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The night was still young when you went out with your friends, bar hopping after one after the other. Your plan was to get shitfaced, but eventually you lost most of your group to hook ups or some leaving early. With it only being 2AM and feeling half-buzzed, you decided to spend the rest of your early morning finding a diner to hang out at. What diner, you don’t know.
Pulling from your parking spot, you drove down the pavement in search. The nameless bar you just left was situated in a dark alley, hardly noticeable with the few remaining fluorescent streetlamps that littered the streets. You had to squint against the dark, your headlights only doing so much. The winding road was empty, almost eerily so on a weekend night. You were beginning to think you should’ve just gone home and pass out, but bright yellow neon lights in the far distance caught your eye.
A Waffle House.
Like a moth drawn to a flame, you turned around the corner and into the deserted parking lot. Your mouth salivated at the promise of fluffy waffles and scrambled eggs. As you walked up to the entrance, upon closer view, you noticed the place seemed to be rundown. Even more so on the inside, but you weren’t judging.
The bell ringed overhead, and you were introduced to the sweet aroma of cinnamon and maple. You took a seat at a booth, taking in the smells as you waited to be served. Christmas music lulled from the kitchen, even though it was the middle of July. You looked around the area, noticing you were the only customer.
Yelling cut your thoughts short, and you whipped your head to where you heard it come from. You tried peering over the countertop that separated the kitchen from the rest of the diner, but you couldn’t see anyone back there. Glass shattered and the screaming grew louder, followed by pans crashing to ground. You sat in shock, trying to see more of the rumble that was going on in the back from your position.
Suddenly the noises halted, the caroling carrying along with the silence. You were about to call out in worry until you saw a mop of brown hair peek out around the kitchen window, one wide eye flicking from side to side across the room. His gaze caught yours, and the man let out a ‘eep!’, startled by your presence and ducked back behind cover.
You were beginning to think this place didn’t get many visitors, and maybe for good reason.
The backroom door swung open, banging against the wall as the man you saw earlier stumbled out awkwardly. His wavy hair framed his pale face, and you could see the bags under his eyes stand out against the bright lights. He wore a black apron over the iconic blue uniform and black pants, his black bow sitting lopsided. He looked kinda cute, in a dorky way. The man pulled up to your table, slightly trembling with the same wide-eyed look from earlier and brought out a notepad ready to take your order.
“Is everything alright back there?” You asked.
The man continued to stare down at you with a blank stare as you waited for his response. You broke the uncomfortable eye contact, taking the opportunity to look down and read his nametag. The name “Billy” was scrawled on, crossing over the original name of it’s previous owner. There was a red stain beside it, but you think it was just ketchup.
“…Understaffed,” Billy nodded, and you nodded as well, pretending to understand what that meant. “What do you want?”
“Uh, I’ll get the All-Star Special, with waffles and white toast and some scrambled eggs and a glass of OJ. Oh, and a side of sausage as well, please.”
Billy continued to scribble on the notepad, only looking up when you cleared your throat to get his attention.
“Sausage?” He asked.
“Uh, yea, sausage please.”
“Sausage,” Billy nodded, scribbling harder on the pad with furrowed brows in deep concentration, his tongue peeking out. “Dinner will be done in 15.” He swiveled around, still focused on the notepad, and you could see a mess of scribbles and little doodles on the paper.
You were so confused by the whole encounter, but feeling the effects of the alcohol was helping you take it well.
You fiddled with the sugar packet container as you waited, organizing them by color. You could hear commotion from the back, but it didn’t seem as chaotic as earlier. By the time you had already reshuffled the sugar packets 10 times, your order has yet to come out. You really didn’t mind the long wait, but you were the only customer, and it was getting ridiculous.
“Um, excuse me-“
You were interrupted by the shrill of the fire alarm and Billy’s screaming. Standing up, you could now see into the back where the tall man was running around in panic, yowling and cursing at the charred food that was smoking on the skillet. He pulled at the ends of his hair in frustration, grabbing a plate and chucking it at the fire alarm. The plate shattered upon impact, silencing the alarm but the lights continued to flash. Now that he was able to think, Billy grabbed a spatula and flipped the burnt chunk to cook more, whistling a joyous tune.
The sweet smells of the diner now intermingled with the smoke. You stood still in complete amazement of the theatrical performance that you just witnessed. You slowly sat back down in your seat, replaying the events that transpired and forgetting what you were originally going to do. Eventually, your order was rung out and out came Billy with a tray of your food, looking more disheveled than before.
You were introduced to the sight of your toast and sausage burnt to a crisp, but your waffles and eggs looked more appetizing of all. There was a generous amount of whipping cream on your waffles in the shape of a penis, really tying in everything together. Billy placed down the plates, nearly spilling your juice over you but luckily caught it in time.
“Anything else?” Billy asked, his gaze piercing straight into you.
“Uh, can I get another order of sausage? Mine is a little overcooked.” You pointed at the stick of charcoal on your plate.
“Not sausage.” Billy shook his head.
“Oh… Uh, then that’ll be all I guess.”
“Ok, bye.” Billy eyed your plate wearily before leaving.
You watched as Billy receded back behind the counter, crumpling down to the floor where he hid from plain sight. You shrugged your shoulders, more focused on the food in your intoxicated state. Once you took the first bite of those buttery, fluffy waffles, it was like a taste of heaven. Man, you couldn’t wait to tell your friends all about this hidden gem. Might even bring up the cute waiter who was currently whimpering in the corner.
You enjoyed your breakfast, savoring each mouthful as if it were the last. You don’t know if it was because you were drunk or because the cute waiter had made it (seriously, where is the rest of the staff, you’ve only seen him) or what, but these were the best damn waffles. You don’t even care if half of your order was burnt, ‘cause that’s how good it was.
By the time you were done with an empty plate (not including the burnt food), you sat for a bit, watching Billy out of the corner of your eye. He was certainly weird, but you chalked it up to sleep depravity. Right now, he was currently mopping the same spot while humming along the Christmas carols.
You got up to pay, walking up to the register behind the counter. Billy noticed and dropped the handle of the mop to the ground and walked over to help you. As he silently ringed your order, and you took this chance for some small talk.
“So, do you like this place?” Billy looked up at you with his wide eyes, but they seemed more lucid than panicked before.
“No!” He smiled, continuing to fiddle with the register before smashing his fist into it. You couldn’t help but finally let out the laugh you’ve been holding in since you first came into here.
“You really are something, Billy.”
Billy looked alarmed now, glaring up at you.
“How do you know Billy’s Billy?”
“Oh, uh, it says Billy, on your nametag.”
Billy looked down to where you pointed, squinting against the ineligible letters.
“Oh,” Was all he said before telling you your total. You gave him the exact change and he handed you your receipt. You were sad to leave but it was getting late, and you wanted to get home before you black out.
Before you can make your way to the door, Billy had called out to you.
“Pretty Piggy!”
You turned, not sure how to feel about the nickname but couldn’t think much of it when you were almost slapped in the face by a piece of paper and some complementary peppermints. They flittered to the ground, and the both of you stared at it for a second. You bend over to pick it up, realizing it was the same paper Billy had scribbled your “order” on.
On the other side was a neatly written down phone number and some hearts drawn next to a crude drawing of a penis. You held the paper and peppermints closer to you, smiling fondly at the cute gesture. You looked up to see Billy behind the counter, staring with the same owlish eyes as he sheepishly waved goodbye.
You waved back, turning around to part ways. On the way out, taped on the front door was a notice sheet you missed earlier.
“RESTAURANT IS TEMPORAILY CLOSED DUE TO RECENT HOMICIDES.
SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE :) ”
You looked back behind you, but Billy was no longer behind the counter. The radio was turned off, leaving the lobby in deafening silence. The merry atmosphere was no longer, the flickering lights setting you in flight or fight mode. Never have you left a building so fast in your life, driving well past the speed limit.
Well… You know what they say…
Whatever happens at the Waffle House, stays in the Waffle House.
