It was a foggy and rainy Friday night. The act occurred approximately between the hours of 6 and 9 p.m. Somebody’s breakfast was spared and my car was defaced — yes, my car was egged.

While in fact I do have “off-street” parking at my apartment, I often park right in front of my building, especially when I know I’ll be leaving again shortly, which was the case Friday night. 

I had met up with my cousin for a delightful dinner at a local restaurant, we went back to my apartment to catch up a bit and after she left, I was planning on heading out to the local bar with a good friend. 

Most people who have seen my car parked along the street or know that I park out front sometimes have cautioned me of getting clipped by a passing car, but no on ever warned me of potential Biddeford hooligans practicing their pitch with eggs. 

Honestly, I have better things to do on a Friday night than driving around and chucking breakfast food at parked cars, so I have to wonder who was it that felt the urge to chuck a chicken?

I was mad at first, then frustrated and then realized there was not much I could do about the situation that had occurred.

Part of me wishes I would have just parked my car so when the yolk broke I could have taken off on a high-speed chase (because I know my VW Beetle could totally handle tailing some brats out for a laugh). The other part of me thought I should call the police, but honestly what good would that do.

And then there was another (much smaller) part of me that thought, “Hey, we all have to take a little practical joke sometime in our life.”

I’ll admit, I had high school friends that thought it was funny to “T-P” people’s homes or vehicles, wrap cars in plastic wrap or egg other friends cars for a joke, but I was never privy to the joking or the joked-on. 

There’s a tiny inkling that it could have been someone I know testing my limits, but I hope my friends have grown out of that phase of life. 

When sharing the story of my egg-white window with friends, they asked if I possibly wrote a story for the paper that someone was unhappy with, but in my reader’s defense, I don’t live in the town that I cover nor do any of my recent interviews know where I reside. 

So finally I have come to terms with the random act of unkindness. I wiped the still soggy egg and cracked shell off my window, and hoped the moist air of the night would keep the egg from crusting until I could properly clean the car in the morning, which thankfully it did. 

I hope if any other cars were the yolk of a joke Friday night the owners have little to no paint damage on their vehicles and the peace was returned after a quick cleaning, and in my case, I will no longer be parking curbside.  —Emma Bouthillette