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Fear and Loathing at Waffle House
 
 
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Old 24 Jul 2005, 11:50 PM   #1 (permalink)
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Default Fear and Loathing at Waffle House

Waffle House is where you go at three o’clock in the morning when everything else is closed and you’re too fucked up to make waffles and bacon in your kitchen. It’s the filthy stench of reckless abandon, solicited sex, cheap whiskey and failed late nite rendezvous that draw whores, pimps, frat guys, drug dealers and washed up Jehovah’s Witnesses from all over the city. The god-fearing people have long since gone to bed, and those that are still up are where they want to be, where they need to be, or in the drunk tank already. What’s left, either curls up in a back alley or comes to Waffle House. It’s a sight not fit for most, and one that its is not easily forgotten…

It was just after two thirty when my phone rang. I jerked it off the hook and said nothing. Most people are in bed already and the ones that are still up usually aren’t the calm ones. “Speak up!” I finally yelled into the receiver…”What do you want?”
“Hello” said the voice “are you busy?”
It was my two business partners. Kurt my lawyer and Jackson the muscle behind the operation. They were awake, and their nerves were fried from a campout at the farm. They needed food before returning to the wilderness with the drunks. They assumed I was still up.
“Never mind that,” I said. “I need inspiration, I have writers block…give me an idea.”
“Were going to Waffle House and were outside your house right now.”
I screeched loudly into the phone as I threw the receiver down and walked outside into the dark world.

As we pulled into the parking lot, I knew we were going to have a rough nite ahead of us. There was no one inside except for the wait staff. When Waffle House is empty at three o’clock on a Saturday nite, there is trouble in the air. A deep disharmony with the universe is afoot, and by walking across that threshold, you’ll do nothing but make it worse.

We sat down at a booth near the door, because I knew if things got weird, wed have to leave in a hurry, we probably wouldn’t even have time to pay for the meal…run like hell at the first sign of trouble. Our waitress was burnt out caricature of Jane Fonda, and the man behind the counter was already drunk. We all ordered cokes and waited. A stream of college drunks slowly began to pour in, and within ten minutes, the place was at half capacity. Meanwhile, outside, a band of wayfaring hookers was walking up the sidewalk, headed for the door.

“We’ve had it now… “ I said as the food came. “I’m just glad I brought my mace, if things get weird, we have an insurance policy…” we sat in silence while we ate. Things started getting busier, and busier. A group of men and their dates arrived and took up the last three remaining tables. The women were all addicts and the men were what appeared to be washed up used car salesman. The paradox, though, was that they were all High School students. Incredible! Had it come to that already? Had the High School students already achieved the look and feel of those pathetic failed seekers of the American Dream? In my heart I knew it was true. The vibes were hopelessly correct. Outside the whores had taken to advertising themselves and ducking in and out of a Ford Fairmont, where their heroin was.

The cook was up to his nipples in short orders, and the stress was grating on him. “I think the cook is about to crack.” Jackson said. About that time, the grill burst into flames, and the whole place would have gone up, but for the quick thinking of a quiet man in glasses who reached for a fire extinguisher.

I got up to go to the bathroom before we left. Inside a man was doing coke off a book of matches and squalling wildly with every hit. At first I tried to ignore him, but he kept asking me if I had any change, or if I wanted to buy some coke off of him. I told him no, but just as I was zipping my fly he grabbed my shoulder and began yelling at me. In one quick motion I reached around into my pocket, withdrawing the mace and spun around on the heels of New Balance 420’s. I sprayed him the face and he went down screaming and writhing in pain. “I said NO, you sniveling fiend!” I sprayed him once again for good measure as I ran out of the bathroom, I came by the table yelling at Kurt and Jackson. “Time to go, things derailed in the bathroom, and its only a matter of time before the others find out what I did to one of their own. We have to leave now!” we each threw down some cash as we sprinted for the car, leaving the drunks, dope fiends and burnouts inside.

The hookers tried to proposition us as we ran by. The only decent thing to do was mace them too. So I did, all four of them went down, and I jumped into the passenger seat of Jackson’s Jeep. “Gods Mercy On You Bitches!” I yelled at the burning hookers.

It was no place to be, that Waffle House. There was only shame a degradation on the inside. A mail order catalogue of Gods mistakes, all packaged into one smoke filled, greasy Kroger sac. The life lessons were abundantly clear in that place…just another meeting of the “There But For The Grace Of God Go I Society”
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Old 25 Jul 2005, 02:53 AM   #2 (permalink)
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If you actually eat at Waffle House, you are a brave brave man
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Old 25 Jul 2005, 07:33 AM   #3 (permalink)
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Originally Posted by Hunter S. Thompson
I jumped into the passenger seat of Jackson’s Jeep. “Gods Mercy On You Bitches!” I yelled at the burning hookers.
L...M...F...A...O...

Late.
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Old 31 Jul 2005, 09:02 PM   #4 (permalink)
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Originally Posted by Freebird
If you actually eat at Waffle House, you are a brave brave man

I like my hashbrowns scattered, smothered, covered and peppered.
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Old 01 Aug 2005, 01:13 PM   #5 (permalink)
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I like my hashbrowns scattered, smothered, covered and peppered.
Just abit of ketchup. WH's syrup's too sugary. I felt like my teeth would fall out. IHOP is the breakfast of gods. Biscuits, gravy, scrambled eggs..mmmm
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