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Tatoos Piercings and The Waffle House | Broken Wing

Tatoos Piercings and The Waffle House

Posted on 28. Oct, 2008 by in Featured

On the last leg we let the horse run for the barn. Turning final at Austin airport; I dropped the gear and flaps, slowed to final approach speed, touched down and got on the brakes. We were on a mission: game two of the World Series was in the late innings and we had not eaten all day. Our Flight Attendants were going to a different hotel so Captain Bruce and I bailed. Heading to the pickup point we called the hotel to ensure the van was inbound. “Two minutes out,” was the reply. Twenty minutes later the Flight Attendants joined us at the curb.
The next indication of a problem was when the van finally showed up; the driver was…well… no doubt the senior driver at the hotel. A very nice man he offered to take our Flight Attendants as well, since their hotel was next door to ours. Swerving onto the hi-way, the distinctive sound of seat belts clicking into place filled the van.
Wheeling into the parking area we missed our turn point. We found ourselves after a lap of the three hotels back on the 4-lane hi-way. No worries right? Wrong; throwing the van into a tight u-turn our fearless driver swerved in front of oncoming traffic and re-entered the hotel parking lots.
After dropping the Ladies we finally made our destination. The baseball game was on in the lobby bar and we raced for our rooms and a quick change. Five minutes later we met at the elevator in jeans and t-shirts. We bellied up and asked for a menu and beverage.
“The kitchen is closed,” was the reply.
Finishing our beverage as the Phillies closed the deal in the ninth; we asked our server where we could get something to eat.
“The Waffle House, right down the hill.”
“The Waffle House, that’s it?”
He nodded and we set out to hike down the hill to the Waffle House as the bewitching hour approached. Lit up in all of its stainless steel glory, we squinted as we entered. Stevie Ray Vaughn was belting out a Jimi Hendrix tune in the background as we sat at the counter. A bubbly waitress was mashing buttons on the juke box; she invited us to join in on the selections. Politely passing we turned our attention to the Hispanic cook who was practicing Hindu Yoga at the grill.
I scanned around the Waffle house: to our right was a pierced couple. They each had approximately 2-3 pounds of various metals protruding from their heads. To the left, a weird looking guy in a hoodie; paranoid eyes darted from the hood looking left and right. Appropriately he was backed into a corner. A tall young man ambled in, ordered a pecan waffle and large diet coke, and then promptly went to sleep on his table.
Captain Bruce turned to me and asked. “Did you ever see the Twilight zone episode…”
I didn’t let him finish. “Yea; the one where everyone in the diner was an alien and had a third eye under their hats.”
He nodded and we ordered our meal. A petite waitress served us our burgers. As we munched on the liver flavored delights Captain Bruce couldn’t resist.
“You have a third eye under that hat don’t you? Take off your hat and show us.”
She laughed, no doubt thinking we were the weird ones. He explained the Twilight Zone episode and exchanged small talk. As we finished our meal the bubbly waitress and Yoga master got into an argument on the proper way to pull a pecan waffle off the iron. Petite waitress delivered the object of argument, waking the young man up.
I smiled at Captain Bruce, “and they said the glamour was gone.”
As we eased out the door I realized she never did take off her hat.

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