In Praise of Yellow Restaraunts

Waffle House is one of my favorite places on Earth, and I think the reasons for this are probably obvious. Where else can you get good (relatively) food at 3am, and have it come with some really great entertainment as well?

Late Monday night in a fit of spontaneity I decided to head to the last bastion of road tripping culture and enjoy a chocolate chip waffle. It was about 12:30am, but since I get some of my best thinking done late at night a trip to the WH at this hour isn’t all that out of the ordinary for me. It’s a tradition that actually got started when I began working EMS.

There were a couple of guys that I worked with fairly regularly, and if we got a call around 1 or 2am, we’d head to Waffle House after we cleared up, and sit and drink sweet tea while the strippers came in from the titty bar down the street. The strippers would sit and talk about some of the most ridiculous things I’d ever heard, and we’d drink tea and listen to all of it while we made fun of the dancers with bad boob jobs. (Do people really pay to see those?)

I digress. This particular evening had already been anti-productive, and my lack of doing anything worthwhile was making me angry. Everything I’d attempted to accomplish that day had backfired, and to top that off, I was bored. I was talking to a friend of mine who’s a fellow insomniac, and mentioned my sudden desire for an undercooked waffle served by a hard-edged woman named Marge who would just as soon kill me as hand me some syrup. My friend mentioned that she had nothing better to do with her time, and agreed to meet me there. Sounds like the beginning of an adventure to me…

I head down the road, and after I get on the highway I notice that the moon is out and full, and I haven’t spent any time looking at it in a while. It’s really very pretty. I can see the man in the moon, and it’s bright, and-

The rumble strips save my life.

I spend another three seconds looking at the moon before deciding that rumble strips won’t keep me from nailing an 18 wheeler, and resolve to concentrate on driving for a little while.

I pull into the Waffle House parking lot; planning on waiting for Katie (the friend) there until she arrives. It takes about a minute to realize there are 2 important flaws in this plan. 1.) This is the Waffle House. Its parking lot isn’t exactly safe. In fact, someone was killed in this particular WH’s parking lot last year. 2.) If you meet someone halfway between Cary and Chapel Hill, you’re meeting in Durham.

I’m in the parking lot of a Waffle House-

In Durham-

Alone-

At 1 in the morning.

Awesome.

None of those thoughts actually manage to change my plan one bit, and I continue to sit on the front of my truck as though I own southern Durham. I get several questioning looks, but as they mostly came from a group of Hispanic teenage girls I believe it was because I was the seedy character.

Katie arrives, and we head into the Sanctuary of the Holy Waffle.

The great thing about the Waffle House is that it’s the place where all walks of society collide. No matter who you are, where you've been, or where you're going, it's okay for you to enjoy a waffle at 2am, and to do so in the company of some weird folks. When Jesus comes back he'll start his ministry at the Waffle House. I sincerely believe that. I also sincerely believe that I’ll be struck down by lightning right after I post this.

We sit down at one of the booths (reserved for two or more customers) and take a look at the menu. Creepy moment number one: The waitress (Sha’quanda. I’m not sure what the apostrophe was replacing, so don’t ask) doesn’t leave, or even pretend to do something else while we look at the menu. She stands ramrod straight, and stares at us while we look at the menu. And by stares at us, I mean stares at Katie, because I already know what I want, and I’m not even pretending to browse the menu.

This (understandably) only makes her nervous, and unable to concentrate on the menu and the oh-so-important task at hand. Breaking the tension, I ask Sha’quanda for a sweet tea.

S’q- “Ummm hmmm. An’ fo her?”

I give Katie the raised eyebrow. Clearly saying to her “You’d better hurry up and order a drink before we get shot at the Waffle House in Durham, further tarnishing the reputation of this fine establishment”

K- “Uhhh- (sweating) I don’t really know! (Squeaks a little bit with stress) Coffee!”
S’q- “Aight”

Momentarily relieved of her antagonist, Katie takes the opportunity to say “I don’t think she likes me very much.” I assure Katie that Sha’quanda really does like her, but has had a hard day at home, and Marge, the manager, won’t let her take a smoke break with her pack of Philly Blunts until at least 4am.

I shut up quickly when Sha’quanda returns, beverages in hand, and shoots me the evil eye. Honestly, it really was evil. It spun completely around in its socket and shot lightning bolts at me. (Not true) I am tempted to tell Sha’quanda that if she doesn’t shape up there’s no way the Messiah will choose her Waffle House for his glorious return, but think better of it when I remember that she can have me killed. Marge isn’t afraid of going back to prison.

Since Katie wasted the drink-getting time talking to me instead of looking at the menu, Sha’quanda is forced to wait again (more intimidating stares included) while she figures out what she wants to eat. I order my chocolate chip waffle and, deciding to live dangerously, and add on an order of hash browns too.

The Eye is back on Katie.

I’m truly impressed at her ability to function under pressure. The intensity of this gaze is nearly deadly, but she doesn’t crack. She doesn’t look up from her menu either, but still. Finally, after 2 minutes in which I’m truly afraid Sha’quanda will spontaneously combust, Katie looks up:

K- “Can I have some cereal?”

S’q-“Ummm hmm. You want small or large?”

Obvious confusion from Katie-

K-“Small or large cereal?”

S’q-“Ummm hmm. Small or large??”

Katie takes a quick glance around the restaurant, I can only assume she was checking for exits.

K-“Large? I guess?”

This was good enough for Sha’quanda, and she goes off to handle the food prep. I just hope she keeps track of whose food is whose when she spits in Katie’s.

We sit and enjoy our food, and enjoy the various groups that also decided to be patrons of this particular Waffle House on this particular night.

Highlights:

-The dude still wearing a traffic control vest from his worksite. I finally figured out what I look like when I’m on the scene of a traffic accident. I’m not happy about this revelation.

-The dude who’d been punched in the face. One whole side of his face was red and raised. Katie: “Maybe it’s a pimple?”

-The Hispanic family. There were about 12 of them, all men, but family nonetheless. Brothers, uncles, nephews, fathers and sons. I’m filled with hope for humanity at the sight of such a quality family outing. It’s a beautiful thing. Then I see a genuine fistfight break out in the parking lot, and remember that the last time I was invited to a Hispanic family get-together it was via a 911 dispatch after one uncle shot another uncle. They’re a passionate people, what can I say?

-Sha’quanda’s boyfriend. He comes in and sits down with Sha’quanda after a quick tongue kiss. She talks to him for a while, and keeps shooting glances over at our table while she does this. I worry for at least 5 minutes after he leaves. He was a big dude.

At about 3am, we decide it’s a little warm inside the Waffle House, and retire to the parking lot. Turns out, it’s cold in the parking lot. Undaunted we sit on the tailgate of my truck and continue the evening’s (morning’s) discussion.

We’re interrupted a couple of times by people driving up in SUVs with big, flashy rims who then park around back. A few minutes later they’re met by another SUV with big, flashy rims. Two guys usually get out, talk for a minute, hand things to one another, shoot us suspicious looks, then get back in their cars and drive away.

Katie mentions her lifelong ambition to be an FBI agent. I tell her this is good surveillance practice. When you hear about a major drug sting at a Waffle House of the future where the undercover agents were supposed to look like two 20 year olds who were just “hanging out”, remember my story and smile.

Anyway, after a night of conversation and threatened violence from our waitress, I decide that 5:15am is the perfect time to drive home, since I have to be up at 7:30 the next morning. Good decision-making Chris.

I say goodbye and head home intending to pass out for 2 hours before I drive to Chapel Hill for a meeting with SuperJew, and the big boss from Durham Tech. I make it to my bed, and I’m stupid enough to check my computer for a second. I’m immediately assaulted by messages from Puddinhead, Katie, and SuperJew. Why all of these people are awake at 5:45 in the morning, I don’t know. (Except for the obvious)

Realizing that my hopes for sleep are dashed, I agree to meet SuperJew for breakfast at the local hippie food co-op, and don’t even go to sleep. After a shower and the addition of some clean clothes I’m back the road heading the opposite direction. SuperJew invited Katie to breakfast too, and even though he’d only met her two days before, he filled breakfast with jokes that made me laugh, and her blush/look uncomfortable. She went home after breakfast, hopefully to get some sleep. No such luck for me though.

I managed to not sound like an idiot for the next 7 hours, and we got a good bit of work done. I made it home after we finished, and collapsed into bed. I’d been awake since 9am the day before (about 32 hours awake) and I’d had a grand total of 18 hours of sleep since Thursday. I managed to nearly match that total in one night, as I didn’t even move for the following 15 hours.

Add this to the “Things I probably shouldn’t do again, but likely will” list.