Adventures at the Waffle House

So I’m on vacation for a few days, and I’m really having a great time in Florida.  It’s actually my first time visiting the Sunshine State, and I decided that the best way to reach Florida was to drive there.

Yes.  You heard me.  I drove to Florida.

From New York.

Down I-95.

All the way down I-95.  Eleven hundred miles.

And, to be honest, the first time I was absolutely sure that I had reached the South…

Was when I reached Virginia, and saw one of these Southern beacons of dining excellence.

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Yep.

Found me a Waffle House.

Now mind you, all I knew at that time about Waffle House was that they sold waffles and hash browns, and that folk singer Carla Ulbrich had a funny song about what can happen if the guy who changes the lights on the Waffle House sign doesn’t do his job.

So… I’m feeling hungry.  And it’s been a long drive.

Time for some Waffle House food.

I went in and sat at the counter.  A quick glance of the menu and I knew what I wanted – scrambled eggs and cheese, a side order of bacon, some wheat toast, and some hash browns – apparently I needed to order them “scattered” and “smothered.”  This seems to be the way to order food.

So my waitress came over to take my order.

“I’d like scrambled eggs and cheese, a side order of bacon, wheat toast and hash browns – smothered and covered,” I said, trying my best to sound like I’ve ordered this food before.

She smiled, wrote down my order, and told me my food would be ready soon.

A few minutes later, another server approached me.

“What did you order, sir?”

Maybe they have the orders mixed up and they needed to make sure my order was delivered to me and not to the guy who was wearing the Lynyrd Skynyrd sleeve-ripped T-shirt at the end of the counter.  “I ordered the scrambled eggs and cheese, do you have that order for me?”

“Oh no,” she said to me, “I’m sorry, but your server didn’t write down your order.  I apologize.  What did you order?”

Okay… it’s fine.  Mistakes happen.  I smiled.  “I’d like scrambled eggs and cheese, a side order of bacon, wheat toast and hash browns – smothered and covered.”

She took my order.  At least I hoped she took my order, so far I’m 0-for-1 in Waffle House orders.

A few minutes later, another server brought me my food.  Scrambled eggs and cheese, wheat toast, the hash browns – and two sausage patties.

Yep.  Apparently my Noo Yawk accent caused these people to hear me say “bacon” and have it come out as “sausage.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir,” the third waitress said to me.  “I can throw out the sausage and bring you some bacon.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said.  “I’ll eat the sausage.  No sense in letting food go to waste.”

A few minutes later, a fourth server showed up.  Next thing I know, there’s another plate at my table – a small plate with three crispy bacon strips.

“We’re sorry,” she said, “I made you some extra bacon.”

Wow.  At the rate this is going, I’ll probably have every Waffle House employee within a fifteen-mile radius apologizing or bringing me food, or both.

All in all, I ate plenty of food at the Waffle House, the price was reasonable, and I felt stuffed enough after that meal, that I could drive through then next two states without even a single hunger break.

Of course, now I’m thinking it would be great to have a Waffle House in the Capital District.

If nothing else, you could play the game of “how many Waffle House servers does it take to completely deliver a successful meal?”

And at this rate, my over-under is 3 and a half.