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Waffle House runs dry Don’t let anyone tell you nothing exciting ever happens at the Waffle House. On Wednesdays, we have breakfast at Store 777, the one on Ga. Highway 74 South in Peachtree City. Last week started like every other. I don’t even order any more; Terri knows what I want. Dave varies his breakfast from week to week and requires a bit more time. I did flirt with chicken biscuit when I discovered WH now carries them. So good. That’s what I like best about WH. What you see on that placemat/menu is what you get, 24/7. I’ve written off two McDonald’s in my town because they serve breakfast only until some random hour. I don’t like the person taking my order to glance up at the clock and say, “We don’t serve breakfast after 11 o’clock,” at 11:02. She could at least ask her staff if there’s a biscuit left. I’m getting sidetracked here. We ordered our breakfast and were about halfway through eating when we heard, “We don’t have water.” “What do you mean, we don’t have water?” “Just that. Really, it’s off.” “I bet they cut the line out there,” and everyone looks toward the windows overlooking the construction on the highway. “No water at all? How’m I supposed to make coffee? Or wash dishes?” One of our favorite things about WH is that you eat off china, not foam-plastic. And it suddenly crossed my mind that we were probably eating off the last clean dishes in the place. Also, when Terri asked if we wanted coffee before the pot was empty, I really, really did. I don’t usually, but knowing it was the last coffee available, I really wanted mine topped off. The manager went out to where the construction equipment had stopped. About the same time someone with the road builders approached the Waffle House. “They cut a waterline,” the manager reported when she came back in, “and they can only say it will be back on by 2.” “Two? No way. We can’t stay open without water.” Voices were rising. “Yes, we will stay open,” the boss said, objections filling the air, the most logical being that if they tried to operate without water, the county Health Department would gig them for a laundry list of infractions. (“Laundry” – cute.) Now don’t misunderstand, the girls weren’t trying to get a day off. This staff depends on tips. You don’t get tips when you can’t serve meals. Someone said to the manager, “Are you going to pay us minimum wage?” a somewhat sardonic observation that they’d make more money on minimum wage than on their salary. The debate raged for awhile: Stay open, or close until the water comes back on. I’m sure I wasn’t the only person in the place to have a sudden revelation that if the drought was not soon relieved, this scene could be duplicated on a mammoth scale. First the industrial area, then retail and food service, then residences. The schools would send the children home, preferring that parents figure out how to deal with sanitary needs. Which brings us to – surely – the last place in the county to lose water: the hospital. Back to reality. So far as anyone could ascertain, the WH was the only business affected, but while we waited to see how this would play out, we started telling tales of water and how critical it is to have access to it. A man in the booth beside ours said this was too reminiscent of the time he and a boyhood chum were dropped off on a small island off Florida. They had been out fishing with a couple of bigger boys in a boat, who assured them that this little island was the best place around to dangle a line. The day began to wear on and the boys got thirsty. They had no water or food. These are kids around 10; they don’t tend to plan ahead. Where were the boys who had dropped them off? There was talk, later, that they had had engine trouble. All these two youngsters knew was that they were thirsty and becoming desperate. Hours later they were saved by a passing tug and finally got water to drink. Obviously they survived their ordeal. But, said the fellow telling the story, to this day 40 years later, he carries water with him or else locates where he can get it in any unfamiliar place. WH was still dry when we decided we had to move on. I hated to leave in the midst of such high drama, but Kroger was waiting. I told Terri and Liz I’d call before their shift was over to see what happened. Nothing much, Liz said later. Water was restored shortly after we left around 10. I guess it’s sort of a non-story, actually, but it goes to show, as I love to do, that normalcy can be the greatest blessing of any day. login to post comments | Sallie Satterthwaite's blog
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