Face Full of Egg

“Outside the posh Polo-Wander Art Gallery”

Once a year, Jhon Polo opens the doors of Polo-Wander Gallery to host his most prestigious auction. An invitation only event, no press has ever been past the red carpet and can only guess what goes on inside the doors.

The guest list reads like a who’s who list of the world’s philanthropists. The collective net worth of the guest list equals small countries and boarders on rivaling the bigger ones. No one ever knows what is sold and buyers reserve the right of disclosure. Tin foil hat theories surround the event, but with future invitations on the line, attendees are tight lipped.

Eddy Wander stood between the door and the red carpet. The Government of the people saw fit to make smoking illegal in indoor public places and Eddy was forced out the door to sneak nicotine like he was a teenager.

Flashes from the paparazzi left the entrance in a strobe light disco with no pulsating techno beat. The only rhythm was that of a thousand questions asked in unison. Eddy saw the red carpet circus as a representation of the shallow materialism of society. The camera men sent after the petty moral abuses of societal clowns, so their lens would be free of the real crimes. The masses remained sedated and caught up in the drama.

Eddy hated the city with all it’s squabble, a man couldn’t hear himself think in the depths of the urban sprawl. On the other hand, Jhon had a natural gift for gab. He was the face for “Polo-Wander Galleries” and his role fit like a $500 pair of boat shoes. Jhon had the metro good looks and flamboyant personality of a hard core seller. Sure, he was gayer than Christmas and could sell ice boxes to Eskimos.

Eddy was more of a man’s man. He opted for hard nose truths and justice found at the end of a balled up human hand. A business needs a person to sell and a person to acquire. Jhon sold and Eddy traveled to the four corners for things to sell.

No one would catch Jhon’s limp wrist in the jungles, cavorting with natives, fighting both gorilla and government squads, and getting his Dickie wet. The acquisition would never be Jhon’s end of the business and Eddy respected the separation. He would never ask Jhon to accompany him on a trip.

But every year, Jhon expected Eddy to be present for the auction. Every year, where the same names and faces paraded before him. They asked him about the history of each piece and ate up his words with a tinge of wanderlust. Every story would be the same one told by Eddy and edited by Jhon who implanted small lies and covered bigger truths.

It was never enough to have the largest egg in the world, buyers had to hear the back story. They craved to know the juicy details. He told them the egg was found on a unmarked island run by a man from Texas, about the indigenous people who chased the whole crew off the island, and exactly what was traded for Hemmingway’s Codpiece.

Giant eggs and Codpieces couldn’t sell themselves, the stories behind the conversation pieces sold the items. Everything that is wrong with society starts upon this principal and Eddy understood it better than anyone. Especially in this moment as the flash strobe disco caught a thousand words after a thousand words.

“Well Kiddies, that about wraps it up for this issue of Meanwhile… Join Us next time in “Seaside Warf“