Ada

This past February, as the Anderson University intramural season was raging and my wrist was still attached by duct tape, I and two other soulless droids decided to go to Waffle House to observe our pal's berfday. While there, we met a charming waitress named Ada and as a result, referencing her at random times became something of a meme for us (e.g. [in the face of some challenge or obstacle] "Let's do it for Ada!").

To my unbridled despondency, these two chaps, Ohioan by birth, will be leaving Anderson soon in search of more Ohio-like environs. Sucker as I am for the intoxicating combination of breakfast food and nostalgia, last night the three of us decided to head out to Perkins and just talk about all the good times. En route, somebody jokingly said, "Hey, let's go to Waffle House and see if Ada's working!" The "joke" gained some impetus and we wound up actually going to Waffle House instead.

While walking through the parking lot of Waffle House, Bell noticed a screwdriver sticking up out of the bullring of a truck bed. With all the hesitancy and social discernment of a three year old, he instinctively grabbed the screwdriver to examine it. The other Ohioan, concerned that his friend's actions wouldn't be well received, helpfully pointed out, "Uh, there's somebody in that truck." Noticeably shaken by this new information, Bell hastily returned the screwdriver to its proper place and mumbled a quick apology as he was hustled through the Waffle House door.

Having been inside the restaurant during that whole episode, I was more or less clueless about why the two buckeyes were so agitated and why the truck driver looked so angry. After the three of us took our booth, the situation was explained to me, and I burst out in an inappropriately loud fit of laughter. It was enough to garner the attention of the truck driver, even though he was sitting on the other side of the room. He glared at me and I grinned back at him like a fool. It wasn't so much the case that I was trying to antagonize him as I sincerely couldn't think of a better reaction.

As the anxiety of his faux pas threatened to consume my pal, the three of us noted, with varying degrees of disbelief, that Ada, the waitress from three months ago, really was working that evening and was our server. I told her (in as non-creepy a manner as possible) that we had been deliberating between Perkins and Waffle House and that the prospect of seeing her again was what tipped the scales. She smiled and embraced the three of us from across the counter [cue syrup falling on lap], saying that she remembered us as well.

This heart-warming scene was viciously abbreviated as Ada was called away to tend to some of her other responsibilities and the truck driver, the feathers of whom had been diabolically and premeditatively ruffled by Bell just minutes earlier, walked up to our table and calmly addressed the hirsute miscreant. "Ain't you heard of not [f'ing] touching stuff that don't belong to you? If it ain't yours, you don't [f'ing] touch it, you just don't [f'ing] touch it! You don't [f'ing] touch it if it ain't yours!"

Amidst Bell's adorable attempts to slip in an apology between the articulate though somewhat repetitive asseverations of the man he'd wronged, I thought to myself, "Should I do something? I could totally nail him in the junk with a bottle of Heinz." As my theoretical heroics were rendered superfluous, a second thought barged into my addled brain: this is a pretty clear indicator that something is wrong with folks at large. Bell the hairy Ohioan is honest to goodness just about the nicest guy that anybody would ever meet. You talk to him for three minutes and you're sold; the guy is likable. But the truck driver couldn't see that. All he could see was "This kid touched my screwdriver, he doesn't respect me, he's a punk, I don't like him at all." Having no real data on somebody, our reaction defaults to mistrust and dislike. The thing is, I'm not better than Cory (it turned out the truck driver's name was Cory), it just so happens that I tend keep my misanthropy to myself, under my breath. It's a good thing that there are guys like Bell who know that the best way to make amends after a hilarious misunderstanding is to pick up the other guy's tab at Waffle House. Even if that turns out to be nothing more than a cup of coffee.

One more thing, when Ada found out that Truck Driver Cory had been mean to us, she went over there and sorted him out. "Those are my customers, and you can't talk to them that way." So Ada rocks.

In an unrelated story, tomorrow one of my friend/mentors from yesteryear is getting hitched. I'll probably write about it, because I always do. I hope they keep it brief.

Ada also chatted with us a little bit about moralistic philosophy.

-Ryan