I've often heard Waffle House being referred to as a "white trash" establishment. There are unbelievable horror stories about people's experiences there, including everything from false arrests to mandatory Hepatitis vaccinations. All this aside, I find it one of the most fascinating places I've ever been.
Two mornings a week, I would go to the same Waffle House, sit at the counter, and listen to some of the waitresses' stories. They weren't the ones you would expect about post closing time debauchery. They were about the regulars - the little old lady who'd lost her husband years ago, or the older gentleman who'd fought in Vietnam and never married. The girls were always kind to every soul who walked in that door, and they knew everyone's stories.
I witnessed one of the girls pull a couple bucks out of her own tips to help a homeless man pay for his breakfast. Another time, a group of military guys walked past the Vietnam vet and grabbed his check off the table. This was a wonderful example of the human condition.
One night after a friend's 80's dress up party, my friend Francis and I slid into Waffle House. He was dressed normally, and I was dressed as one of the "Addicted to Love" girls from the Robert Palmer videos-HEAVY makeup, tight short black dress, black fishnets, and black stilettos.
We walked through the door, and were greeted with a cheery "Hey Y'all. Welcome to Waffle House!" In my true extroverted fashion, I put up my hand, and loudly proclaimed "I just want y'all to know I have just come from a 1980's party, and I swear I am NOT a hooker."
Edna, who'd been working there 20 years popped her head up, took one look at me, and said "Darlin', this is Waffle House. We don't judge!" She'd said it all. Come as you are, we'll take care of you!
Next time, I think I'll have my hash browns a little trashy.
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