More Writing about the Waffle House

I've still got to finish my "shift in the life" series. I'm not sure when I'll get around to that. I hate to say it but these last couple of days working at the WaHo have been downright dull. It isn't as if we haven't sold a lot of food. It's been really busy a couple of days. But I guess the sheen of it all has been smudged by frequent use. There's bacon grease on what was once the emmaculate face of my grill experience. The past is clogged and obscured with waffle batter, and the future is but an eggy film slowly turning greenish brown in the summer heat. I am living day to day in a world dominated by hashbrowns, and noisy waitresses who can't stop complaining about their singularly strange lives. Honestly it's not the cooking and cleaning I mind so much as I mind interacting with those crazy women... some mothers, some divorcees, some drug addicts of one degree or another, all complainers. Complaints are what seem to keep these women going. It's only a matter of time before I end up on somebody's list of complaints. I'm living in fear. It's an annoying way to live. Additionally, it seems the complainers attitude has rubbed off on me. Fuck.

I went out drinking with a couple of waitresses and their boyfriends and roommates the other night. That was interesting. One girl got completely sloppy clobbered on bud light. I thought she was a complainer sober! Sheesh. She wouldn't stop. We ended up at Denny's where I was introduced to some cocaine-dealer friends of theirs, and we all split a couple orders of nachos, chili fries and fried cheeze mmm mm good! I will most likely elaborate on these experiences in the future.

Also, last week I worked with a woman who wore clown makeup. I don't think she intended to look like a clown but, that was the achieved effect I'm afraid. The lengths people will go to defy their age are sometimes astonishing. And when cosmetic surgery is (for whatever reason) not an option, the results of such heavy applications of pale powders, burnt rouges and scary-as-hell eye-liner is, well... scary as hell. I will say one thing, the makeup lady, was not a complainer. In fact, she was a hard worker. She kept the dishwasher going full speed ahead. She got all of her sidework done ahead of schedule, which is a good deal more than I can say for just about any complaining waitress. She barely said a word to me the whole shift other than to ask me where the whisks or the skillets were kept or something like that.

So there you go.

One last thing, our Juke Box runs on vinyl records! How cool (outdated) is that. The Juke Box maintenance guy even gave me three records from it when he came in yesterday. The only problem is, I don't have a vinyl record player. So, if anyone wants any Waffle House vinyl just holler.

Bad Depression-era Bildungsroman

I just got off work and spent the money I earned in tips getting into the dance hall for the last couple of numbers--mostly waltzes, not really my style. Then when the dances were over I sat staring dreamily at the stage as the musicians were packing up their instruments. The girl that I came to meet stood me up. (Not really, but that's what it felt like.) I slowly eased off my threadbare dancing shoes, the leather soles worn thin from years of hootenannies at dance halls like this one, the Grey Eagle in Old West Asheville, down by the river. I feel like I'm in the middle of a bad depression-era bildungsroman or maybe a künstlerroman depending on how you look at my life so far.

I'm tired. I'm going to go to bed.

Foamy Eggs: A 2nd Shift in the Life of a Waffle House Grill Op. (Part The Second)

Jeez! I didn't realize how long that title was until I had to type it again.

So, after cooking a pot of chili--incidentally the pots that we use are pretty big (probably hold more than a gallon) and are made of stainless steel and are called "grits pots" even though half of the stuff we cook in them is not grits-- it's time to cook start cooking grits. Put a "grits pot" full up to the three handle bolts with water from the bendy dishwashing hose with the funky spray nozzle. Turn up the heat to 11. I usually use the front burner (there are two burners asside from the grill faces which sort of count). Sometimes someone will show up and order eggs while I'm cooking grits though, so rather than reach around the big-assed grits pot to get to my eggs burning behind them, I'll just switch the boiling water to the back burner. The thing about grits is, you have to pay them a lot of attention. Not so much while you're boiling their water as when you first add the grits to the boiling grits pot of water. I usually stir them pretty continuously with a big whisk for the first minute or two of their re-hydrated, boiling existence. If the grits aren't moving around in the boiling water enough then they will do two things: 1. settle at the bottom of the pot and 2. stick together and form the biggest, nastiest white pusy (thanks Boyko) lumps you've ever seen. And nobody likes lumpy grits. The main problem with lumpy grits asside from their resemblence to cancer tissue or a conglomeration of white blood cells is the fact that the lumps are overcooked on the outside and not-at-all-cooked on the inside--kind of like the planet Mercury.

So, let's say I have to cook a Fiesta Omlette while my grits water is coming to a boil. For y'all interested parties out there, this is the paragraph which will unhinge the mystery door obscuring the secret of Waffle House's foamy eggs! Read on...! So, let's say I have to cook a Fiesta Omlette. First I think... dang I forgot what goes in a Fiesta omlette. The Magic Marking system calls for a salad dressing packet which give no clues whatsoever, so I consult a menu or a waitress. Turns out, the yummy fiesta omlette contains no less than five ingredients not including the foamy eggs:

chunked ham
2 slices of cheese
diced tomatoes
diced onions
jalapeños

one could say that the fiesta omlette is smothered, double-covered, chunked, diced, and peppered... yum! So, I through a bit of each of those ingredients (except the cheese which comes last) on the grill to cook... drop two slices of white toast in the toaster and head over to my egg station where I grab two eggs from the basket in the fridge (or on top of the hood depending on how busy we are and how conveniently located the eggs need to be) and break them into a grits bowl. I should mention here again that the "grits bowl," while often holding grits, holds many other things (including chili from time to time). The cool thing about cracking your eggs in a shallow-ish bowl is that if you happen to get a piece of shell in there, you can see it and spoon it out before it ends up getting cooked which is just nasty. The way I see it, getting egg shell in someone's food is one of the cardinal sins of waffle house grill operation. I'll have to come up with some other cardinal sins later... and maybe some ordinal sins too while I'm at it... or maybe I'll just order the cardinal sins once I come up with them. I know, I'm purposefullly keeping you foamy egg fanatics in suspense here... I swear the final veil will drop soon. Speaking of which, I'd like to take this opportunity to recommend the Tom Robbins book, Skinny Legs and All to my viewing audience and everyone else. Robbins is an amazing writer, and if you're at all interesting in the oft-complex relationship between the food service industry and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict (as I am) you will come to deeply appreciate this book. But as Levar Burton has said (to cue the Reading Rainbow theme song), "Don't take my word for it..." So, here's what makes the eggs so dang foamy, Boyko. You know those milkshake mixers that they have at Dairy Queen and Tastee Freeze and pretty much any ice cream place worth it's salt? The two omlette eggs go in that thing while I heat up three small ladle-fulls of Lo-Melt Vegetable Shortening in an omlette pan. When the time is right, the milkshaken eggs (these eggs are BEYOND scrambled, ladies and gentlemen, I mean there are all these teeny tiny air bubbles in the eggs) are poured with grace and ease into the hot Lo-Melt. The milkshaken eggs have by this time transcended the realm of the embryo--yolk and chalaza are more fully one than nature ever intended. The mixture is palest orange-yellow when it hits the omlette pan, it's sizzling destiny. From there the good stuff goes in: all the ham, onions, tomatoes, and peppers, like a Veggie-Tales skit gone horribly awry. I flip the mixture around a bit until it's a nice and done on both sides, and foamy as the deadly chops of a rabid schnauzer. Then I lay the two slices of cheese diagonal-wise, crossing the center of my omlette and fold it from the pan onto the big platter so it looks like a big breakfast smiley face drooling cheese. The toast is buttered (or, I should say, margerined), sliced into right triangles with a small margin of error depending on how hot the toast is, and arranged about the middle of the platter so as to seperate the drooling omlette from the grits which I spoon from the steel pot in the steam table between the big grill and the egg burners. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how we do the fiesta omlette thing. If that's the end of order I'll holler, "PICK UP!" or "FIESTA OMLETTE!" or "[waitress name]!"

That concludes this installment of "A 2nd Shift in the LIfe..." I hope y'all'll (goddamn I love a good double contraction!) join me next time where the waffles are fresh, the eggs are foamy and the waitresses often have most of their teeth. But don't take my word for it!

Have you made this mistake yet?

www.GRITSandEGGS.com

I can't decide if this is a website about hiphop or cars. Either way it's a helluva lot cooler than my lame-ass blog. I ought to take some cues from what I'm deeming my "cousin website" gritsandeggs.com. Maybe I could get somebody to "pimp my ride." Think of it, a Subaru Outback painted bright yellow with a giant Waffle House decal, tinted windows and a playstation in the dashboard. Maybe they could install a waffle iron in the trunk for when I'm crusin' Patton Ave. and I get hungry for some delicious oldschool pecan-sprinkled brunch-style pastry cake. Booya!

Holy Crap: a 2nd Shift in the Life of a Waffle House Grill Op. (Part The First)

Holy crap! A lot of people that work at the Waffle House have been in jail before.

I slept until about noon today so I was quite energetic and probably annoying as hell to my co-workers bouncing around from sink to grill to fridge to soda fountain. I'll be working an additional shift this week on Friday. That ought to be fun. (Psyche!)

Here's a short description of my daily second shift routine:

I generally try to arrive 20 minutes early. I'll clock in before I start doing anything. I won't start doing anything until I clock in. There's always work to be done right off the bat. And Waffle House rules pretty much require folks to arrive at least 10 minutes early to their shift if at all possible. Steve Skinner, my boss will generally already have between 3 and 6 cartons of dehydrated hashbrowns laying out ready for me to re-hydrate. So I'll do that. Steve also generally leaves between 3 and 5 packages of waffle-mix (pretty much just flour and sugar) out for me to mix. The waffle recipie is:

Mix 4 eggs
1/2 gallon Pet Half-n-Half
with 1 package waffle mix
mmm mm good!

it's best to use a whisk to mix the ingredients together. Also, you'll want to beat the eggs into the half-n-half first and then simultaneously mix the waffle mix into the wet ingredients.

So, by the time I get finished with this stuff, I generally have to go out and cook some food for a minute or two. Then again, on slower days, nobody comes in. It's time to get the chili started:

3 sausage patties
3 quarter pound hamburger patties
mmm mm good! -- brown 'em in a big grits pot -- don't drain the dang grease or you'll rot in chili purgatory with no flavor!

fill the grits pot au mashed up meat with about six glasses of water, boil it
add one can of campbell's tomato juice (hot dang! it's almost a vegetable!)
add the packet of chili powder and dried beans
add 3 "heaping" bowls full of diced onions

also, don't skimp on the dang onions! (It says not to on the dried beans/ chili powder packet)

stir till it's good and happy

put it on the 2 foot grill to simmer at 250ish degrees for the rest of the seven-hour shift.

Hell yes.

Probably will have to cook a cheeseburger or an order of eggs or something minor here in a minute. Second shift is really slow. But I don't give a dang because I'm not a waiter! Yeehaw! Jeepers. That was kind of insensitive towards waiters and waitresses. Oh well. I think I broke down the salary thing somewhere in one of my first few entries. I'm making US$6.80 per hour now, compared to something like US$5.50 per hour (plus tips) that the waitresses make. Actually I ought to double-check that waitress number.

OH! the "Anonymous" comment which set me on the dang warpath last time was actually from a friend of mine at Duke. He was apparently in a really pissy mood due to a nasty grade on an organic chemistry exam. I can't say that I agree with his politics; but I'm honestly really glad that I'm not in summer school this year. I'd rather spend 3 hours making grits and grilling burgers than 3 hours taking an organic chemistry exam any day. You think cooking $200 dollars worth of food in an hour by yourself is stressful? Try taking an organic chemistry exam in a cramped lecture hall with 30 classmates, all equally frazzled, on for size.

So, that's it for right now. Tune in next time for the shocking conclusion to a 2nd Shift in the Life of a Waffle House Grill Op. Time to go find some craft beer.

A Lighter Note

On a lighter note: I don't have time for a long post which is immediately relevant to WaHo. But here are (as usual) some mental notes about things I want to write about in the future. (I haven't forgotten about Tep, or any of the other people or things I have been mentioning. I'll get around to writing about these guys eventually I swear.)

1. The Schizophrenic customer(s).
2. Holy crap! If I hear that song one more time...
3. The prep knife
4. Onion slicing techniques
5. How Wasabi Sushi Bar on Broadway is the oposite of WaHo
6. How the tiger got its stripes
7. How many eggs does it take...
8. T'ai Chi, Pa-Kua & Hsing-I
9. eating stuff besides WaHo
10. What's the deal with chop steak?
11. Might I actually know who "Anonymous" is? Does it matter?

Reality Check Checked

WARNING: THIS POST HAS LITTLE IF ANYTHING TO DO WITH THE WAFFLE HOUSE.

Yesterday I received my first comment from a complete stranger. At least, I assume, I don't know her. Her name is Anonymous. And I suggest that you all read the comment. There are a number of interesting points raised. I'm not sure if this is in defiance of blog etiquette, but rather than post my response to the comment in the comments section I'm going to respond to it in the main blog section. If you're interested to read any of the posts in question, refer to "Reality Check" of May 31, 2005.

Begin Response:

First of all, I am thrilled that someone other than my immediate family and friends are reading what I am writing. And to get such a length response is only a further honor. As I mentioned above, this is the first comment I have received from an anonymous non-acquaintance, non-family member. Kudos, Anonymous.

Since I don't know you or anything about you, I'm going to try my very best not to assume too much. I will have been using "she" as the third person singular personal pronoun to refer to the respondant, "Anonymous," but this is arbitrary. The word, "you" has no gender, so I am not as concerned about it.

OK. Interestingly the first thing that you chose to point out in your response to my post, "Reality Check" is that there have been "17 incidents of houses being demolished." While multiple houses have been demolished per incident. That actually strikes me as a lot incidents. Even assuming these houses contained terrorists (rather than the innocent relatives of terrorists) wouldn't have been more logical and especially more humane to have arrested these folks rather than destroy their homes?

The second point that you make is that I failed to mention that Israelis suffered from terrorist attacks. I am not trying to deny that many Israelis' "evenings have been ruined" by terrorism. I have spoken with many Israeli citizens who are suffering to this day because of terrorist attacks. It is tragic. I don't think that anyone in the world could argue honestly that Israelis aren't suffering immensely at the hands of terrorists and at the hands of the Sharon government. Furthermore, pointing out the suffering of Palestinians does not in any way entail that Israelis are not suffering as well. Therefore, I in no way feel obligated to mention the suffering of Israelis every tiime I mention that of Palestinians or vice versa.

You go on to deny the innocence of the Palestinian people whoose homes were demolished. You say that by giving food and shelter to terrorists they were commiting a crime somehow. These are the families of Palestinian people. Often they are estranged for months perhaps years from their sons and daughters who go on to commit acts of terrorism. What kind of person would deny their own son or daughter food and a place to stay? We are talking about human beings who live and breathe and love eachother.

I have been to Israel and Palestine. I have seen the sadness and poverty that Israelis and Palestinians must deal with on a daily basis. To my mind there is only one remedy for these awful conditions: love. Be it a the love of a mother for a son, or a man for his neighbor across town. You may scoff at this as overly idealistic or silly, but you seem to be doing much worse. You, Anonymous seem to be advocating for hatred. By your rule, a Palestinian mother should throw her son out on the street if she suspects him of some violence or ill will towards his Jewish neighbors. Such hatred only leads to more hatred.

You say you won't lose a wink of sleep if a Palestinian's house is destroyed which somehow prevents a terrorist attack. I hesitate to make such a blatantly ad hominem attack on you, Anonymous, because I said that I would try not to; but I can't stand it. Somehow I doubt that you would lose a "wink of sleep" anyway. Israel and Palestine is beautiful country. You can't go there and not be overwhelmed by the sheerly awesome beauty of it: the history, the desert, the art and architecture. But Israel and Palestine are being destroyed by a few small groups of fanatics! It has got to stop! Now, Anonymous, I suspect that you are Jewish. And I suspect, from the nature of your comments that you are not living in Israel (I could be wrong on this point... call it a hunch). But I cannot help but assume that you are some sort of fanatic yourself from the nature of your comments. OK I'm going to back off of the ad hominem stuff here.

Here's my whole schtick in a nutshell: I believe killing is wrong. Everyone should be allowed to live, Israelis, Palestinians, Arabs, Jews, Christians, everybody. I might even go so far as to say that "life is sacred." I would be quoting the Buddha in that case. When we begin to talk about "targeting" individuals or groups we are dehumanizing them to a great degree. (e.g. you are no longer human, you are the target of a terrorist attack or a military investigation etc.) My problem with such dehumanization is that it makes it easier to kill. And killing is BAD. You write, "sometimes Palestinian women and children get caught in the crossfire." This makes me sick. I hope this is not OK with you, even if you think it may deter some future terrorist attack (unlikely as that seems).

I don't see a Palestinians dancing and cheering every time a Jew is killed. Perhaps I am watching a different news program than you are, Anonymous. And perhaps you should consider changing the channel. Please, I implore you to be aware of the suffering that is taking place across the board in the middle east. I have seen Palestinians and Israelis frustrated, angry, exhausted, crying first hand. I do not need news media to show me this. Conversely, I know that there are fanatics on both sides who will be dancing and cheering for death every time. But not all Muslims are fanatics, not all Jews or Christians are fanatics. I assure you that I have explored the facts much more than most Americans. I reject anti-Jew rhetoric when I come into contact with it. I sincerely hope that you won't construe anything that I have written here or elsewhere as such. It was certainly not intended as anti-Jew rhetoric. If anything, I feel like I have expressed opionions which are "anti-death," "anti-suffering," or "anti-poverty" perhaps... certainly "pro-love," and "pro-peace," and "pro-justice."

You write that you have found that "approximately 80% who hear the FACTS associated with the conflict and not just anti-Jew rhetoric tend to side with Israel." I would be happy to provide you with the email addresses of 10 people who, if you coresponded with them would reduce your number to a solid 72.5%.

Thank you so much for your interest in my blog and my politics. I welcome any response you may have to my response either in the comments section of my blog or elsewhere.

I will be honest, it is extremely frustratating to have to explain myself like I just have again. I have had many similar conversations with other very passionate, concerned people. But I have never been able to reconcile these folks' point of view with mine at all. Perhaps this is because I am not Jewish or an Israeli. I don't know. Anyway, Anonymous, thank you again.

(Type Two) Tired or The "Salad Setup"

After working a seven-plus hour shift at the Waffle House you feel one of two kinds of tired: the energized, dang-I-made-a-mess-load-of-money-but-God-I-am-freakin'-exhausted kind of tired, or the less desirable but perhaps more common, dull, soreness of having just spent the last seven-plus hours of your life in a smokey, hot grease pit kind of tired.

I think it's safe to say that I'm feeling the second type of tired tonight. We'll call that "type two tired." I ate a pecan waffle with whipped butter and syrup before I left work. And when I got home I took a nice long hot shower. I even did some t'ai chi on the deck, which is usually an effective way to relax my legs and feet after having been standing all evening. Tonght the t'ai chi (pronounced /tai ji/ ) and the shower didn't really do it for me. I'm still bone tired, and I have the sneaking suspicion-- although I don't know for sure-- that I reek of onions and vegetable shortening.

I want to write about Tep, the third shift grill op who comes in as I am leaving for the night. I'll probably get around to that sometime this weekend.

Also, some good news, I've been pretty consistently earning some cooks' bonuses for selling so much food. If all goes to plan, I'll get paid an additional US$15-20 this pay period. have I mentioned that WaHo pays all of its employees in cash every week? I'm pretty sure it's one of the few places that still does that. I want to look into it though.

Also, also, what if this blog turned into a book? I'm thinking something along the lines of a Bill Bryson (A WALK IN THE WOODS, etc.) sort of creative non-fiction thing. I'd love any input I could get on that subject.

Also, also, also, I need to make a note about Bert and his visit to WaHo unit 1153 this weekend. (Bert is the VP of WaHo. And, apparently he invented the chili that we serve.) I ought to write about the chili too. Dang-- so much to write.

I've almost completely internalized the WaHo "magic marker" system.

The presence of onion signifies "hold the onion." Similarly the presence of a packet of whipped butter beneath a packet of jelly signifies "dry toast" (i.e. "hold the butter"). Oh! And another really interesting fact: the pile of lettuce and one tomato and a couple of raw onion rings that comes with a chicken sandwich or a hamburger or cheeseburger is called a "salad setup." Asside from being alitterative, this is a really cool phrase for something which I never knew had a name before. Salad setup. Salad setup. Just whisper it to yourself as you're drifting to sleep.

Tiny Snow Fairy Sugar

Holy crap! This is great! This is why I'm going to Japan in a year! This actually exists! This this this!

Tiny Snow Fairy Sugar

I've gotta find this on TV. Dang.

Rosie

I thought I'd just reprint the text of this poem because, if you're like me, there's no way in hell you'll follow the link to it in the sidebar. Don't you just love being a media-slave? Actually by reading my blog you're unwittingly supporting a grassroots movement to ban all mass media from the face of the earth. Even books! HA! Take that, mass media!

Waffle House by Rosie O'Donnell

in a large booth next to me
two children and an old man
tired and well-worn
his yellowed fingers hold a cigarette
with an impossibly long ash

he has greasy hair and a vacant look
i find eerily familiar
the boy is five - the girl about ten
she is chubby with a mom-did-it haircut

she sees me - looks away - then at me
then away again
i watch her feet swinging back and forth
not reaching the floor
she tries unsuccessfully
to get the old man’s attention
she never will

the waitress comes over
her name tag says Doris
she looks about seventy years old
her face has seen too many days
of sun and cigarettes

she takes my order
a waffle well done – and cold milk

people are turning towards my booth
thinking - that I look a little like me
then convincing themselves
it could not possibly be

the image of celebrity
is inconsistent with the “truth” of celebrity life

why would I be in a waffle house
in sweatpants, a ripped t-shirt
slept-in hair and no make-up

i am here to get a waffle
i hear my name whispered behind me
people assume i am deaf
i hear ya

a few minutes later,
a woman in a Publix green cashier vest,
and her hunky husband walk in
the booth comes alive
both kids now jump up
cheers of “Mommy! Daddy!”

after hugs and kisses they sit down for breakfast
the mother looks at me and smiles,
a glimmer of recognition,
but doubt wins out

her daughter says,
“mama, it’s rosie ”.
the mother smiles,
glances my way again,
and shushes her

doris brings over my waffle
the first bite is heaven
all hail the house
i want a maple syrup iv

i quietly ask doris for my check,
and for the publix moms too
she nods, hands me both
without asking why

back on the road again
i try to figure out the why
me - so compelled
no choice really

gifts are so rarely for the recipient,
so often for the giver

i remember sitting at the IHOP
after she died
watching my dad smoke and stare into space
consumed with what had become of his life
he had died too – it was plain to see
me - swinging my legs back and forth

i drive away from the Waffle House
sun on my face and tears on my cheek
i drive away from 1973
from myself - without even a hello

Pie

There is chocolate pie that stays in the freezer, and there are pecan and apple pies that sit in a stand under a plastic cover on the counter. The pecan pie can either be pronounced /pi-KAN/ or /PI-kæn/ depending on where you're from. There's a word for such regional pronunciations of words in linguistics. I can't remember what it is at the moment. Carolyn Fryberger knows. She's a geographer.

The Waffle House also carries these little cheese danish pastries which look a little sketchy. They just sit in their little packages all the time. No one ever orders them. I you come in to my Waffle House and order a danish I'll pay for it if you eat the whole thing.

We don't sell ice cream, which is kind of a bummer. The thing is, we don't have a freezer at all. We have a big ice machine in the back, but no freezer. I bet the initial cost of installing freezers in all of the WaHos across the country is what's preventing that from being a regular menu item. People come in odering pie all the time wanting a scoop of ice cream with it. It'd be a big seller. Better than the stupid soup. Actually the soup looks pretty good. Nobody orders it though. The chili is also pretty good-looking. In fact I recommend the chili. I mean, it's basic. Not too spicy or anything, but better than what you can buy in a can at the store. And that seems to be the type of chili that most people buy.

Hey, get this:

Although there is one "official" website, an Internet search turns up more than 2,200 Web sites that mention Waffle House® restaurants.. Waffle House® restaurants ranked in the "Top Five" of "Around the Clock Eats" on the Food Network

That's quoted from the "Fun Facts" section of the Official Waffle House Website. I'm going to have to look into that. Last time I checked, a lot of the websites Google listed after a searh of "Waffle House" were REALLY old. I've linked the Waffle House Shrine at the menu bar to the right. That site was actually created by another Duke student who I have yet to get back in touch with. There is also a poem entitled "Waffle House" that pops up. It's written by Rosie O'Donnell, and can be found on her blog (also linked above). I'll add some more links as I surf around and find WaHo websites. It seems like there ought to be a web ring out there somewhere too... Do people still have "webrings" or is that just something from the early days of the internet that has begun to fizzle out in the 21st century?

A slice of cheese signifies "add cheese."

The Juke Box

The juke box at Waffle House unit number 1153 boasts a stunning 200-song library! Even so, most of the time it's just sitting there silent. Certain regulars will always play certain songs. One trucker, before he sits down, will always play the song, "Desperado" by the Eagles:

Desperado, why don’t you come to your senses?
You been out ridin’ fences for so long now
Oh, you’re a hard one
I know that you got your reasons
These things that are pleasin’ you
Can hurt you somehow

Don’ you draw the queen of diamonds, boy
She’ll beat you if she’s able
You know the queen of heats is always your best bet

Now it seems to me, some fine things
Have been laid upon your table
But you only want the ones that you can’t get

Desperado, oh, you ain’t gettin’ no youger
Your pain and your hunger, they’re drivin’ you home
And freedom, oh freedom well, that’s just some people talkin’
Your prison is walking through this world all alone

Don’t your feet get cold in the winter time?
The sky won’t snow and the sun won’t shine
It’s hard to tell the night time from the day
You’re loosin’ all your highs and lows
Ain’t it funny how the feeling goes away?

Desperado, why don’t you come to your senses?
Come down from your fences, open the gate
It may be rainin’, but there’s a rainbow above you
You better let somebody love you, before it’s too late

There's also a woman that comes in every afternoon wearing Nurse's scrubs who will load a dollar into the jukebox and play the Dixie Chicks cover of the Stevie Nicks song, "Landslide" five times in a row. She always has a bacon egg and cheese sandwich on white bread, and sits and drinks about a pot of coffee by herself while she tears through junk romance novels. Here's her song:

I took my love, I took it down
Climbed a mountain and I turned around
I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills
'Till the landslide brought me down

Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love
Can the child within my heart rise above
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides
Can I handle the seasons of my life

Well, I've been afraid of changing
'Cause I've built my life around you
But time makes you get bolder
Even children get older
And I'm getting older too

Oh, take my love, take it down
Climb a mountain and turn around
If you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well the landslide will bring it down

If you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well the landslide will bring it down.

I've never actually used the juke box myself. Unfortunately we don't get to play songs for free. It costs the staff the same as everybody else. Once a week, though, the juke box maintanence man will come through on second shift to take the money away. He will usually load up about fifteen songs and let the cook or whoever is around pick five songs that they like. I was busy cooking when he came through last week. So, Crystal, the waitress got to pick the five songs. I can't remember exactly which ones she chose. She's not a big country music fan, so there isn't a whole lot for her to choose from. I think she picked a Counting Crows song or two. I can handle that.

Step out the front door like a ghost
into the fog where no one notices
the contrast of white on white.

And in between the moon and you
the angels get a better view
of the crumbling difference between wrong and right.

I walk in the air between the rain,
through myself and back again.
Where? I don't know
Maria says she's dying.
Through the door, I hear her crying
Why? I don't know

Round here we always stand up straight
Round here something radiates

Maria came from Nashville with a suitcase in her hand
She said she'd like to meet a boy who looks like Elvis
She walks along the edge of where the ocean meets the land
Just like she's walking on a wire in the circus
She parks her car outside of my house,
takes her clothes off,
Says she's close to understanding Jesus
She knows she's more that just a little misunderstood
She has trouble acting normal when she's nervous
Round here we're carving out our names
Round here we all look the same
Round here we talk just like lions
But we sacrifice like lambs
Round here she's slipping through my hands

Sleeping children got to run like the wind
Out of the lightning dream
Mama's little baby better get herself in
Out of the lightning

She says, "It's only in my head."
She says, "Shhh....I know it's only in my head."

But the girl on the car in the parking lot
says: "Man, you should try to take a shot
Can't you see my walls are crumbling."

Then she looks up at the building
and says she's thinking of jumping.
She says she's tired of life;
she must be tired of something.

Round here she's always on my mind
Round here I got lots of time
Round here we're never sent to bed early
Nobody makes us wait
Round here we stay up very very late

--Counting Crows, "Round Here"