Light and hearty observations from a fat and ugly guy. Home of hackneyed drivel and ersatz-existentialist effluence. Choleric biliousness a specialty, since 1958.

My dream....

Up early this morning, and so decided to go out for breakfast. Across the southeast US, where I live, there are two competing diner chains--Waffle House, and Huddle House. These places are virtually indistinguishable from each other, soul-less, plain restaurants where one can choke down breakfast 24/7--or even a T-bone steak (though why anyone would order a T-bone from either of these places is beyond my understanding). Picture above left, though this is a stock shot--the one near me has no plants and no red booths--just plain wooden booths and torn up counter stools.

So I'm the only one in the Huddle House around the corner from my home, sitting at the counter, awaiting my breakfast of soft poached eggs over wheat toast with grits and coffee. As is my wont, I'm scanning the walls, checking the little posters and notes and junk they put up, including the health department rating of 43 out of 100 (FAIL!).

There, on the wall, framed, is one of these certificate thingys little kids fill out in elementary school. This one had a bolded first line that read: I have a dream, and my dream is to....and below that, a blank space for the child to write in the one thing they wanted to do with their life. Below that, bolded: What I will do to make my dream come true...and it also contained space for the child to write in action steps designed to ensure success in achieving their dream.

The one in the frame was from some poor little deluded African American kid named Andrew, who filled in the "what my dream is" portion with the following: "My dream is to work at Huddle House." I thought, this must be a joke: look, there's nothing wrong with working in a place like that; it's honest work. But this is your dream? What ever happened to wanting to be an astronaut? A doctor? President of the USA? Even a gay porn star? I mean, really!

If the biggest dream you've got is slinging hash and sliding around a greasy cook pit for minimum wage while listening to a jukebox endlessly repeating redneck noise courtesy of "singers" like Willie Nelson....I mean, jeez...Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. must be turning over in his grave right now...

posted by Nigel St.John Regina Smegmatica Howle-Raines @ 7:56 AM