I have never been a big fan of Waffle House Restaurants. Comedian Jim Gaffigan says in one of his stand up routines that if you can imagine a gas station bathroom that sells waffles, then you have been to a Waffle House. Unfortunately that image has remained imprinted on my mind for some odd reason. Waffle House has never been my first choice for a breakfast stop on the road. But yesterday was a notable exception.

I had to be at the Texas Department of Public Safety office in Garland for a 9:00 meeting. I had no idea what rush hour traffic would bring in trying to make it all the way across both Fort Worth and Dallas at that time of day. I ended up getting to the DPS office early. I did not have time to go exploring in Garland in search of some quaint mom and pop cafe, which of course is my preference for a cup of coffee and maybe even a couple of eggs over medium. But guess what infamous establishment is situated about 100 yards west of the DPS office? The Waffle House of course…

Images of Jim Gaffigan’s audience laughing at his cracks about the Waffle House raced through my head, but I tried my best to tune them out. I took my place at the old fashioned counter that reminded me of the little grill at the Woolworth’s store in the Shorecrest Shopping area that was not far from my childhood home. The lady who waited on me has probably spent some time in jail. I could just sense it. She is probably someone who has had a history of drug abuse. But on the surface she certainly appeared to be clean and sober. The manager was a very outgoing African American lady, who knew the rest of the customers by name. I found her to be more entertaining then Jim Gaffigan.

The “regulars” in this Garland Waffle House on Interstate 30 soon drew me into their conversation. The 50 something year old lady sitting next to me started telling me about the Spanish class she is taking in summer school. We talked Spanish grammar and vocabulary. She told me she has been in college for 5 years and will soon graduate. The waitress it turns out has indeed been in jail.  She asked me about my role as a DPS chaplain. She wondered if I ministered in the Dallas Count Jail. I proceeded to tell her that my primary area of service was that of crisis intervention. In the most sincere way possible she said: “You have a hard job…”

I ate a pretty decent waffle. The coffee was quite good and the company was even better. I imagine every person in that restaurant has had a pretty hard life. It would not take a scientist of social observation to figure that out. They have not had the breaks I have had. They probably did not grow up in neighborhoods as nice as the one I grew up in. My parents were very educated people. They in turn gave me such a privilege. With the exception of the lady sitting next to me, I doubt any of those folks have been to college.

I learned a few things early yesterday morning. I learned that people in large cities create their own Mayberry’s. They form their own small communities. When I go into to the Firehouse Café in Granbury, I am generally greeted as “Honey” or “Sweetheart” by the seasoned wait staff. It is small town America and we know each other. I thought residents of large cities gave up the perks of Mayberry, but that is not entirely true.

I was prompted not to stereotype yesterday. And furthermore I was reminded that socioeconomic, race, language, and cultural barriers can be erased quickly, if we are simply open to people. I found that to be true yesterday. I paid my ticket and the friendly manager looked at my DPS photo id and said: “Thank you John. I hope you have a great day.”  I had been officially accepted as one of the regulars. Jim Gaffigan was the last person on my mind as I left the parking lot and made my way to the impending meeting. After all, he is obviously not one of the regulars…