I was actually early getting to Dahlonega for my afternoon news writing class, and I hadn’t eaten lunch yet, so I made a spur-of-the-moment decision to stop at the Waffle House.
I’ve always been a Waffle House fan. It’s always there at the next exit, always open and always ready to scramble a couple of eggs and fry up a side of bacon for me.
Plus, the Waffle House is always fast. I don’t like traditional fast food because (a) too many time the food is fast because it was pre-prepared and has been sitting under a heat lamp for hours and (b) there are usually screaming children inside a fast-food restaurant, which don’t make for the kind of dining experience I prefer.
Waffle House is a football-season tradition for my buddy Kurtz and me. When we head out on Friday for a road-game weekend, we often find a Waffle House along the way. And many times, we stop there again coming home of Sunday.
You know what you’re getting at Waffle House. The food is made right while you are sitting there. And it’s always a friendly place.
I pulled into the Waffle House parking lot just before 3. There were several other cars in the parking lot. I found a seat the counter.
“What are you having,” my Waffle House waitress asked me.
I like Waffle House waitresses. They usually have names like Gladys or Eloise, and they never let your coffee cup get empty.
Waffle House waitresses also like to call the customers “sweetie” or “honey.” I’m not usually comfortable with people I don’t know using such terms of endearment when talking to me. But somehow, it’s OK when it comes from a Waffle House waitress. There’s no awkwardness or discomfort. I actually like it.
Anyway, I ordered two eggs, scrambled, hash browns, scattered, smothered and covered; raisin toast; a side of bacon; and a cup of coffee.
The waitress dutifully wrote down all the details of my order, then turned at yelled all of it to the cook.
The cook, I noticed, didn’t write anything down. He just proceeded to start cooking my order. Then again, I’ve never seen a Waffle House cook write anything down.
Waffle House cooks have great memories. They can be scrambling eggs, tending to hash browns, frying several orders of bacon and have two waffles in the iron and still hear orders coming from three waitresses without ever getting an order wrong.
My food arrived a few minutes later, piping hot and exactly as I ordered it.
Perhaps during this election year, we should consider writing in the names of our Waffle House cooks instead of voting for the folks on the ballot. Perhaps then, the people in Washington would be able to remember why we sent them up there in the first place.
There were two older guys sitting at a booth nearby who probably would disagree with me about electing Waffle House cooks. They were drinking coffee and talking politics. One guy was a huge Donald Trump fan and was trying to convert his buddy, who I think was a Cruz fan.
I would have spoken up with my own personal opinion of Donald Trump, but the eggs and the hash browns were too good.
“Want some more coffee, hun?” my waitress asked.
“Yes, ma’m. I believe I would.”
I paid my bill, thanked my waitress for a delicious lunch and headed off to class.
What a nice spur-of-the-moment experience. I may just have to do it again soon.
