May we call you Yak? No? Suit yourself.
We read with rapt fascination the account of your eventful shift at the dazzling Waffle House in glorious Manning SC. Apparently, during a recent breakfast rush a surly customer named Crystal Samuel haughtily demanded the house specialty (a steaming plate of grits, sausage, toast, eggs and a waffle). When the meal arrived it proved unsatisfactory for some reason and Ms. Samuel complained. Things quickly escalated when a waffle became airborne, whereupon you drew your piece and popped a cap in Ms. Samuel's ass.
Yakeisha. Yakeisha-Yakeisha-Yakeisha. We know. We were a waiter for a spectacularly disastrous three months. During that time we found it extremely difficult to care about what our customers wanted to eat (they seldom seemed the least bit interested in our needs, which we can all agree makes for a doomed relationship).
We recall, in fact, an elderly woman of impressive girth wedged into a booth fatefully situated in our station. She informed us that she required an espresso. We procured her demitasse. She snapped her fingers and proclaimed the espresso too cold. We apologized and fetched a new demitasse. When she snapped her fingers again and announced that it was now too hot, we lost it. We apologized, bent over the table, and blew into the demitasse, hard enough send espresso spraying majestically all over ourself and the offending biddy. We were, of course, promptly terminated. We don't regret it for a minute. And frankly, in your defense, we've never met a Crystal who wasn't either an insufferable bore, a nasty skank, or both.
However, blowing on a liver-lipped matron's espresso and opening fire on a hapless waffle aficionado are two entirely different things, don't you agree? For instance, "Alice" would have been very different (though infinitely more entertaining) show if Flo turned Mel's into a bloodbath every time someone found her grits lacking.
Sure. It's hard out there for a waffle waitress. And according to your enchanting MySpace page, you fancy yourself the next gangsta crunk raptress. We enjoy how you pay homage to the Good Lord, Salt n' Peppa and Trickdaddy for making you the classy lady you are today. We appreciate the ironic juxtaposition of MLK quotes and the "snitches end up missing" animated gif. So perhaps gunning down a finicky breakfaster gives a heat-packing waffle bitch some cred.
We doubt, however, it resulted in a very generous tip.
Crystal Samuels sez: "all I wanted was a subscription to this blog's feed but dat crazy Yakeisha ho pop a cap in a lady's azz."