|An egg and a banana.|
His solution is to use a knife (he always has a pocket knife with him) to get it started. A little nick is all it takes. Still, it saddens him that he has so much trouble, and it reminds him of how much better his life would have been if he had somehow in his life obtained the magic quality of confidence. He knows what an immense turn on it is to women and employers, and he thinks of what his life would have been like with a wife and a house instead of a twin mattress and a studio apartment.
He also has trouble cracking open his morning egg. He hits it sharply with the side of a fork and half the time it just dents the shell; the membrane remains intact. He hits it again but now he's hitting only the membrane, covered now by a little mosaic of shell. By the time he succeeds and deposits the innards into a bowl or pan, there are little bits of shell in it, which he either has to pick out or hope for the best when he eats it. Sometimes, wary of this, he'll give the egg a good, self-assured whack but that will turn out to be a bad idea; the white will ejaculate from its home, leaving a thin trail of slime in hard-to-clean places. Even the goddamn egg can see through his act.
Let's forget about the egg for now.