Meet Wendy

The other day, I had a craving for Waffle House. Waffle House is an institution around here, and for some reason they build them in 2’s. And, just like Baptist churches, you can find one about every 4 feet. There are 3 within a 3 mile radius of my house. Two of them are so close to one another that you can literally stand in the parking lot of one and look down the street and see the other one. God’s honest truth. But, I don’t want to talk about those two. I want to talk about Waffle House #3. You see, that was where I met Wendy.

I took this picture on the sly as she was zipping around, washing dishes and refilling drinks. I was texting a couple of people while I was there, just telling them about my Waffle House experience and I brought up my waitress. During the course of the meal, I decided she had to be introduced to the world.

I’ve been to this particular Waffle House several times and I’ve never seen the same waitress or cook working there twice. Either they’ve got a large staff that rotates a lot (you rarely ever see more than 3 people working at a Waffle House at the same time anyway), or they’ve got a high turnover rate. I guess that explains why this was my first introduction to Wendy. I never asked her her name, but it was on her name tag. She never asked me mine either, but the second I walked in the door, her first words to me were, “Hey Bo, how you doin’?” For those of you not familiar with life in the south, “Bo” is a term of endearment, and is kind of the redneck version of “buddy” or “dude”. I’ve never once called anyone “Bo”, but have been called “Bo” quite a few times. Wendy apparently likes the name because it was the only thing she called me the entire time I was there, and I heard it about 10 times…

“Hey Bo, you want some more Coke?”
“How you doin’, Bo? You need anything?”
“Dang, it’s hot out there today. Ain’t it, Bo?”

That was just one of the few things about Wendy that made Wendy…Wendy. Wendy looked like she’d not exactly had the easiest life so far. First of all, she only had about 2 teeth in her head. They were on the bottom, and spaced out evenly, one on each side, with a giant gap in the middle. It looked like a 7-10 split.

She was kind of skinny, had obviously spent a lot of time in the sun, and loved her some blue eye makeup. And check out that standard issue Waffle House visor. Well, not so much the visor, but the flair. Oh Sweet Jesus, the flair. Looking back, I wish I’d asked her about it.

When I first sidled up to the counter, she turned to the other lady working there and said, “Hey Mama, you wanna get this one or you want me to do it?” Mama replied, “Go ahead and take it, hon”. Why do I mention this? Well, the plot would soon thicken. A few minutes later, an older gentleman with a cane comes in and sits down. As soon as he walked in, Wendy exclaimed, “Hey Daddy!” Alright, so we’ve got Mama and Daddy on the scene. So far, so good. BUT…about 5 minutes later, another lady comes in and sits down next to Daddy. A patron at the next table looks up at Wendy and says, “Hey Wendy, you know these two rascals?” Wendy replies, “Yeah, you know that’s my mama and daddy”. What’s all this now? How many Mamas are we talking about here? Is this a “Bo” thing, where she just calls everybody “Mama”? I wish I had more answers for you, folks, but The Great Waffle House Mama Mystery will have to be solved another day.

So, that’s Wendy. Now that I think about it, she kind of reminded me of Lil from Squidbillies.

Wendy, you’re alright. Thanks for the hash browns.

Love,

Bo.

 
 
 

And now, for no reason whatsoever, just to end this post, I give you all something else I captured on the sly. My favorite uncle, Uncle Paul, passed out in front of the evening news.

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7 Responses to “Meet Wendy”

  1. lol, better to be called Bo than Mo.

    I suppose that’s true.

  2. I went to a Waffle House one time in Arkansas, because I had to see what the fuss was about. They had grits, which I bought. Those things are NOT good. What’s the fuss about?

    Great blog, Bo.

    I guess I need to trade in my southern card because I’ve never liked grits, ever. And I never will. I don’t see what the fuss is there either. I do love some Waffle House though.

  3. Hey Bo, I think you’re going to marry Wendy.

    I went to a waffle house in MO once, but there was no one anywhere near Wendy there. Now, I’m disappointed in my Waffle House experience…sigh.

    I’m sure that’s not the first time someone’s been disappointed in a Waffle House experience.

  4. Teddy Ray Says:

    1. This is one of the funniest, most fascinating things I’ve read in a while.

    Thanks. Nice to know my exploitation of local rednecks is entertaining someone.

    2. I’ve lived in the south all my life and I’ve never heard anyone called “Bo” unless, you know, their name was Bo.

    It’s pretty prevalent down here. I hear it all the time.

    3. If you don’t like grits, you’re not doctoring them up right.

    Yuck, yuck, and yuck.

  5. Bravo my friend. I need to hit up an Awful Waffle soon.

    Too bad we’re not closer to each other than we are right now. We could hit up one, but you don’t get the full experience unless it’s about 3am and you’re 3 sheets in the wind.

  6. I went to a Waffle House once here in Arkansas with a guy I met at Motel 6 where I was working one summer. HAHA (oh man, I just reread that statement and wow, does it sound white trashy) Didn’t order anything though b/c by the look of things I’m pretty sure they were in violation of every health code. Maybe I should try again?

    I’ve never really been too concerned about any health issues with the ones around here. They’re pretty clean and they cook the food right there in front of you on the grill so you can see everything. And don’t be concerned about being too white trashy in the Waffle House. That’s like being concerned you’re not classy enough for the Wal-Mart. I guarantee you, there’s someone there much worse than you. They probably work there.

  7. Wendy sounds like a character straight out of a Billie Letts novel (specifically thinking ‘The Honk & Holler Opening Soon’)…and the woman I want to be my waitress should I ever get a craving for a greasy waffles and road trip.

    Come to the South. Trust me, you can’t sling a dead cat without hitting a Wendy down here.

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