[dropcap]A[/dropcap]s a young man, I worked as a cook for Waffle House. It was an easy job, except for all the work they made us do.
There, I learned to clean a flat top, to fry eggs, and wear a paper wedge hat. We called that hat the Confidence Killer. If you want to know why, go serve breakfast to the girl’s varsity volleyball team at two in the morning wearing one.
One night, there were only two of us manning the store. Me and Harmony — a young waitress with a thick Southern accent.
Three rowdy fellas came through the door. They’d been drinking. They talked loud and laughed at their own jokes a little too hard. Things got worse when one decided to put the moves on Harmony.
“Hey pumpkin,” he said. “I have a library card, do you mind if I check you out?”
Harmony ignored him, but the fella was relentless. He stood up and put his arms around her. She struggled against him, but he wouldn’t let up. She screamed.
That was when my started blood boiling.
I don’t know what came over me. I grabbed a carton of eggs, and threw four-seamer fast-balls at him. The eggs splattered everywhere. To seal the deal, I emptied half a bottle of Tabasco sauce on the gentleman’s scalp. Then, I sprayed him with a fire extinguisher until he resembled a snowman.
They finally left.
Later, while mopping up egg yolks, I learned the troublemaker was Harmony’s husband.
And if I’d known that, I would’ve used a lot more Tabasco.