Circumstantial flummery from a would-be spoonbean hustler.

things over heard at the waffle house

“I need dressing!”
So this genetleman of Eastern, possibly Indian descent enters the Waffle House and demands a packet of salad dressing. The waitstaff and the cook look at each other oddly, perhaps confused by his accent, as he repeats his query. He then clarifies – Ranch, and upon recieving his glorious packet he disappears into the night.
Such are the wondrous dining experiences you subject yourself to when eating at the Waffle House. My hashbrowns were excellent, thank you for asking. This is how everything should be, random, unexpected and inexplicable. Certainly, there must be a context to why this dude just walked up to the Waffle House and insisted on some Salad dressing, but who needs it? The mystery is the romance.
Then sometimes I wonder if this is a compulsion with me, the production I make of ‘going to the WH for dinner’. I mean yes, I’m hungry, the WH is cheap, the food is decently prepared, but would I be patronizing the WH if I hadn’t become a huge fan of Dead Like Me? Would my sudden obsession with waffles have suddenly been replaced with tacos if Rube and his crew were meeting at Del Taco every episode? Probably. Is it a bad thing? My arteries may have something to say about that a few years down the line. I think that most people probably don’t do this- but then I think they probably don’t have as much fun as me.