"An egg in your beer?"

It’s a curious expression, one which I have never heard uttered outside of Chicagoland. Now that I think of it, I’ve never heard it used outside of my beloved Gold Coast neighborhood, though the first person I heard say the words in question grew up on Chicago’s Southside, so that area certainly has a claim on it. But what does it mean? How is it employed in day-to-day speech?

Essentially, it’s a response to someone whining about how something good in their life is somehow not good enough. Here’s an example that came to me on this morning’s walk. Let’s consider the case of Mr. Stanley Bagnose:

One balmy summer’s day, surrounded by his loved ones, having been attended to by his parish priest, Stanley closes his eyes and gives up the ghost. He experiences a timeless journey through a warmly-lit tunnel, at the end of which he finds himself standing before a gold and ivory podium, behind which sits none other than Saint Peter.

“Ah, Mr. Bagnose,” says the Heavenly Gatekeeper. “Welcome to Heaven.” Saint Peter opens a huge ledger, The Book of Life. “Let’s see, now. Here we are. We have a nice seat for you in Section 47, Row F, Seat 13.”

Stanley is clearly stunned by this revelation. “Wait a minute! What’s with this Section 47 stuff? I’ve been good. Righteous, even. I was an usher in Church. I got a son in seminary and a granddaughter at DePaul.”

“And?”

“Whatever happened to a seat at the righthand of The Father, contemplating the Divine Countenance for all Eternity?”

From behind the podium, Saint Peter serves up a disdainful stare. “Whattaya want, egg in your beer? You’re in Heaven. Leave it or live with it, pal.”

Stanley is beside himself, mumbling. “Parker was right. You are a spineless weasel.”

“Is that so? Well, I’m sorry, but I misspoke. You’re in Section 263, Row WW, Seat 29.”

Stanley gasps for breath, eyes bulging, swaying on his feet. “I, I, I … uh …”

“Save it. And as for Mister Parker, I’ll be dealing with him soon enough. Now, blow.”

And there you have it.