Oh Waffle house oh Waffle House how I used to love thee. I am not a complainer by any means, I leave that job to the rest of my family, whose constant narcissism and judgmental opinions about everything under the sun are the stories of legend.
So this is the experience I endured on a Sunday evening on March 4, 2014, which is probably not typical and I hope not an everyday occurrence. I order some hash browns with cheese and a side of toast and some coffee. The cook first forgets to make my hash browns crispy which I specifically asked for. (I also know a certain Washington D.C. editor is reading this and making all sorts of negative comments in his head as well, apparently I cannot publish an article without being ridiculed by at least 3 people)
So, I take a few bites of the hash browns and there is literally 75% or more left of the plate when I suddenly realize there is no cheese o top of my hash browns. Now, normally this wouldn’t really be a problem but since I had just gotten into yet another fight with my Mother over something so unbelievably stupid the cheese situation becomes an issue.
I mention to the waitress that I really do not think I should be charged the .45 extra cents for the cheese which isn’t there. However, the Sunday Manager decides that I look like the sort of person who must be a criminal and I had therefore somehow in those few minutes eaten the cheese off the item and I was lying about there not being cheese. Or it had possibly melted into the potatoes, again making me the liar. So I quote form the New York Times, writer Robbie Brown writes in November 2011, since my opinion isn’t worth a dime:
“Waffle House is taking steps to present a positive image. In 2008, the company opened a Waffle House Museum at the site of the chain’s first restaurant, here in Avondale Estates, an Atlanta suburb. It has a letter from a former Georgia governor commending the restaurant on its success, photographs of the chain’s founders and a box where customers can write down and leave their favorite Waffle House stories.”
Well, I think those PR positive image steps they took are just not even worth researching. I paid my bill and walked out without turning this into a major incident. I don’t know the name of that Sunday evening Manager, but I did used to work at a Waffle House once back in Athens, Georgia. Most of my clientele simply stared at my chest since the top of my uniform was so tight it fit me in such an obscene way, Anna Nicole Smith and Oliver Stone would have been proud.
Please eat at Waffle House, I have no problem with them, I just think this Sunday manager has a real problem, maybe I am too blonde and curvy to be in a restaurant without a male escort, because, being a woman attempting to win an argument doesn't seem to happen in Frederick, Maryland. In fact, it doesn't seem to happen anywhere.