag, and ran down the chair to my ass.

Yolk from that over medium egg I ordered.

I was livid. It was 6.30 in the goddamn morning. I was in no mood.

Also this marks the second time I have squirted egg yolk on myself in the last two years, which I think is a pretty impressive stat. The first time, I assume full responsibility.

But I’m sleepy today. Cranky. I am on one.

So I woosah-ed. Collected my things, struggling to not yolkify anything further. Picked up the structurally compromised breakfast bagel as proof of my trials and tribulations.

Did the walk of shame to a bathroom, where I attempted to clean myself up — to no avail. Dark stains on my thigh, both front and back. At least I was no longer sticky.

I walked back to your shop and politely explained the situation. You apologized, obliging when I asked you for a new bagel. You turned your back and began heading to the kitchen when I interrupted:

“Oh! I’d like eggs scrambled, please.”

Lesson fucking learned.

Don’t trust an “over medium” egg unless you fried the damn thing yourself.