Coming home for New Orleans earlier this month, we stopped at Waffle House for our traditional day-after-the-game breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon and hash browns, scattered, smothered and covered.
I like the Waffle House because the food is always hot, the service is always good and the people watching opportunities are endless. On this day, however, I saw something I’d never seen before at a Waffle House — or at any other restaurant. There, in one of the booths, was a woman wearing her house coat and slippers.
I don’t have a problem with people dressing casually. You don’t need to wear a tux to eat at Waffle House. But you can do better than the clothes you slept in. How badly could this woman have needed an omelet that she didn’t have time to throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She did, apparently, have the decency to take the curlers out of her hair.
Perhaps this is why restaurants have to hang signs at the door dictating how a customer should be dressed. Take the sign that says “No shirt. No shoes. No service.” Does that mean that as long as I’m wearing a shirt and shoes that I can take off my pants and still order a bacon double cheeseburger?
Some establishments go even farther. They hang signs that say, “Gentlemen are required to wear jackets and ties.” A friend had recommended one of these places in New Orleans. We passed. I don’t like to eat while I’m wearing a tie because I don’t always spill something on my tie and ties are expensive as heck to dry clean.
Besides, wearing a tie doesn’t necessarily make a man classy. Al Capone wore a tie. So did John Gotti. Not to mention all the male members of Congress.
I suspect that eating at an establishment that makes me wear a tie and a jacket probably isn’t good for my digestion. Plus, they probably won’t let me drink my beer straight out of the bottle, as God intended.
We ended up at another restaurant in New Orleans. The sign on the door said, “Casual, Stylish Attire Only.” I wasn’t sure what that meant.
I did a quick inventory of what I had on. Khaki pants. A polo shirt. Loafers with brown socks. There was no question that I was dressed casually. But was I stylish?
The answer to that question, I supposed, was based on an individual’s point of view.
I’ve never considered myself as a candidate for the cover of GQ magazine. I’ve never been one to update my wardrobe every time something comes into — or goes out of — style. I’ve long been comfortable in khakis and Polos, so that’s what you’ll find me wearing most of the time. And whether you personally considered my look to be stylish, it’s a dang sight better that showing up in my pajamas and slippers.
Besides, I was standing at the door of the restaurant. It was too late to turn back now. So in we went.
I walked up to the young female hostess.
“Before we sit down,” I said. “I need to know if I’m stylish enough to be in here.”
“You’ll do,” she said, without so much as a sly grin.
It was good enough to me. As soon as we sat down, I ordered a Budweiser. In a bottle.
