Nothing Says Easter Like An Adult Egg Hunt At The Junkyard


Last Sunday was Easter and, because everyone is desperately trying to put the pandemic behind them, the church services and special events that used to define the holiday have taken some creative turns.

At my mother’s church, those on the left side of the aisle were wearing masks and seated six feet apart in every other row. Those on the right side of the aisle were crammed in like sardines, not wearing masks, every row packed full.

Many egg hunts had been canceled, but then my daughter found one online that we just had to check out. It was intriguing because it was for ages 16 and up, and you had to sign a waiver. “A waiver!” she enthused. “We just have to go because they are never going to be able to hold this thing again — it’s too dangerous!”

And it was. It was held at a junkyard, where some of us would be looking for brightly colored plastic eggs with chocolate inside alongside others who were enthusiastically yanking catalytic converters out of junked cars.

The event started loudly at 8 a.m. when a huge forklift approached the chain link fence to remove three concrete barricades and a crushed car so we could enter. Participants were solemnly handed plastic bags emblazoned with the junkyard logo and a pink Easter bunny. At the sound of the air horn, we were off!

Because Jen and I evidently value winning over Quality Time Spent Together, we immediately split up in order to divide and conquer. I took the sedan section, she took pickup trucks. If we did this right, we’d each come home with a bag of melted chocolate and, hopefully, one of four golden eggs that contained up to $100 each.

Leaping over the car seats that littered the aisles and stepping lightly over sheets of broken glass windows, we creaked open car doors, flipped down glove compartments and, in my case, marveled over the amount of empty beer cans left inside crashed cars. (They never learn.)

The colored eggs were easy to find, but neither of us could ferret out a golden egg.

“I don’t want to give up!” Jen yelled from three aisles over.

“I don’t even recognize the term!” I yelled back.

But, as minutes turned into hours, we were getting discouraged and tired. Even the investigation of the burnt-out shell of an RV couldn’t cheer us up.

“Look at that clock melted onto the wall,” Jen said.

“Looks like the electrical system malfunctioned at exactly 3:10,” I said.

We stayed another half hour but finally admitted defeat when a limping, toothless guy approached us proudly holding a disembodied steering wheel in one hand and a $100 egg in the other.

We congratulated him, then returned to our car.

“I am so glad he won,” I said.

“Me, too,” Jen said. “But we are definitely trying again next year.”


In the meantime, I’m hoping that OSHA doesn’t find out about this spectacularly awesome, totally rad, fiercely dangerous and strangely inspiring Easter event. (Please don’t tell.)