Friday, October 31, 2003
Wal-Mart, grits
On the outskirts of Baton Rouge, down I-12 and just past the second "Choose Life" billboard (the one with the babies waving American flags, not the one with a babies hand that says, "care for me, don't kill me") I had an important cultural experience: splitting time between the combination Wal-Mart Superstore/Sonic Burger and a Waffle House restaurant. The Wal-Mart Superstore is truly amazing. It's like Costco without the class and snooty member-only policy, and I like it. The people watching alone makes a trip to Wal-Mart/Sonic worth it down here. Overheard from an elderly woman waiting for her car to be serviced while watching disdainfully as a mechanic punched some numbers into a computer (presumably for the benefit of her car and not the viewing of pornography):
"Sometimes they make me sick with these damn computers."
Makes you miss the good ol' days when they fucked up your car and ripped you off all low-tech like, as God intended.
Well, while I waited for them thar damn mechanics to finish up with my car their new fangled technology, I took a trip across the street to a Waffle House restaurant. For the uninitiated, Waffle House is a large chain of Denny's-like food (but cheaper, which worries me) and proud recipient of thirteen separate racial discrimination lawsuits. However, this white boy received a delicious $4 meal and some rivetting conversation from the waitresses and a regular (I was clearly the only person there other than the cook who didn't fall into one of those two categories). After a 10-minute tirade about a friend of hers who was, apparently, a real slut with "who knows how many children running around" and the slut's mother, who says she 48 but is really 62 and dresses like a teenager "with her fat hanging out all over the place" my waitress added, with a straight face, "but I'm not one to gossip."
On top of the conversation and healthful grits, eggs and side of congealed bacon grease breakfast you also get a little slice of America at Waffle House: they have custom made signs adorning the restaurant with Lady Liberty herself superimposed over the Waffle House logo. So, do your part for the troops and white America and stop by your local Waffle House. And God bless America.
"Sometimes they make me sick with these damn computers."
Makes you miss the good ol' days when they fucked up your car and ripped you off all low-tech like, as God intended.
Well, while I waited for them thar damn mechanics to finish up with my car their new fangled technology, I took a trip across the street to a Waffle House restaurant. For the uninitiated, Waffle House is a large chain of Denny's-like food (but cheaper, which worries me) and proud recipient of thirteen separate racial discrimination lawsuits. However, this white boy received a delicious $4 meal and some rivetting conversation from the waitresses and a regular (I was clearly the only person there other than the cook who didn't fall into one of those two categories). After a 10-minute tirade about a friend of hers who was, apparently, a real slut with "who knows how many children running around" and the slut's mother, who says she 48 but is really 62 and dresses like a teenager "with her fat hanging out all over the place" my waitress added, with a straight face, "but I'm not one to gossip."
On top of the conversation and healthful grits, eggs and side of congealed bacon grease breakfast you also get a little slice of America at Waffle House: they have custom made signs adorning the restaurant with Lady Liberty herself superimposed over the Waffle House logo. So, do your part for the troops and white America and stop by your local Waffle House. And God bless America.
