by BobA. Troutt
*****
Leftover from the Holidays
The Cracked Egg
Deep Woods was a small community that sat nestled back in the forest just off Shady Lane Road. It was also where Homer Pugliese’s Easter Egg Company was located. From miles around, everyone came to work at the factory. Especially the closer it got to Easter. Homer was a quiet businessman. He treated everyone very well and produced the best Easter eggs in the country. In the lobby of his business, the shelves were full of trophies he received from his many awards. He was a top-notch, Class A businessman. His business partner was his best friend, Professor Vanueckhoven. Professor was very creative. He came up with all the new designs, colors and so on for the Easter eggs. He was what one would call a real egghead. Yeah, he was definitely a real egghead. He was sharp as a tack, sly and clever; he was a genius in his field. And he was the best around.
It was another typical Easter in Deep Woods. The factory was putting out eggs, dozen after dozen. Putt, putt, putt sang the old smoke stacks from the plant as the workers changed shifts, coming and going. Putt, putt, putt, putt went the smoke stacks as Homer slept at his desk. Suddenly, out of the clear blue, his office door flew open.
“Mr. Pugliese, Mr. Pugliese,” cried the voice of a frightened worker.
Startled, Homer leaped to his feet, bumped his head on the light, tripped over the trashcan and yelled out, “What is it? What on earth is it?”
Still out of breath, the worker stuttered as he tried to explain what was happening.
“Now, son, just calm down and take your time,” urged Homer.
With a deep breath and a wipe of his nose, the young worker explained everything to Homer.
“It’s Professor,” he cried out. “He’s painted all the eggs with clear paint.”
“So,” replied Homer, “I still don’t understand the problem.
“The problem is we can’t see the eggs!” shouted the worker. “They have disappeared.”
“What!” screamed Homer. “It’s almost Easter.”
“What are we going to do, sir?” the worker asked.
“Surely, Professor will know what to do,” replied Homer.
“I don’t know, sir,” the worker said. “He’s acting a little funny; he doesn’t seem to be himself.”
“What do you mean by funny?” asked Homer.
“Aah…a little crazy,” replied the worker.
“Crazy, my foot, he’s always been a little touched. Let me go see for myself.”
Hurriedly, Homer and the worker ran out the door and headed to see Professor. When they opened the door of his lab, he was sitting in his chair staring at the wall.
“Professor,” called Homer, “Professor.”
But, Professor never said a word.
“You see, sir,” said the worker. “He’s been like this for hours.”
“Well, we have to help him snap out of it so he can help us find those eggs. Professor,” cried out Homer, “can you hear me?”
Professor never blinked an eye; he just stared straight ahead.
“Okay, son,” said Homer, “run and find a doctor.”
“Yes, sir!” shouted the worker. “I’ll be right back with a doctor.”
The worker ran out the door. He ran as fast as he could through the plant, running from here to there and all about crying out for a doctor. When he couldn’t find one in the plant, he rushed outside and through the woods.
“Is there a doctor around!” he screamed.
Suddenly, down by the pond, he heard a voice answer his cry for help.
“Maybe I can help,” said Jo Bob Jo.
As the worker explained the situation, Jo Bob Jo informed him what kind of doctor he was.
“Now, I only deliver babies; I’m a stork. But, I will be happy to pay a visit to your friend.”
Quickly, the worker led Jo Bob Jo to Professor. When they arrived back at the plant, Homer was pacing the floor back and forth; he was worried sick.
“Now, let me see, Professor,” said Jo Bob Jo as he examined him. “Well, well, well,” said Jo Bob Jo as he looked in Professor’s mouth.
“What is it? What is it?” asked Homer.
“Well, well, well,” he said again as he laid his head on Professor’s chest and listened to his heart.
“What is it! What is it!” yelled Homer.
Jo Bob Jo slowly turned to Homer and said, “I don’t know. But, I’m not going to stop until I find out.”
Jo Bob Jo took his flashlight and shined it in Professor’s ear.
“Well, well, well,” he said again. “I see!”
“See what, doctor? What do you see?” cried Homer.
“Well,” said Jo Bob Jo as he stepped back and scratched his head. “It looks like Professor is cracked up, not cracked down.”
“What do you mean, doctor,” asked Homer, “that he’s cracked up, not cracked down?”
“Well, there are two things. Notice here on the top of his shell; the crack runs up and not down,” explained Jo Bob Jo.
“So!” said Homer. “He’s always been a little hard boiled at times.”
“See here in his ear, he has a runny yolk,” said the doctor.
“Really,” said Homer. “As long as I have known him he has been mixed up, a real scramble brain.”
“What are we going to do?” asked the worker.
“Well, all I can tell you is you’ll just have to be patient and wait. I don’t know what will hatch out. Oh, I mean what will work out,” replied the doctor. “I’ve got to go and make a delivery. I’m sure he’ll be alright,” encouraged Jo Bob Jo as he dropped his head and left the room.
Jo Bob Jo left; Homer and the worker looked at each other and then at Professor.
“I guess we will have to wait and see what happens,” said Homer.
The time slowly passed as they watched for a sign of Professor getting well. Unfortunately, there was no sign. He sat still and motionless, not batting an eye or taking a breath. Homer’s eyes got heavier and heavier because he hadn’t had a nap before everything started. Unexpectedly, there was a loud groan followed by a horrible roar.
Homer jumped to his feet and yelled, “What was that?”
The worker lifted his head and replied, “It was only my stomach growling. I’m a little hungry.”
Homer shook his head and eased over to Professor. He still hadn’t moved a muscle.
“Is there anything that can be done?” he asked a nonresponsive Professor. “We have to find those eggs and get them out to the market before it’s too late.”
The room was silent. There was no answer. The only thing to do was to wait; just like the doctor instructed. Homer sat back down in his chair and fell asleep. Then without warning, Homer’s office door flew open and in walked his secretary.
“Excuse me, sir, but I need you to sign and date these papers. I need to get them in the mail this morning,” she stated.
Dazed and confused, he rose up out of his sleep and hollered out, “Professor, the eggs!”
“Excuse me, sir,” she replied, “are you alright?”
“Huh,” he mumbled as he rubbed his eyes.
“Sir,” she said, “I need you to sign and date these papers.”
“I must have been dreaming,” he said. “Have you seen Professor this morning?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied. “I saw him a few minutes ago.”
“Was he alright?” he asked.
“Sure, he was fine,” she said. “Do you want me to leave these papers with you? I can pick them up later if you’d like.”
“No, that’s okay” he replied. “I’ll go ahead and sign them now.
Man, what a dream that was, he thought as he signed the papers.
“What’s the date?” he asked.
“It’s April first,” she replied.
“And everything is alright?” he asked. “Are there any eggs missing? Is everything right on schedule with the s
hipments?” he questioned.
“Everything is fine,” she replied. “The trucks are already loaded down with the egg shipments.”
As he sighed in relief, he eased down in his chair and muttered, “That wasn’t a dream; it was a nightmare.”
“Sir, you have someone to see you,” stated his secretary. “Do you want me to show them in?” she asked.
“Sure,” he replied, “send them in.”
Homer rubbed his eyes and his mouth fell open when he saw Jo Bob Jo walk in. He was speechless.
“Mr. Pugliese, I have a special delivery for you. Please sign here?” said Jo Bob Jo.
Nervously, Homer scribbled his signature on the paper and then Jo Bob Jo handed him the letter. With shaky hands, he opened it up. As he was reading the letter, Professor and the worker entered his office.
“April Fool!” they all cried.
“It wasn’t a dream?” asked Homer.
“No, way,” laughed Professor. “We got one over on you. We didn’t think we would be able to pull it off.”
At first, Homer was a little upset. However, deep down inside he loved a good joke. When he was over the shock, he laughed hysterically.
Jo Bob Jo giggled, took the signed and said, “I’m sorry, but I have to go. That has to be the best April fool’s joke I have ever participated in.”
*****
Giggle Book One
Giggle Book Two
Bobby A. Troutt is a southern writer who writes a variety of short stories and children’s books.
