1001 Insomniac Nights

The whole Waffle House thing was mostly my fault.

Mostly.

It had been a bad night. My boss yelled at me at work for my co-workers incompetence. My parents had called to check up on me and that had ended in a fight. And then, against all reason, Amy called to blame me for keeping Brent out until all hours of the night. The only person that hadn’t pissed me off was Brent himself, although I could tell he was trying not to get angry about me fighting with his girlfriend.

So when our waiter decided a snide remark about my sunglasses would be funny, I was in no mood for it.

I would have let it go at that, too, if he had actually done his job. But he came by, got our drink orders, made some remark about the inside lighting not being quite that bright and then left. He spent the next five minutes pointing in our direction and laughing with the cook and finally, ten minutes later, he came back with our drinks. “So what’ll it be?” he asked, still grinning at whatever joke he had made at our expense.

Why’d it take so long to get our drinks when we were one of only three tables in the restaurant? What story was so funny that he had to spend ten minutes explaining it to the cook? I had no idea but I decided not to bring it up. All I wanted right now was something hot and cheap to eat and not to have to worry about the dishes. Brent made his order, the chili and something or another, and I got the grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of tomato soup. The waiter’s face twitched a little at that. I guess he figured he wouldn’t get much of a tip when we were ordering that cheap. But then he grinned again, that stupid obnoxious grin of his. “Is the no blood version okay?” he asked. I turned and looked at him. I didn’t say anything, just looked at him until he realized he had screwed up. “Fine, that’s cool,” he said. “Be right up.” And then he slunk away.

It escalated from there.

It was a miserable meal. Brent didn’t say anything, not used to dealing with a pissy waiter, and was obviously wishing he had simply stayed at home with a cup of ramen. When our food finally arrived it was cold, mostly because the jerk-off waiter was more concerned about talking to his co-workers than doing his job. I asked for the check that moment and polished off my meal in five minutes. I let Brent finish off his, which took another five, and then immediately went and paid for my food. It was about five dollars which, if our waiter had kissed our feet when we walked in, would have netted him a buck. But I didn’t leave it on the table. Hell, no. I had plans for those quarters.

Brent’s check was a little more than six and he half-heartedly tossed a dollar on the table. I picked it up and handed it back to him. “He doesn’t get a tip.”

“What?”

“I said he doesn’t get a tip. Not for standing in the corner and playing with himself when he should have been bringing our food.”

“But they get paid like three dollars an hour.”

“And he worked like he was worth it. He doesn’t get a tip.”

Brent obviously agreed but was too passive to throw a penny on the table and stalk off. He put the dollar back in his wallet uncertainly, but looked relieved. “Hey,” I said before he put his wallet back in his pocket. “You got any quarters?”

“Quarters? Why?”

I didn’t answer but he handed them over anyway. Looking down at the coins in my hand, I smirked.

I walked up to our waiter, eight quarters in my hand, and spread them out so he could count them. “See these?” I said. “These should have been your tip. But since you obviously didn’t want it, I’m going to give you something better.” I walked over to the jukebox. “I’m going to give you a song. In fact, I’m going to give you lots of songs.”

I stuck the eight quarters in the jukebox, hit a random song, and then hit the Waffle House Song. And then the Waffle House Song. And then the Waffle House Song again.

I’m actually not certain how many times I pressed it. I didn’t know how many plays I could get for two dollars, so I just hit it ten times and figured that would cover it. When I finished I turned around, gave our waiter a grin and the finger, and then stalked out. Brent followed close on my heels.

And that’s why we’ve sworn off Waffle House, at least until they get some new staff. Chances are they had to just sit and listen to all ten plays of the Waffle House Song. It’s obnoxious when you just hear it once, but ten times….

Apparently, it really pisses people off. Because last time we tried to eat there we heard the cook trying to convince the waitress to ‘accidentally’ spill hot coffee on us.