Waffle House drama! Mae Mitchum loses it big time (856 hits)
Category: HumorRating: 2 on 4 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Great Angst! (View user info) at 2004-09-30 15:55:17 EDT
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Reading these posts reminds me one of my classic Waffle House experiences ...
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Waffle House. Roswell, Georgia. Friday, December 29, 1995. 5:35 A.M.
True story. I Swear to George Bush (who says he talks to God, so swearing to him should suffice).
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It was the Friday before New Year's ... I think we had been at Backstreet (R.I.P.) all night enjoying the 24-hour bar (the early part of the night was a little fuzzy). I had managed to throw back 10 or 11 gin-and-whatevurh-thu-fuck-yer-got-behind-thur-countur's between 11pm and 5am. At some point my best friend and I had also taken some quaaludes (I know .. what the fuck? even in the 90's .. did those still exist?) ... not sure where they came from or how they got into my mouth ... but I was feelin' NO PAIN.
Whatever.
At 5:00 A.M. we finally headed out ... to a friend's house in Roswell (outside of Atlanta). Driving down the Georgia 400, I saw that beloved yellow Waffle House sign ... and I started mumbling:
"mmmmm m m. P a t t y M e l t. Y u m."
So ... as always ... we pulled off the freeway for some post-alcoholic-binge grease.
<< For those of you that have been to a Waffle House at 5AM -- you know it's a late-night/early morning haven for weary travelers, derelicts, and drunk-ass-bitches like myself. It's always crowded, always smoky, and you can always count prompt service (with an attitude) from some tired, beat-down, bitter waitresses who are on their 2nd or 3rd shift. I've never eaten there sober, so I can't comment on how the food tastes ... but when you're fucked up, it's très magnifique. >>
We sat down at a booth behind the counter ... and a waitress came over to take our order.
While we pointed at the sticky laminated menu and slurring out what we wanted to eat, we both kept shuddering slightly at this loud [[THUD!]] coming from behind the counter. The waitress didn't' seem fazed. She kept writing ... and smacking her gum.
Our waitress turned and shouted to the cook ... "I need a patty melt hold the onions 2 over easy bacon bacon sausage grits with cheese 2 hashbrowns scattered covered smothered chunked diced and where's that last waffle?!"
<< God, what a model of efficiency. How those cooks can memorize all those orders shouted at them -- with all that grease flying and cigarette smoke and sizzling noises and bad country music playing over the speakers -- it still amazes me. >>
[[THUD!]]
[[WHAM!]]
[[WHAPPOW!]]
[[SLAM!]]
The rhythmic slamming behind the counter was quickly dissipating my buzz ... so I leaned up ... and peaked over the counter.
That's when I saw her.
She had to be 65 years old ... slightly hefty ... tight grey bun on her head with little wisps of hair flying out in every direction.
Her name tag read "Mae Mitchum."
Mae Mitchum was not having a good night, apparently.
Mae Mitchum was slamming whole heads of lettuce onto the counter. HARD. Slamming them like she had just scored a touchdown, without all the jubilation. I'm not sure why she was doing this ... I've never seen anyone slam lettuce before ... perhaps it was to loosen them up. Or to discipline them.
Whatever the reason, she was busting the fuck out of these icebergs. Salad shrapnel was flying everywhere.
I still had a slight buzz (the only reason I can explain interrupting her) ... and I asked Mae Mitchum: "uhhh ... are you o kay, Ma'am?"
Picture you grandmother channeling Samuel L. Jackson. That was the pissed off evil look that Mae Mitchum gave me.
She didn't say a word. Her attention turned back to the naughty heads of lettuce.
[[WHAM!]]
[[SLAM!]]
I looked around, and everyone was acting normal (as normal as you can act in a Waffle House). I guess they were used to this behavior.
I slowly lowered back into the booth. "Dude, shut the fuck up ... " my best friend whispered. We started giggling as a small remnant of my gin buzz kicked in.
After a few minutes, our waitress blew a Bubblicious bubble, turned to Mae Mitchum, and barked "Dammit Mae, we need some plates over here."
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OH SHIT .... here we go.
I don't know what had happened earlier in the night. I don't know the history between our waitress and Mae Mitchum. I don't know why the fuck I'm telling this story.
What I do know is that Mae Mitchum walked over to that little stainless steel vat of dish water ... and picked up a huge stack of dirty plates ... a stack that was almost as tall as she was. She turned around towards our waitress with the plates in hand.
Her expression was utterly blank. Picture you grandmother channeling Samuel L. Jackson after he takes a really hard hit off a water bong.
Then she let go.
Mae Mitchum dropped like 45 plates onto the floor, still staring into space like a freakin' zombie.
The crashing noise was deafening.
Now I'm pretty sure that the good patrons of the Roswell Waffle House off of the Georgia 400 were not used to this shit. Everything stopped. Heads popped up over the booths like a dozen white trash prairie dogs. Our waitress stammered .... "Mae .. whut ... thuh ..... "
And then she walked out.
Mae Mitchum took off her apron and walked the fuck out ... into the cold Georgia darkness.
I glanced at my friend ... giving him that "what the fuck" look.
Everyone sat (or stood) there for a few minutes. No talking. No burping. No hacking cigarette coughs. No slamming heads of lettuce.
And no Mae Mitchum.
Shania Twain started playing on the jukebox. Don't ask what song. I don't listen to that shit.
After a few minutes, the place got noisy. Assorted animal products started sizzling on the grill again.
The patty melt finally arrived. Damn it was good. Grease always did top off a night of drinking just right.
Life went back to ... err .. normal.
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I've seen all kinds of shit go down at the Waffle House.
Fist fights. Lovers' quarrels. Baby Daddies slapping Baby Mamas. Baby Mamas beating the shit out of Baby Daddies. Bad hair. Bad teeth. Bad everything from head to toe. Drunks yacking all over the counter. Waitresses pouring drinks on customers. I even saw a clean bathroom (gasp!) one time in a Waffle House (no, I'm not making this shit up).
But, Mae Mitchum's tirade is my ALL-TIME most memorable (and favorite) Waffle House experience.
Mae Mitchum taught me how to express my feelings. With those misbehavin' heads of lettuce .. and that stack of cheap-ass plates ... Mae Mitchum cried out (in her own subtle way) "DON'T FUCK WITH ME. I'M HAVING A BAD DAY ... AND YOU DON'T WANT ANY OF THIS."
Ever since then, I have been saying "DON'T MAKE ME GO MAE MITCHUM ON YOUR ASS!". People look at me like I'm crazy (ok, not just for saying this) ... they don't know what the hell I'm talking about. Fuck 'em. Me and Mae know.
I feel ya, Mae Mitchum. Wherever you are.
User Reviews
Submitted by Random Joe at 2004-10-01 07:44:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
def needs more cowbell
Submitted by heightzguy (user info) at 2004-09-30 19:14:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
+1 for Waffle House; +1 for your grandmother channeling Samuel L. Jackson
A heart(burn) warming story.
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2004-09-30 16:32:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
waffle house stories get a +2. Always.
Submitted by 1Point21Gigawatts (user info) at 2004-09-30 16:28:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
4 AM at the Waffle House
5 AM now we at my house
6 AM I'll be diggin' her out
6:15 I'll be kickin' her out
7 AM I'ma call my friends
12AM we gon' do it again!
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Fuck you for making me hungry...