Waffle House

I walk into Waffle House to get right with God. Greasy plate, couple eggs, sausage, hash browns, biscuit, Coke, American cheese wherever I can put it. I sit quietly and listen to the clanks of pans, the cracks of eggs, and the groans of the line cook with a bad knee. I watch, listen, and sweat, and I am sorry I have been such a prick lately.

Under my seat at the bar is a plastic Marshall’s bag with a navy blue tie and black dress socks in it. I’m here for a wedding, not at Waffle House, but in Georgia. Before I got here, I walked to a Marshall’s with a pink Vitamin Water and a Cliff Bar because there was an open bar at the welcome party last night, and I always forget something when I have to get dressed up.

I’ve been selfish lately. Boozing. Submitting to the Paris Review as a form of self-harm. Operating on futile whimsy. Telling Arty I want to move back South. Not calling anybody. Resenting every piss ant that walks into my job. Loathing everybody I work with and work for. Fantasizing about quitting and fucking off to a Motel 6 somewhere cold. 

The root of the angst remains elusive. I’ve got some ideas, which is part of the problem. I always have ideas. I don’t need any more goddamn ideas. I figure the angst is part seasonal, part genetic, part chemical, part environmental, and part because I’m knee-deep in this novel, and I get goddamn pissy when I’m not working on it. At this very moment, I’m really not working on it.

I’m really not working on it because I’m in Georgia for this wedding, and I’m at this Waffle House because there was an open bar last night, and I feel bad about everything. My cousin, Bill, is getting married. I’m goddamn proud of him, and I don’t know how to tell him so. Arty is here with me. It’s her first free weekend in weeks. So far, she’s spending it in Georgia with me being pissy and incapable of having a conversation that doesn’t involve my longing for somewhere other than where I am. 

As far as I can remember, I have always wanted to be somewhere else. I move and move and move because I think if I move enough, maybe I will leave behind that piece of me that wants to move all the time. I move and move and move because I figure I might like myself a little more in the next place. Problem is, no matter where ya go, there ya are.

I realize this now, here, at this Waffle House, sitting in a room with a bunch of people who aren’t making any excuses. The servers are busting their asses, picking up orders as soon as they hit the pass, smiling when they set them down on their tables. The cooks are sweating, spinning around, switching stations as needed, flipping eight waffle irons at a time, dropping hash browns while the steak is working, cracking eggs while the bacon crisps, and politely ignoring the impatient manager ineffectively expediting orders. And, without fail, every time a customer walks through the doors, they all say, “Welcome in, y’all.” 

The people eating aren’t making excuses, either. Two young parents in the corner of the room ensure all six of their young children are fed. The young boy beside me orders the All-Star Platter without hesitation and cleans his plate swiftly. His father, unfazed, orders three egg whites and rye and eats slowly. 

Right now, in this bright yellow roadside bastion of underpaid love, everyone is here, and only here, working hard and feeding their young and cleaning their plates, and not a single person is sending their stupid stories to the goddamn Paris Review. 

So, with my belly full of grease, I will return to the hotel room and shower. I will pull up a tie-tying tutorial on YouTube, crack a Coors, and prop my phone against the bathroom mirror. I will unsuccessfully tie my tie until the minute before the shuttle departs. During the service, I will cry if I feel like it and smile when I don’t. I will find Bill at the reception and say, “I am proud of you. I love you.” I will squeeze Arty and thank her for coming. I will keep my mouth shut and listen to my family tell the same stories they’ve been telling for the last thirty years. It will be nice. And I will be there and only there.

Hello, world.