Our theme for the month of March is “I was wrong about.”

On Valentine’s Day this year, I went to a Waffle House with three friends. Sarah Anne heard that select locations offer reservations and a candle-lit dining experience and rallied a group of us to go. Dinner with friends instead of sitting at home was an easy yes, and living in a bit of a Waffle House desert made the idea double appealing. I tried not to think too much about whether it would be weird.

We rendezvoused at her house, and she handed out sequined tiaras from the whole spectrum of pink to purple. We piled into her car, freshly cleaned for the occasion, and confirmed which location we’d be going to.

It was an hour away.

I did not eat a big enough lunch.

The ride there passed at the pace of the congested traffic ahead of us while the other three girls filled the car with pleasant chat that I can’t recall. The sun set, and we inched our way south on the highway, ducking around the semi-truck that was modeling an unhurried life for everyone behind them in the middle lane. We all kept our tiaras on although the momentum of gleeful whimsy definitely began to wane.

I tried to focus on not tallying minutes and I tried to remember that I did truly want to be there—any antipathy was probably just because I was hungry. This is why my mom always brings snacks. You gotta remember to bring snacks.

Eventually we wended our way through a series of parking lots and into the glow of the Waffle House. I braced for a potentially embarrassing scenario.

It was lit up like a city on a hill—the yellows more yellow, the lights more bright. The whole building somehow seemed to be in sharper relief than anything around it. We let out cheers and congratulations to the driver and stumbled out of the car. We held for a selfie and then I turned and got a good look at what we were about to walk into. Not an ounce of tint or an inch of smudge on the windows—we could see every patron, employee, and sparkling red heart from clear across the parking lot. Like I was looking at the scene in that Nighthawks painting but if the diner was full of smiling people and Dollar Tree decor. We giggled and applauded our good decision making, until I heard: “Oh no, he’s at the door.”

I had been taking in how busy the place was, wondering if we’d get turned away for not having a reservation, and not yet noticed…the man in a full suit and tie standing in the restaurant air lock, hand on the door, looking and smiling straight at us.

My slight nervousness at the sight of how full it was now exploded into instinctual dread. I turned to whichever friend was closest, avoiding his gaze like my life depended on it and with a fool’s hope that if I didn’t look at him he wouldn’t see us.

I grabbed her arm, desperate for escape. Kiki laughed and read my discomfort, “Come on, we have to go in!”

“Nooo, it’s like when there’s a mascot. I hate mascots—just let me beeeee!”

(I’ve never enjoyed interacting with mascots or people dressed as characters. Even as a little kid at Disney World, I remember being wary of these strangers pretending to be cartoon characters. “I know you’re not actually Snow White, why would I be excited to meet you?” I respect what mascots do from a distance but I do not want to be caught in their frozen, unblinking gaze, thank you very much. In this instance, I suppose I felt a similar sense of being ambushed by a cheery, performative interaction I wasn’t prepared for.)

I was ushered along with the group towards the young gentlemen who held the door open for us. We all squeezed into the entryway and he asked us if we had a reservation. Sarah Anne apologized and said no. I hid in the back, bracing for the sentence of an hours-long wait time.

He continued to smile and said, “No problem at all. I should be able to get you all a booth in ten to fifteen.” He had a nervous air to his eagerness that made me think he hadn’t been doing this long—like a Waffle House prodigy who zipped through manager school and was about to change the whole game despite the warnings of his peers.

Then he reached over and unclipped the velvet rope, letting us into the restaurant proper.

We stood politely off to the side for a bit and took in the spectacle around us. The place was full, the people were chipper, the music was classic. Paper heart confetti was scattered on the ground and sparkling red streamers were hung from every ceiling tile. And in less than fifteen minutes the nice young manager ushered us to a booth.

We all got All-Star Specials and chocolate chips with our waffles, and the waitress recommended we get peanut butter ones as well, which was an excellent suggestion. A patron one booth over offered to take our picture when we were struggling with the selfie angle. The manager stopped by later and gave us paper Waffle House hats that we then put on with the tiaras on top. Our neighbor came back over without a word and motioned for Sarah Anne’s phone to take another picture.

We enjoyed sparkling conversation with our hash browns, watching as the manager leapt to pull back the rope for the folks who came after us, occasionally sprinkled more heart confetti when he felt it lacked, and checked in on his employees.

I can’t be sure if everyone working that night was truly having a delightful time or if I just projected my energy onto them, but what I experienced was an utterly positive dining and community experience. There were other groups of friends like us and some couples on dates, and one old timer at the counter who looked like he came there for dinner every night—he was maybe slightly less into the spirit of things.

We left with our bellies and hearts full and put it in our calendars to come back next year, to this specific Waffle House, now dubbed the Waffle Home.

Christina Ribbens

Christina Ribbens (’19) studied history, studio art, and data science at Calvin and public humanities at Georgetown. She now lives in the part of Virginia that’s almost Washington, DC where she helps award grants to arts nonprofits. She takes a lot of walks to admire the landscaping in peoples’ front yards, mostly listens to British comedians’ podcasts, and likes to make friends via sports.