This Waffle House sat next to a motel. In the midst of our meal two beefy guys came sprinting from the motel – one chasing the other. Was it a friendly race to the Waffle House? Continue reading
At the Cheshire Bridge Waffle House the legendary “Jamie,” 6’4”, was “hit on” by a male customer in whom “she” was not interested. When the customer called her a bitch she replied, “well I may be a bitch, but I’m still man enough to kick your ass.” She grabbed a knife, leapt over the counter, and chased the man into the parking lot while stunned customers watched. (True Story)
At the Cheshire Bridge Waffle House there is a “regular” who calls herself “Mona Lisa.” She is reportedly a former “Madam” who likes to discuss investments with businessmen/customers. Mona Lisa now does massage therapy “outcalls” to hotels. She slipped and fell on a marble floor, but tried to give a massage with 2 broken arms. She appeared the next day at WH with casts on both arms and asked the wait staff to “feed her,” which they did, of course.
Want to submit your own Waffle House story? Email it to Kristen Gwock Silton email@example.com.
My first Waffle House experience was in my 20’s when I blazed a trail south to start a new life in Hot-lanta. A friend from North Carolina helped me move from New York City. We drove her big ole Cadillac with my belongings in the big ole trunk and back seat, towing my little Honda Civic behind.
I don’t remember why, but something happened that put us in need of AAA service so we decided to stop and eat while waiting for AAA to show up. My friend was surprised when I had suggested the Waffle House because I was a fresh food vegetarian health-nut and she assumed I didn’t eat at chains. Now, I didn’t know it was a chain. I was just thinking cute little southern diner – waffles – yummy. She was thinking bacon grease.
Wrapped up in pure southern ambiance, I delighted in a pecan waffle. My friend scarfed down eggs, bacon and grits, happy not to be eating a salad or the half-dead carrot sticks in my purse. Continue reading
Waitress: Hi honey…what can I get you?
Me: Guess I’ll have 2 poached eggs over dry toast.
Waitress: Okay….how do you want those cooked?
Me: Uh, well….that would be POACHED. (Then I questioned the cook) Do you know how to poach eggs?
Cook: Huh, uh….but can you tell me?
Which I did. And he did….and they weren’t half bad!
– Nancy E.
Want to submit your own Waffle House story? Email it to Kristen Gwock Silton at firstname.lastname@example.org.
I went to college in a small town where, aside from a smattering of college bars, they rolled up the sidewalks at 10 PM. So, like all good liberal arts majors, we hung out a lot at the Waffle House. A LOT. We were regulars.
One Saturday night I was there with two friends, nursing coffee and cigarettes after our 1 AM “dinner,” when our favorite waitress, Dawn, came over to our table.
“Y’all got anything to do right now?”
It was a quarter-to-two and we were at the Waffle House. No, we did not have anything to do. Continue reading