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Going to the Zoo at 2 AM

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Smothered: People who go to Waffle House at 2 A.M.

Covered : People who go to Waffle House at 2 A.M. for the spectacle

In honor of recent nighttime activities (woah there, cowboy), I feel the need to address this topic, and there’s no better day than a Friday since it’s either fresh in your minds or will be happening tonight. Of course, I’m talking about the 2 AM visit to Waffle House.

If you’re not an Atlantan or a southerner, this might not hit home with you, but I’m sure there’s some place that you can eat breakfast at 2 AM (or a 1/4” thick steak, if you so choose) in your neck of the woods. If there isn’t an establishment like this near you, find 6 people with 9 teeth and great personalities and teach them how to cook an omelette. Instant financial success.

Waffle House at 2 AM is proof that God exists. What other explanation could there possibly be for the shear joy of this collection of people, specifically created for our enjoyment? Now, don’t confuse this for being condescending. I am not going that direction here: I think that these are some of the nicest and most interesting people I have ever met, but it is truly an amazing sight to see the carnies, gangstas, frat boys, and goths (I thought they closed the Hot Topic stores in the mall?) all in one place, enjoying food and each other, likely under the influence of no less than 2 substances of choice. It is a picture of God’s harmony (minus the substance abuse part).

On my most recent visit, a friend of mine and I chose the WaHo on Northside, which is built into a Days Inn. Naturally, this heightens the experience, sort of like a bar that’s built inside a pool: the complementary forces of these two establishments create a whole greater than its parts. Anyhow, we walk in and I immediately recognize the hostess/watiress/chef (everyone here can do everything) from the Pharr Rd. location. We point at each other with that “I know you from somewhere else” look and figure it out after a few seconds. Now, in most situations, the people that work at Waffle House have seen too many people to remember any one of them, but Shayna and I have a unique experience together that created a lasting bond (again, woah cowboy), which I share with you now:

About a year ago, another friend of mine and I were at the Pharr Rd location and we were about to give our orders when the gin started doing the talking: I asked Shayna for the phone number of that location. She gave it to me and I immediately pulled out my phone and dialed while she started taking my friend’s order. The cook standing by the phone answered and I asked (behind a cupped hand over my mouth), “Can I please speak to Shayna?”

“Shayna. Phone call for you.” says the cook.

“Hang on guys.” She walks over to the phone. “Hello?”

“um yeah, I’d like to go ahead and place my order,” I say. “I’ll take the Texas Cheesesteak Pla–”

“Excuse me . . . Sir,” she interrupts, “are you coming in to pick this up?”

“No, I’m already here.”

Then it hits her like a man wearing a tank-top. She looks over and sees my dumb ass grin and the phone on the side of my head. I say “you ready?” into the phone, and she hangs up in humored-disgust.

This is one of my favorite Waffle House experiences, and one that has earned me very fast service and food that looks almost as orderly on my plate as it does in the pictures on the menu.

The Northside visit that night didn’t disappoint, either. While most of the action was away from our table, it was priceless. We watched an insanely tall black man wearing shirt reminiscent of the pattern on Fruit Stripe Gum walk the parking lot security guy though each of the 600 features of his BMW 328i convertible. Just watching this praying mantis of a man get in and out of this car was enough, but the level to which the security guy was impressed with the visor lights and the size of the trunk was equally entertaining. There could have been a murder right behind him, but he wasn’t going to take his attention off of the rain-sensing windshield wipers. Funny enough, my friend and I actually thought this guy was in trouble when we first noticed this going on. He was emptying his trunk out onto the curb while the security guy held up a flashlight. The search for contraband continued until we realized the contraband was just vehicle features.

So thank you to those who enrich my life with your presence here on earth and your presence in Waffle House. I’m not sure what compels you to go there at those hours (do you think there’s a carnie blog about the ridiculous kids in their polo shirts calling the waitresses?), but thank you and please keep doing it. See you next week.

P.S. No. You don’t take pictures of this. You’ll just frack up the whole chi of the situation. Moments like these were meant to enjoy in person, and to those who photograph Waffle House, shame on you. If you need photographic evidence to convince other people of what you saw or encourage them to go, they’re not worth your time and should not be your friend. Dump the baggage.

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September 19, 2008 | Filed Under food and eating 

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