Dope Fiend!

 

(The Dwarf Loves to Get High.)

Saturday started off with a bang. The restaurant was filled to capacity from ten p.m. until two in the morning. And my old ass was running this way and that way to keep up with the customers. It was a bit draining.

To make matters worse, I kept fucking up all the orders. For instance, one guy wanted chili and gravy on his hash browns. And his request totally slipped my mind.

He raised his hand, and I ran to his table.

“Yes, sir?”

“I wanted gravy and chili on my hashbrowns.”

“I’m sorry, sir. Let me do that for you now.”

“No worries. You’re busy. I get it.”

So I took his plate and made the required adjustments.

Then a middle-aged woman flagged me down. “I didn’t want bacon. I ordered sausage.”

I shook my head and sighed. “My apologies.” I paused for dramatic effect. “I’m the shittiest waiter in the world. In fact, somebody should take me outside and shoot me.”

“No, honey. It’s not a problem. You certainly don’t deserve to be shot. Just get me some sausage when you get a chance.”

I walked over to Dwayne the Dwarf. He was sweating like a little pygmy over the grill.

I tapped him on the shoulder and looked him right in his bloodshot eyes. “I fucked up an order. I need you to pull a sausage when you get a chance.”

He grunted his approval. Dwayne’s been in a good mood these days. He must be smoking some righteous weed.

By the way, I ate the woman’s discarded bacon. That’s the best thing about the Waffle House. You can literally nibble all night long. I wolf down the pies. I chomp on the hash browns. And I slurp on the chili.

Suddenly, a violent storm came through the area, and the power went off for about a minute. All the customers were happy because they thought they might get a free meal since the cash register was down. In fact, they let out a collective groan when the lights came back on.

After that, the place went completely dead for a couple of hours. However, the lack of customers was actually a benefit. It gave me time to prepare the iced tea. I was also able to sweep and mop the floors.

At four a.m., a strange couple walked through the door. It was a young black woman and an old white guy covered in tats. On his forearm was scribbled the words Rock Star. Right away, I knew this guy was a Waffle Boy. That’s how crazy some waffle people are. They even ink themselves to tell the world about their glory.

Dwayne was out by the dumpsters getting high, so I took their order all by my lonesome. The gentleman wanted a half-and-half to drink. This was more waffle bullshit. Waffle people like to test the knowledge of other waffle people. A half-and-half means sweet tea mixed with unsweetened tea.

Suddenly, Dwayne sauntered back into the kitchen. He was higher than a kite caught in a windstorm.

Rock Star suddenly stood up and pointed at the dwarf. “Is he the cook?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, we’re not eating here. He’s on drugs!”

Dwayne said, “Then fuck you. So take your woman and get the fuck outta here.”

Rock Star was fuming with rage. “You better watch yourself, little man. I’ll kick the shit out of you.”

I said, “Let’s not resort to violence. I’m too old and easily broken.”

Rock Star said, “What? You sound like a pussy.”

I nodded in agreement. “I am a pussy, sir. And the last thing I want is a fistfight. But if you punch him, then you’re gonna have to punch me, too. I’m not going to let you kick the shit out of my grill operator.”

“He’s a drug fiend!”

I shrugged my shoulders. “So what? Dwayne is a hash-brown boy. Now I could understand your outrage if he were an air-traffic controller or an elementary school teacher. But c’mon, my friend. It’s overnights at the Waffle House. What did you expect?.”

“You can both go fuck yourselves.”

That’s when his girlfriend began tugging on his arm, and he left without throwing any punches.

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