Can you imagine the chaos if the commissary truck should fail to deliver all those little packets on schedule?! I mean, I'm assuming Waffle House cooks can't read...

On a bike trip to Kitty Hawk several years ago I ate at a Waffle House with a cook who only had one arm. He was a marvel and had no problem delivering all those scattered, smothered, and covered cholesterol bombs.

Another memorable WH episode involved the retrieval of an antique Volkswagen from a few miles south of Dayton, Ohio. We stopped for breakfast at about midnight in a crowded house somewhere in Kentucky. A large group of high schoolers swooped in from a just-concluded football game and began harassing a very elderly waitress.

She was so befuddled that she got everybody's orders wrong and that brought on even more derision. We couldn't help wondering what somebody's grandmother was doing waiting tables at that hour. There was a sad story there somewhere.

When we left she had a twenty-five dollar tip for our ten dollar meal and, while it has been almost twenty years ago, I still remember Waitress Betty Carson.

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