Just a Few More Minutes

On our way to visit my family on Saturday, I decided that we would take Will to Waffle House. Here is what I miss about my childhood, a time when something like Waffle House could be the coolest... thing... ever!!! After a succession of blown errands and closed offices, though, Saturday breakfast was rapidly becoming Saturday brunch.

The first Waffle House we went to was a disaster. Possibly understaffed, one waitress was definitely having a bad day. She said as much when she sat us at our table, saying she was "trying to hold it together." This she failed to do -- we were forgotten for ten minutes, other people were waiting to be seated, other people weren't being served, there was confusion at the grill... and then someone dropped a glass and she stepped on the shattered pieces. She stumbled into the back room, after a moment someone came after her, then she came back, and inarticulately tried, repeatedly, to call out an order to the grill. For whatever reason, they weren't hearing her. Another ten minutes passed, and we left.

Will was still in good spirits, and was sufficiently excited about having been in a Waffle House, that we gave another one a try. This one was on the ball. We were served quickly, the staff doted on Will (who was excited about sitting at the counter!), the staff had great camaraderie. It was fun and social, the way an idealized neighborhood pub should be. With waffles instead of beer.

Will slept soundly on the drive to Kernersville. Meanwhile, Shannon and I were actually a little shaken after Waffle House I, despite the success of the sequel. I haven't seen many emotional meltdowns before, but when I have it's always been painful. I felt a little guilty about having left: Were we the last nail in the coffin before she got fired or fell further into despair? Or did we give her space to collect herself?

Obviously you can't bleed for every hurting person you meet. But I still find myself hoping this poor woman has found some relief.