A Few Tales of Carrollton:
Interestingly enough, I found myself at another Waffle House the other night on the birthday of my friend Laura accompanied by a Madison and his friend, whose name I do not recall. This visit to Waffle House, or what Laura referred to as the Bourgie Waffle House, "All fancy and shit," was following a night full of new stories and recollections. As we sat down in the restaurant, with it's signature brightness and chill temperature, Madison began the story of the last day, ten years ago, that he set foot inside of a Wal-Mart store. As he began, seemingly unaffected by the evening, I placed in the back of my mind the fire players, their arms flailing actual balls of fire attached to the ends of chains, that I left not fifteen minutes ago at the house in the middle of nowhere. And the inprompt concert that we went to at some crazy dive just off of the campus in Carrollton. And the dancing and the smoke clouds and the crazy gypsie talks with random people. And the margaritas. All in the back of my head for another memory.
He set the story up as such, all hands and hair:
"I was walking around in the Wal-Mart, the very last time I went, and I saw this woman. She was so big that she was actually hanging...it was amazing."
The "amazing" was what made us understand why he stopped going to the Wal-Mart. Laura shrieked at the "amazing." Someone being so fat that it is actually amazing was the understanding.
"I watched her and her equally fat child...how does this even happen, a child being equally fat...and she looked up..." he stopped for a second to look around at all of us, slightly intoxicated and engaged. "...she looked up and she said, 'Kin you grab me some of them Milk Duds up there son?'" Our laughter was freeing...because we weren't that.
And although he never said it, I could hear it. I could see it. I could hear the hanging woman breathing out those words, gripping her shopping cart, unable to reach up to grab the Milk Duds. I also heard the lights buzzing in the Bourgie Waffle House and was painfully aware that there were people just like that sitting in the other corner across the restaurant listening to Madison's account of why he stopped going to Wal-Mart. Why it was so bad to see that woman, so distasteful to him that he had to decide to stop going to Wal-Mart all together. And why I understood him and empathized completely. However, I still go to Wal-Mart.
"I still shop there sometimes," I say. "Because sometimes, I need to buy tampons."
Laura agreed about the tampons. Madison smiled and looked at his friend, who was drunk or high from the house party.
"Well...I don't have to worry about all that anyways."
Interestingly enough, I found myself at another Waffle House the other night on the birthday of my friend Laura accompanied by a Madison and his friend, whose name I do not recall. This visit to Waffle House, or what Laura referred to as the Bourgie Waffle House, "All fancy and shit," was following a night full of new stories and recollections. As we sat down in the restaurant, with it's signature brightness and chill temperature, Madison began the story of the last day, ten years ago, that he set foot inside of a Wal-Mart store. As he began, seemingly unaffected by the evening, I placed in the back of my mind the fire players, their arms flailing actual balls of fire attached to the ends of chains, that I left not fifteen minutes ago at the house in the middle of nowhere. And the inprompt concert that we went to at some crazy dive just off of the campus in Carrollton. And the dancing and the smoke clouds and the crazy gypsie talks with random people. And the margaritas. All in the back of my head for another memory.
He set the story up as such, all hands and hair:
"I was walking around in the Wal-Mart, the very last time I went, and I saw this woman. She was so big that she was actually hanging...it was amazing."
The "amazing" was what made us understand why he stopped going to the Wal-Mart. Laura shrieked at the "amazing." Someone being so fat that it is actually amazing was the understanding.
"I watched her and her equally fat child...how does this even happen, a child being equally fat...and she looked up..." he stopped for a second to look around at all of us, slightly intoxicated and engaged. "...she looked up and she said, 'Kin you grab me some of them Milk Duds up there son?'" Our laughter was freeing...because we weren't that.
And although he never said it, I could hear it. I could see it. I could hear the hanging woman breathing out those words, gripping her shopping cart, unable to reach up to grab the Milk Duds. I also heard the lights buzzing in the Bourgie Waffle House and was painfully aware that there were people just like that sitting in the other corner across the restaurant listening to Madison's account of why he stopped going to Wal-Mart. Why it was so bad to see that woman, so distasteful to him that he had to decide to stop going to Wal-Mart all together. And why I understood him and empathized completely. However, I still go to Wal-Mart.
"I still shop there sometimes," I say. "Because sometimes, I need to buy tampons."
Laura agreed about the tampons. Madison smiled and looked at his friend, who was drunk or high from the house party.
"Well...I don't have to worry about all that anyways."
posted by Anisa @ 11:48 AM
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