Miracle at Waffle House

I live in constant mental anguish and pain due to the staggering lack of Waffle Houses in California. The nearest one I know of is in Tuscon, Arizona. On any road trip East, when I’m taking the 10 back, it’s my last “road” stop. The dividing line and symbol that the marks the end of the sacred space of the road trip.

I keep a keen ear for any Waffle House related news. It doesn’t matter what it is, I get all hopped up and joyful.  I feel a sudden urge to go East, in search of the yellow signs that take me back to that first delicious bowl of grits, swimming with over easy eggs and a healthy dollop of Tabasco.  This morning I was driving to my yoga class, and I heard via NPR that a South Carolina Waffle House was the scene of a certifiable, beatify-able miracle – a man, Barry McRoy, was leaving the restaurant and was hit by a stray bullet, dispatched from a gun being argued about by, no doubt, to hillbillies.  In a “Waffle House is a temple blessed by God” miracle of Marvel Comics proportions, a DVD located in McRoy’s pocket deflected the bullet, leaving him with a mere bruise.  MSNBC story here.

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