Back Away From the Griddle, Bitch, and No One Will Get Hurt
© 2011 Leighann Lord
Traveling a lot makes you appreciate simple hotel amenities:
- Hangers that aren’t permanently affixed to the closet beam
- Working in-room appliances
- Easily accessible electrical outlets that don’t require the skill of a contortionist and the thinness of a super model to reach
Me, personally, I’m a big fan of the complimentary breakfast buffet where you can make your own waffles and apparently, I’m not the only one.
I was waiting on what I thought was a short line to make my free waffle: only one more person, then me. It’s not a complicated process. You dispense the pre-made batter into a plastic cup, pour the batter into the waffle maker, close it, flip it and let the magic happen. You can’t overcook it; the machine beeps loudly to let you know when it’s done. It’s The Complete Idiots’ Guide to Waffle Making.
The whole process takes about three minutes, five tops. So 15 minutes later I should not have still been standing there, no closer to making my waffle then when I’d walked in. It turns out the woman at the head of line wasn’t making just one waffle. Oh, no, Mrs. Butterworth was on griddle duty making waffles for her entire group of 10. So it was like 12 people being on line in front of me instead of just two.
This felt incredibly rude. It was akin to standing in line and having the person in front of me let their friends cut in front of them. Not cool. Had I walked in and saw 12 people waiting on waffles ahead of me, I might have decided to leave and take myself to an actual Waffle House. Of course those waffles aren’t free, but for a modest price you get food and fun. There are all sorts of cool games to play at the Waffle House. My favorite: “Guess How Long the Cook’s Been Out of Jail.” Now, if the cook looks fresh-faced, clean cut and unfamiliar with the business end of the legal system, then you’re probably not in a Waffle House.
I couldn’t believe this lady had the gall to monopolize the hotel’s one working waffle maker. Normally there are two, but the other one was broken. At least with two the rest of us would have been able to get our grub on and go. Instead we had to wait while this wench made waffles for the world.
As the line behind me got longer, I wondered how the woman could be so completely oblivious to the collective hostility radiating in her direction. Didn’t she feel us all staring holes into the back of her head as she wantonly made waffle after waffle? Perhaps she was absorbed in the task of doing something nice for her friends. But how true could their friendship be if they were willing to let her do something so dangerous?
The group glaring and grumbling grew and I half expected to witness this woman catching an ass whipping over some waffles. Normally I don’t believe that violence solves anything, but maybe a good whap upside the head would’ve made her see the error of her mass waffle making ways. If a fight had broken out, I could’ve finally gotten in there and made myself a waffle.
It begs the question, what’s the proper waffle etiquette?
One man. One waffle?Each one, make one?
Since the woman seemed to have a rhythm going, I thought about asking her to go on ahead and make a waffle for me, but that would’ve been rude and possibly the prelude to fisticuffs.
In a perfect world someone would’ve called the cops on this woman. A sympathetic, breakfast-loving judge would’ve slapped her with a fine and jail time. Not a long stretch, just the same length of time that she made all of us wait while she hogged the griddle. And when she got out, she could go right to work at a Waffle House. She’d be a natural.
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