SCATTERED, SMOTHERED, COVERED AND DEMOLISHED

They tore down the old Waffle House on the Bypass yesterday.

And I shat my pants with glee.

I used to manage that restaurant for about four months in 1985.

It was the most miserable four months of my life.

Lemme tell ya who Waffle House pays the BIG BUCKS to ... these sleazy recruiting fucks who go to retail stores and prey on decent assistant managers and their damaged psyches (ME).

I was assistant manager of a record store at the time and the manager had just quit. Rather than me taking his place, they brought in a guy from the outside.

My feelings were hurt and I was pissed.

Enter Waffle House Recruit Boy.

He came in the store to do some browsing, made some small talk, found out I was unhappy at my job (at the time, I would bitch about my job to ANYONE who would listen...that should have been a tip off to Waffle House Recruit Boy) and offered me a MANAGER'S job at Waffle House...starting pay $450 a week.

This was 1985. I was living at home with the parents.

$450 would buy an awful lot of beer each week ...

I told the new manager of the record store to take his free albums and tapes, his free backstage tickets to concerts, his flexible hours and shove them straight up his RECORDS STORE-WORKIN' ASS, BAYBAYYYYYYY.......

I'm a Waffle House Manager now, by God.

Okay ...what they don't tell you when they hire you is that you are also the head cook.

*cough*

Head cook??? Ummmm...I don't think Recruit Boy mentioned that when he offered me dreams of stardom, wealth and glory.

Regardless...that's the deal. NO Waffle House Manager has a head cook working under him. It's not cost-efficient.

ORRR an assistant manager.

It's just you buddy. You're in charge of EVERYTHING.

Oh yeah...the place is open 24-7.

Even on Christmas morning.

Soooo....here's your polyester knit shirt, your paper hat, your hairnet and your waffle batter covered pants and shoes. Now go cook for eight hours for drunks, truck drivers and white trash couples having sleazy affairs.

Oh ...and remember to smile at EVERYONE who walks in and yell "Hellloooooo!!!"

Jesus God ... and I'll be honest here...Waffle House was NOT my worst job.

But it's the job we be talkin' about today.

I actually got pretty good at cooking on the grill. My waitresses would holler out their orders, and my alcohol-addled brain would comprehend it all and churn out some decent eats every now and then.

But God...I was a HORRIBLE manager.

Probably your typical Waffle House Manager though. Maybe it's the combination of an outfit consisting of Polyester and Paper that make a guy a little nutty.

I've told you some of the hijinx I engaged in while at Waffle House. The "threesome" that turned into a disaster was one.

God...looking back, I was quite the horndog there. I can think of two waitresses that were incredibly hot (i.e. all their teeth and big boobs)that I went out with. I didn't really get too far with either one, but looking back, I think I could have. Well hell...one of them offered to let me spend the night with her, but I declined. I have NO IDEA why ... I had the hots for her ... I'm a guy so I'll supposedly fuck anything .... no reputation to soil...

So why not??

I THINK it's because she had told me she had engaged in sex like four days earlier with some guy. I guess I just wanted his sperm to quit swimming before mine jumped in the pool.

But damn...right now...6:30 a.m.....I am KICKING MYSELF for turning down that Waffle House ass.

Heh.

She really WAS cute.

Why do I sit here and feel like I have to defend some girl I haven't seen in 15 years?

To YOU of all people?? YOU should understand where I'm coming from.

I had two favorite waitresses that worked every shift with me, Pam and Robin. Both were married and just trashy as hell.

But they were loads of fun. We never had sex, we just hung out and drank and smoked pot. Robin's MOTHER AND GRANDMOTHER apparently grew pot for a while, so Robin ALWAYS had pot. We'd all go to Robin's Mom's house, and her mom, a little old lady in her late 50s, would be rolling joint after joint and just chain smoking them and cussing up a storm. It was the most bizarre scene. I never truly felt comfortable firing up a doobie in front of Granny.

At one point, Robin had a garbage bag with SEVEN POUNDS of pot in it. For those of you who don't smoke pot, DON'T START. Second ... seven pounds is a SHITLOAD of pot to have around the house just to smoke.

She kept the pot in a closet in her apartment and one day called the maintenance man to come and fix something in her apartment while she was at work.

She went home.

Yep.

The maintenance man had taken her garbage out for her. He bypassed the dumpster and took it straight to his place.

She was sooooo mad. She was in hysterics at work, and I think that's when I first realized that my waitress Robin might possibly have a problem with the pot.

She wanted to kill the guy. I was forced to admit that I had never killed anyone (which is ALWAYS a shock when you admit it to Waffle House employees ...they all gasp and say "REALLY!?!?"), but I didn't think murder was going to solve anything.

She couldn't go to the cops and say "This guy stole my seven pounds of pot."

Basically, she was screwed.

Until she went to her mom's that weekend and Mom just gave her a new garbage bag full.

Mom was a playa, baby.

My employees on the night shift scared me and they knew it. Every single one of them was an ex-con at one point in their life. My best waitress was robbing me blind, I KNEW THIS, but she had the best attitude and morals of anyone there, so I kept her.

One waitress was apparently serving her own dessert in the parking lot for ten dollars a suck. When I confronted her with it, she freely admitted it, like there was nothing wrong with it.

I said "I'm going to have to let you go".

And I swear to you, her face got a puzzled look on it and she said "Why"?

Ummmm...honey...yer a Waffle House Whore. Society frowns on it. Sorry...life's tough.

One time I played a game of Broom Hockey with some employees in the backroom with a frozen chopped steak, sliding across the restaurant floor.

I used to drink 2-3 raw eggs in my office every day whenever the gals were around. One day a waitress from another store asked why I drank them and I told her it gave me a much stronger erection for sex.

I had NO IDEA how good that line was gonna work.

I finally left Waffle House after eight months of tolerating it. It was great money, but you were on call 24 hours a day. If they ran out of napkins at 3 am, you got out of bed, drove to the store, opened the supply room, threw napkins at their feet and call them all "Dumb asses" and go home and back to bed for an hour before you wake up in a cold sweat and realize you just insulted a bunch of ex-cons and you dread going back in.

Man. I love run-on sentences.

I ended up managing three different Waffle Houses in the city before quitting.

But the one they tore down yesterday was my first one.

My first step into occupational hell.

As I glanced over and saw a bulldozer on top of the dirt that was once Waffle House ... I had to do it.

... I laid on my horn and shot those horrible memories a big assed bird goodbye.