It's A Waffle House Christmas

I went to Waffle House on Christmas Eve morning. I was hungry and ready to strap the feed bag on. A few employees holler'd 'GaMornin'—that is a one-word Southern contraction of 'Good Morning' as I made my way to a booth listening to "Christmas in Dixie" by the boys from Ft. Payne. The windows were fogged and had condensation running in rivulets because of the temperature differential. It was unseasonably warm with the temperature over 65 degrees F at 0600, with a slight drizzle. Inside, well, it was hog-killing time. Perhaps, they wanted to make it feel "a lot like Christmas". You could hang meat in there, and not worry about spoilage. To be blunt, it was a bit nippy. I suddenly became self-conscious and felt like a girl wearing a white bathing suit stepping out of cold water, only it was a rain-dampened white Guy Harvey t-shirt in a meat locker.

In addition to the temperature, I noticed I was customer number three. Not too many people hankering for the "Steak-n-Eggs, $7.99 special". The girl waiting on me was in her mid-30s and for clarity purposes, henceforth referred to as 'Smitten 1'. After exchanging a few pleasantries she asked, "Are you on the radio?" I inferred she was asking if I was a radio personality and secretly hoped she did not ask because she thought I had the perfect face (and body) for radio. I clarified by asking, "As in a DJ?". She shook her head in affirmation. I told her no. She then said, "You have the BEST voice. It's nice and deep, and whew!" She was now fanning her face. Red streaks and blotches were appearing on her neck. Perhaps she was standing too close to the grill. No. That doesn't make sense; the grill was empty. She looked too young for hot flashes. Having eliminated ambient temperature, I concluded she enjoyed the quality of my voice. Or, needed extra tip money to buy Christmas gifts.

To prevent any sort of embarrassment, I gave her a smile and a wink along with my order. For some reason, my voice is now an octave deeper than Barry White’s and a bit more velvety than an Elvis Presley painting. She moved to the 'mark' just right of the grill—called out my order then brought my black coffee and water. After thanking her she rejoins her female coworkers. I notice them looking towards me and I cross my arms over my chest. Why did I wear white?

Soon my order is up and she places it in front of me. A coworker, let's call her 'Smitten 2', refills my coffee and asks if she could get me anything else. "No, thank you." Smitten 2 asks how my holiday is going and what I had planned. After a few more questions she exclaims, "You DO have a sexy voice."

Me: "Oh, you are too kind. It is just my voice."

Smitten 2: "No. I am serious. When Smitten 1 told us, I had to come over and see for myself". I am sure she meant "hear" instead of "see". Anyway, I exhaled a sigh of relief realizing they weren't talking about my chestal region.

Me: "What makes a voice sexy?"

Smitten 1: "The way it sounds."—[My bad. I should not have asked such a difficult question.]—"I could listen to you talk all day."

Smitten 2: "Please say my name-just once." As she said this, she thrust her chestal region towards me, presumably to allow me to read her name tag. For fear I might see signs of her being cold, I chose to look her in the eye. I felt it only polite to do what she asked so I said, "My name-just once." With this, both Smittens 1 and 2 started laughing and walked away.

While finishing my breakfast, I smiled thinking something about my old, broken body--albeit, nothing external--was attractive to a couple of girls. I was not interested in reciprocating their flirtations. I was tired, and the neuro pain down my legs was demanding my attention. Regardless, it was flattering and made me think of the number of times women had the reverse experience. Guys flirting with them. Complimenting them. Perhaps even ogling. This exchange was nowhere near any of those. Just two girls complimenting my voice.

Album Cover "It's A Waffle House Christmas", 2001.

Their compliments, while concealed in flirtatious banter, lifted my spirits. For a moment I did not feel pain in my back and down my legs. I stood without my usual deep breath then made my way to the cash register where I paid my bill leaving a 35% tip. For the Christmas gifts of course. I picked up my cell phone, and wished all a Merry Christmas as another song was playing, "It's A Waffle House Christmas". With a chuckle in my throat and a smile on my face, I walked to the door with a bit more pride in my stride; a new found pep in my step, my head held high, and my chest puffed out. I opened the door to allow a couple to enter. She looked at me, then cast a sidelong glance at her husband remarking, "It must be cold in here".

Why did I wear white?