"Welcome to Waffle House, honey buns."
Not only had I been welcomed, but my honey buns, as well! This, being a joyous occasion, called the need for some celebration.
"Let's sit in a BOOTH!"
What? I'm broke. Booths are my way of celebrating. Haven't you ever heard, "it's the little things in life?" (Does that phrase end there? Like, is that it? "It's the little things in life. Period." Because in that case, why does everyone assume that it entails something good? It's a sentence fragment, in my humble opinion. I could easily continue that sentence with something like, "THAT SUCK," as in: "It's the little things in life...THAT SUCK." Ya feel me?)
I had never been to this particular branch before (hence the caution), but upon the moment I sat myself (in a booth!) (wait, what was that?) (a booth.) (oh my...) (yes, I know, hard to believe, isn't it?) (you must be celebrating something!) (indeed I am.) (I wish I was sitting in a booth!) (your day will come.), I knew that this choice I had made to come to this exact temple of breakfast foods was nothing less than fate.
"Hi girls! Look, look at my neck. Just look at it."
Yeah, weird. Weird that you leaned in so close to me that if I stuck my tongue out I could have licked your neck.
"Yeah, the bastard strangled me. The son of a bitch put his hands on me. The no-good-piece-of-shit beat me and then filed a restraining order on me. On me. I had to spend the night in jail, and guess who I spent it with. Guess who just happened to be in the same cell as me. His crack-whore ex-girlfriend. Seriously, she is a whore. And she smokes crack. And she told me that he used to beat her all the time, and the girl he dated before her? He tied her to a bed and left her there. For five days. Five days. And he used to always joke to me, like, "If you don't shape up I'm gonna tie you to the bed and leave you there," and I'd just laugh, but now I know, sugar cakes. Now I know. He was serious."
Yeah, what. What the FUCK.
"Yeah. But my lawyer says that he'll be put in jail, because he stated that I punched him 30 times in the face, and that's just an obvious lie. I kicked him in the balls, yeah, but like I could really get away with punching him 30 times in the face. He weighs 210 pounds, and he's a foot taller than me. Don't get me wrong, he's sexy as hell. Damn, he's sexy. You'd think he was so sexy if you saw him, you would. So sexy...I'm sorry, I took my adderall today and I hate taking that stuff cause it makes me talk nonstop and makes me all jittery but I just had to today, otherwise I'd be standing here talking to you and bawling my eyes out."
Yeah, I'm sorry. Sorry that I'm sitting here hasbrown-less.
"I mean, we were going to get married. We'd only been dating for two weeks and I knew that I loved him."
"Love doesn't take time."
But cooking hasbrowns does.
"I know! I know, but then he just completely changed on me. I mean, I wanted to wait to have sex, but he basically forced me to have sex with him. Don't get me wrong, sweetie, it was the best sex of my life. Seriously, the best. Damn it was good...you know, it was that rough sex. That forceful, animal sex. You know what I mean, I'm sure. But I read the other day that rough sex is a sure sign that the guy will beat you. They say to watch out for guys who like it rough in the bedroom, because they more than likely like it rough outside of the bedroom, too. Of course I read this NOW, and not BEFORE the bastard hit me, but two pretty girls like you need to know this stuff. It's the pretty ones they're after. I swear to god, you'll end up with a guy who will beat you, because he'll be so jealous of your beauty, and you need to get out AS SOON AS YOU CAN. I mean I could have died."
You know what really needs to be beat, though? Eggs. To put in the waffle I ordered.
This is when she started crying.
"Want some coffee? I'll go get you some coffee. I'm sorry. Excuse me."
"Could I get some Splenda, too?"
Shit. Was that bitchy? Should I have tried to make her feel better instead of requesting a sugar substitute? Dammit. WHY ARE THINGS SO DIFFICULT.
"Here's your coffee, honey."
"You're welcome. Is it good? Do you like it? Do you like the coffee? Is it warm?"
She then began to cry. Again. And stood there. Crying. Was I supposed to say something? Was I supposed to try and console a girl I didn't even know who had yet to bring me my damn hashbrowns? But then it hit me: fuck the hashbrowns. This poor girl had chosen me and my sister to cry her eyes out to and dad gummit I'm not gonna make her regret it! I am going to say something to make her forget all about him and feel happy about LIFE! After pondering over what the magic words would be, they suddenly came to me, like a beam of light from the heavens above:
"What a dickhead."
"I KNOW, RIGHT?! It feels so good to hear that! Everyone I've talked to today says it must be MY fault! I was beat, dammit! I was fucking STRANGLED!"
"Complete asshole. You deserve a lot better than that."
"Oh my gosh...oh my gosh, thank you. Thank you thank you thank you!"
"I'm serious. There is a guy out there for you, who will never even THINK about doing that."
"I know! I know!"
"He will love you, and care for you, and buy you flowers, and write you poetry, and serenade you, and never do ANYTHING to hurt you."
"Oh, I sure hope so!"
"Yeah, fuck him! You know what...your meal is on me."
And that's my story of my Waffle House waitress on adderall. So what she had to vent it out? I'm glad she did! She needed the wise words of Natasha Ferrier to guide her through this rough patch in her life! I bestowed my wisdom upon one of the waffle goddesses of the house! I have been written down in Waffle House history! And will I ever be returning to that Waffle House? Hell yeah I will! My Waffle House adventures do NOT end here...I see a whole future ahead of me of celebratory booths, emotionally-wrecked waitresses, and hopefully, free fuckin' hasbrowns. It's the little things in life...THAT KICK ASS.