An open letter to Ben Moser.
December 20th, 2004 | by Scott Jennings |Dear Ben Moser,
Dude, I haven’t seen you in MONTHS. Like, I’m sure I haven’t seen you since I got back from my trip to Canada, since the Canadian beer I got for you is long long gone. Sorry dude, my little brother came through town, he sniffed it out of my closet. Probably last place I saw you was Rossenheidi’s wedding, and that had to have been ages ago, since Ross is a total old man now.
Anypoop, I know you’re super busy with your churchgoing and your hot girlfriend, so I’ll just use the powers of teh interweb to tell you this story about what happened when Katy and I went to the Waffle House last night.
Last night was a good night, albeit rather cold, and as we both know, all good nights end at the Waffle House. So we pulled up to the one on Highway 54 in Durham, absolutely ready to feast — it was quarter after ten, and we both needed some dinner. I went with the All Star Special with a double hashbrown (scattered, smothered, covered, and peppered) on top. Katy ordered a bowl of chili and a bacon cheeseburger.
The staff, surly yet gracious as always, set to preparing our orders. We were seated in a booth across from the freezer, so we saw as one of the waitresses grabbed a frozen beef patty out of the bin and accidentally dropped three others on the floor. She said something like, “looks like I wasted a few burgers,” and threw the good one on the grill.
Our meal was served promptly and we enjoyed it thoroughly. But those frozen beef patties weren’t going anywhere — no one picked them up, and the staff stepped over them whenever they had to walk by. I took this grainy picture just before it was time to pay the check:
I’m not making a value judgment here, Ben. I’m just sharing an unusual thing that happened. But should you find yourself in that particular WaHo again, I’d stick to the All Star Special.
Come see us soon, all right?
Your friend,
Scott
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