Dear Sir or Madame,
The amount that I would give for an All-Star from your fine establishment would frighten most. Those delectable fried eggs (over hard….no homo), golden hash browns, toast of the same color, three wondrous strips of bacon, a fresh cup of staunch coffee, and….oh wait the most beautiful waffle in gods creation? Yes please! And Sir/Madame you are seriously only accepting five dollars and ninety-nine cents for such a mid-morning feast? You are too kind, too kind indeed, but in a way Sir/Madame you are also quite cruel.
You see my reality in New York City is one of mediocre diner after mediocre diner and overpriced brunch after overpriced brunch. I wander the streets of New York City like Moses wandered the desert; only I am looking for signs of breakfast vitality. There are no signs Sir/Madame, there are no signs. Every Sunday brings new promise only to be followed by new defeat.
Unfortunately I do not have a solution to this crisis Sir/Madame, only you do. It seems you have scattered your darling little yellow breakfast shacks all across the southeast. You have “Houses” everywhere from Mobile to Lexington, Little Rock to Savannah. Even one in the great state of Pennsylvania! (Narberth Nightmare!)
Not one that colors outside the lines, I have as per your suggestion, called 1-877-9-WAFFLE. There is no teleprompt that will answer my question, there is no representative that takes me seriously, and quite honestly I am at my wits end. I will be frank with you Sir/Madame: Who’s titty do I have to twist to get a Waffle House put in New York City? I did not want to take it this far, but I am not above black mail.
I know for a fact that the opening verse from Flo Rida’s “Low” is all about an awful case of diarrhea contracted from your Daytona Beach location. “Shawty had Apple Bottom jeans, boots with the fur, the whole club was looking at her, she hit the floor, next thing you know, shawty got low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low” You and I know the only reason anyone would ever get that low was because they were dookying in their pants. Not to mention the entire club was watching, can you say punitive damages? The stench of lawsuit is a bit potent. Ready to play ball yet?
I hope you understand Sir/Madame that I am a reasonable man with reasonable goals and aspirations. There must be enough foot traffic in this city to sustain a Waffle House, I see zillions of fast food places. Space wise I have seen WaHo’s slightly larger than a closet; surely there is a Manhattan storefront of similar size. Plus the IQ level you generally employ from is more plentiful here than even in the South! Sir/Madame what is it about the greatest city in the world that you do not find alluring?
I will be patiently awaiting your response right here at The Gumption. Please do not delay, every day that goes by is another day my arteries are not completely swollen shut.
Regards,
Theodore Jones
The Gumption Boys
PS Friday is sure to have many bells that jingle, friends that mingle, and berries that dingle.
3 comments:
I love, love, love that you called it WaHo. A-Mazing!
You're so lucky you get it down there
Oh, I know. I'm not sure what Lo and I would do if we couldn't drive to WaHo at 3 in the morning after a hard night of carbomb consumption. Sometimes it's the only thing that saves my life. There are probably three or four of them within a couple miles from our house. I'll be thinking of you while I'm enjoying my All-Star Special tonight, err, tomorrow morning ;)
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