Jul 21, 2017 · 1 min read
Growing up on the EssEff peninsula in the 50s, bowling alleys were our late night/early morning destinations.
Here’s a true story that I witnessed at the Columbus, IN, Waffle House off I-65: A road-weary couple comes in and sit down at the counter. They look at the (sticky) menus. Waitress leans over the bar with coffees. Man asks in a whiney voice if they have pancakes. Activity comes to a screeching halt. Conversations stop. The cook turns around slowly. The waitress hands him another menu and points to the name at the top. Then in a quiet but stern voice, she says, “Does that say ‘House of Pancakes’?” She turns away. Activity resumes and the couple eventually order waffles.
