Dear Hubby and I had reasons recently to travel to east Texas. While there, we availed ourselves of the fine breakfast cuisine offered at a local diner, whose previous owner was obviously the company affectionately known amongst most Southerners as “Awful Waffle”.
DH and I were on a tight budget, and had stayed at a motel with only ONE outlet available, after we unplugged one of the lamps. I, therefore, arrived at the diner with a cell phone running on fumes, and so scanned the seating area for an available plug for my phone charger.
“Good morning, sugah! Wheah would y’all lahk to sit?” came the greeting from a woman who looked straight out of the cast of “Alice”. Both of the waitresses wore identical white uniforms, and were about the same age and wrinkle index. They had honey blonde hair, which obviously came from the same Clairol box, and put up in a respectable and predictable up-do. Their accents were true Texas drawl, and would have been perfectly suitable in any parody of southern living. Not that I am free of any accent, either, of course!
“May I sit here?” I asked, “Do you mind if I plug in my phone? Our motel didn’t have one, and my battery’s running low.”
Immediately, the two women (I’ll call them “Mabel” and “Betty,” to make things easier) tried to outdo each other in hospitality. “Why, suhtainly, sweetie, you can plug in raht theah and put yore cord ovuh the bayuck of the booth,” said Mabel. “Or theah’s anothuh plug ovuh heah, if you’d lahk to sit heah instayud,” Betty called out.
I chose the first booth as they fussed over me, making sure I could reach the plug and had my phone properly stowed away before bringing our menus to us. By that time, I had come to the conclusion that no sentence was complete without “sweetie,” “sugar,” “honey,” or “My Lord”. “What would y’all lah to drink, sugah?” Mabel asked. “Are y’all ready to orduh, sweetie?” “Would yew lahk moah tea, honey?” Dear Hubby and I were very well taken care of my our waitress twins, and entertained between services by their ongoing prattle about a third missing waitress, which they alternated with conversations with and about their regular customers. The two women carried on almost shamelessly with an older man whom it was obvious had breakfast at the diner every day. His personal life, and the life of another “regular” were fodder for their very audible conversation. They knew their people, and I could imagine them having an order in the kitchen before any of their regulars made it through the door. Dear Hubby and I kept smiling at each other as we ate our breakfast and listened in on the very public conversation, and every few minutes we were “honeyed” or “sugahed” as they provided excellent service to us.
I felt like I had stepped back in time, and someone’s momma was fussing over me. I don’t get called “sweetie” very often, and even though Mabel and Betty both “honeyed” my husband, I was in no way offended. These phrases were as much a part of their makeup as was, well, their makeup! I could no more imagine these women without their “sugah” as without their lipstick!
I may make an excuse to go back soon, just to be fussed over again and partake of that old southern hospitality. It would be worth it!