I’ve made it: I’m a Waffle House Regular
I like to take books to my local Waffle House and read while I enjoy a leisurely breakfast. I must do it more often than I thought because when I showed up this morning, coffee was delivered before my butt was still cold from the seat as heat transfer had not yet occurred. That is to say, within five seconds.
I said, “I know what I—”
“Oh, I already know,” the girl said.
“Oh, yeah? Name it,” said I.
She cocked her head to the side, looked up at the ceiling, and recited. “Scrambled eggs with cheese, onions, and ham. Hashbrowns, scattered, covered, and chunked. Raisin toast.”
“Dang, woman. You’re right.”
A little while later, she came by again. “Ready for a refill?”
I looked at my cup. Half full. Why not, I says, save you a trip.
She began to pour. “Well, some people get all bent out of shape if you mess with their perfect mix. Yeah, these perfect mix people will holler at you if their mix gets out of whack.”
I nodded in sympathy as if to say Yeah, really. I mean, what persnickety control freaks, right? Then I realized I am that person…only not with coffee, so now you know not to mess with my iced tea.
This is me protecting my iced tea mix.
