April 25, 2010
An Egg-sell-ent Business
An Olde Fashioned Lemonade Stand, (circa 1800-2010)
Did you have a childhood business when you were a child? I know I did.
Most little kids usually begin their tryst into the great entrepreneurial world by means of the ever lucrative lemonadestand. At least, that’s my impression. I think I’ve seen maybe three kid-run lemonade stands in my life. Yet, I have this crystal clear picture in my head of a gingham covered table topped with empty glasses waiting to be filled from the ice cold pitcher. The charmingly handmade sign reading “Lemonade 10 Cents” replete with a young freckled, red-haired child behind the counter completes the image.
A couple tangental notes about this image of perfect childhood entrepeneurial bliss–
1. I was never a red-haired freckled child, yet I always saw myself as such if I were ever to sell lemonade. I don’t expect you to understand this anymore than I understand it myself.
2. Why is the lemonade always ten cents? I really believe that lemonade has ALWAYS been 10 cents at such road side stands. Einstein said light was the universal constant. But really it’s the price of roadside child-sold lemonade. Back in the 1800s, lemonade was just really fucking expensive. Now it’s laughably cheap.
3. Do people still let their kids do this? Despite the possible sanitation risks to the customers, I would imagine today’s rapist/kidnapper/generally creepy people paranoia stops most parents from letting their children stand on the side of the road for hours at a time.
4. Is this even profitable? Please let me know if you have any statistics about the profitability of such endeavors. I would be most curious to see your data sheets.
5. Why is it always lemonade? I’d love to see a “Kool Tap Water Ten Sense” stand some day.
Actually, I don’t remember ever trying the lemonade stand biz per se. Rather my version of the lemonade stand involved the sale of a product I called “blown eggs.” You might be wondering at this juncture what “blown eggs” are. A blown egg is an egg that has had all of its interior yolk and albumen “blown out.” To do this, one needs to poke the smallest of holes on either tip of the egg and blow into one end. From the other end, all its contents shoots out at an incredible velocity. The resulting product is a perfectly in tact, hollow egg shell that will never rot or go bad, but will instead last forever.
When I was in fifth grade, I discovered this manufacturing process, and thought, “Hey, I’d buy these for fifty cents a piece. I bet other people would.”
And so I began.
I know you'd buy an egg from her, but what about a chubby 5th grader with a carton and a dream?
First, I created sample eggs to show the kids at school. People were actually pretty impressed and I acquired many orders. One of my big selling points was that each egg purchased was customizable. For a small fee (ten cents) you could have an image of your choice drawn onto the sides of the egg. I remember one person wanted a race car. Another wants flames. One order for a flaming blown egg. Check.
Second, I talked my mom into putting up the money for the endeavor. I probably convinced her with an informal business proposal of some sort.
Third, I started blowing like a mad man. That day, I discovered what it’s like to work at a sweatshop. With over twenty orders, my mouth soon got very tired. I began to notice the faint taste of egg on my tongue. Yet I persisted. After what felt like hours, I had blown a full two dozen eggs, and meticulously hand-painted each of them.
The next day, I delivered the products to my awaiting customers. Some of them short changed me, but for the most part I had a nice sack of change after it all.
Job well done! Except that was not near the end of it.
As the day wore on, problems started to arise. Most importantly, I had not blown the eggs as thoroughly as I had originally thought. Raw egg goo leaked from a good percentage of the eggs, and it triggered a massive recall. About 2/3rds of my money pile was decimated by the afternoon due to returns. Then, the classroom experienced an egg shell plague. At one point, the teacher lost it and yelled, “Why is there so many eggs shells on the ground?” To which everyone ousted me immediately. I, who had provided them all with the quality blown eggs they craved, had become the object of scorn and malice. “Nick, I don’t know what you’re doing with all these eggs, but you need to clean this up right now.” Not even the taste of albumen is as bitter as cleaning up someone else’s mess. When you crash your car into an oak tree, does Ford have to send the board of directors to clean it up? Jeeze.
I just find this image amusing
Needless to say, I didn’t take any more orders. As the year wore on, people would like to occasionally tease me. One particularly creative person got their dad to say to me, “Hey Nick, how’s the egg blowing business?” Why did that asshole dad agree to say that to a little kid he didn’t even know? Jeeze.
Honestly, I still think blown eggs are cool. I would probably consider starting up the business again, if any investors were interested. I can just picture it now: mass production, outsourced to a giant sweat shop in Malaysia, where thousands of kids blow eggs in 13 hour shifts. Would that still count as a childhood business?
