I Tried My Luck at Cal Poly’s Annual Egg Drop – and Here’s How it All Went Down 

I am no packaging connoisseur. Not well acquainted with the laws of physics, either. So when I was summoned to participate in Cal Poly’s annual egg drop competition and write about the experience, I was as intrigued as I was apprehensive. I had no idea what to expect, but one thing was for certain: This egg’s chance at survival is going to be close to none.

To counteract my technical incompetence, I recruited my friend and Biomedical Engineering major Evan Manley on the day of the egg drop competition to assist me in my effort. As we approach the growing mob surrounding the egg drop signup booth, the excitement is contagious; competition moderators are holding microphones, shouting out more egg-related puns than my feeble mind imagined to be possible. “We’re going to have an egg-cellent time!” yelled one of them. “Join the egg-stravaganza!” shouted another.

At the Egg Drop Competition, participants try to win money by creating packages that protect an egg from a 30-foot drop. The annual event, held at the San Luis Obispo Farmer’s Market, is put on by the Poly Pack Club and sponsored by Pregis. (Photo: Jahan Ramezani)

The egg drop competition, which is hosted annually at the SLO Farmer’s Market and put on by Cal Poly’s Poly Pack club, serves to raise awareness of the importance and expansiveness of effective packaging to members of the San Luis Obispo community. Community members young and old gather to take part in the tradition, and walk away with a renewed appreciation for the discipline of packaging – perhaps even considering a career in the field. In other words, this egg drop competition is singlehandedly cultivating the packaging experts of generations to come.

One of the egg-drop moderators, who identified herself as the “Chief Egg Inspector,” asked me about my plan of action. “I have no earthly idea,” I honestly replied, as if the palpable reluctance on my face hadn’t already given that away. The egg inspector found amusement in this response and handed us our paper bag of supplies.

We emptied the contents of the bag onto a table and picked at the individual items, unsure of what to do with this assortment of supplies. In the bag were pipe cleaners, a couple of cotton swabs, Q-tips, rubber bands, and a thin sheet of bubble wrap. Any semblance of confidence that we felt had quickly waned, but our morale stayed high.

For a short while, we aimlessly fiddled with the objects, allowing the stumped feeling to encompass us. We read and reread the guidelines that were given to us on a sheet of white paper. According to the instructions, each package would be dropped from approximately 30 feet above the ground, and the measures for a winning egg drop package were the following: how light the package is, how little volume it takes up, and course, the unscathed survival of our precious cargo – the egg.

I am no packaging connoisseur. Not well acquainted with the laws of physics, either.
Neta Bar

With these guidelines in mind, we decided to go big or go home. Or, more accurately, go small. Our objective was to win this competition by creating a small but successful package, taking up as little volume as possible while still protecting the egg.

When contemplating the method behind our madness, we decided that we could most efficiently achieve our goal by creating a support system that would allow for our package’s first point of contact to be as far away from the egg as possible.

With our limited supplies, we discussed a variety of methods to accomplish this until we settled on one that felt right. We eventually determined our secret weapon: We were going to create braces for each side of the egg, and we would be leveraging our handful of Q-tips to make it happen.

And thereby the design phase of our egg drop package came to an end, making way for the start of the construction process. Diligently and with great care, we secured our egg with the thin layer of bubble wrap and braced it with a pair of Q-tips running longitudinally along the egg to brace the fall further.

Once our package was as ready as it would ever be, we returned to the crowd of onlookers and participants surrounding the egg drop station, which had grown even bigger. I looked around at the packages being actively constructed around me; some were neatly crafted, some absurd. The only common theme of creativity galore.

Upon depositing our package in the batch that was to be dropped next, we scanned the crowd in anxious anticipation. Our package was discernibly smaller, but that didn’t make it any less mighty, at least not in our eyes.

Neta Bar and Evan Manley watch as their egg package is dropped from a 30-foot lift at the San Luis Obispo Farmer’s Market. (Photo: Jahan Ramezani)

After twenty minutes of waiting in eager suspense, the awaited moment had finally come: Our number was about to be called, and our package would soon be free-falling. We craned our necks to watch closely. When the student volunteer picked up our package, he immediately smiled, and then…

He laughed.

Laughed! Was he impressed, or was his amusement indicative of our impending defeat?

The subsequent events felt like they happened in slow motion. The student, thirty feet above the ground, released our package, and inside it, our egg. Were we the underdogs? The unlikely champions of this event? Like the climax of a feel-good movie, we envisioned vividly our unrealized victory, hearts swelling with hope. The package fell gracefully, its small weight and size perceptible in its descent. And then, all of a sudden: a low “ohhhh” from the crowd.

“That is one broken egg!” exclaimed the competition moderator.

Evan and I peered over the heads of onlookers in between us and the tarp on which our package had fallen.

Our contraption was obliterated immediately upon impact. Our egg had met its maker.

It is true that we had failed – and miserably, at that. But as our egg drop competition experience came to a close, we still reveled in the spirit of innovation, creativity, and sheer resourcefulness that our participation brought about. While our precious cargo did not survive – R.I.P., Little Egg – we had walked away personally triumphant.

And besides, as we told competition moderators and onlookers alike: we’ll get ‘em next year.