How I Learned That Tomatoes Are a Fruit and Not a Vegetable

           If someone asked me what the worst job in the world was I would’ve thought it’d be something like a Chinese sweatshop worker or an African diamond miner. After living in Panama City Beach for a couple weeks I realized that the worst job in the world is a late night waitress at a Waffle House in a Spring Break destination. The level of drunkeness that these poor women have to endure for minimum wage is nothing short of a crime against humanity. I’ve always liked the saying “If someone is nice to you but rude to the waitress, they’re not a nice person.” At 4 o’clock in the morning at a Waffle House, this rule tends to be forgotten. It was my first time going to a Waffle House. Before this all I had known about the 24 hour restaurant that can be found at almost every highway exit south of Pennsylvania, was that it was the setting for about 40% of all fight videos on the internet. 

 

            This was one of my first nights going out with my boss in Panama City Beach. Before this I had pregamed with him a few times, while he drew up charts and graphs on napkins about his hook up schemes and talked to me like he was some sort of pussy Jedi and I was his young Padawan. Every time we went out to the bar he would disappear in the first 5 minutes to chase unsuspecting college freshmen. On the job I had kind of viewed him as a hard ass that wouldn’t let us capitalize on his friendship while working. The logical solution was to get him as fucked up as possible and make him do some embarrassing shit in front of us. Naturally, Dan and I got black out drunk with him and brought him to Waffle House. We walked by the police officer at the door and got escorted to a table by some poor waitress at the end of her rope who looked like she was ready to dive head first into a deep fryer just to bring her miserable late night Waffle House shift to an end.

 

I was really hoping for this type of entertainment while I enjoyed my 

pancakes. That was 22 "DAAAMMNSS!" if you were trying to keep count. 

             Dan and myself ordered our food, and then it came time for our boss to order. He asked for an omelet and inquired about what vegetables he could get in it. The stressed out waitress looked at him with tired eyes and responded with a straight forward “onions, peppers, and tomatoes”. This is when I heard one of the most out of line statements ever spoken to a waitress. “Tomatoes are a fucking fruit not a vegetable you fucking moron!” he exclaimed with the utmost cockiness. 

My jaw hit the table in shock as I muffled over my words in an attempt to apologize for what she just heard. She left the table and we all agreed that there was no way our food wasn’t going to be fucked with. He tried to justify what he said by saying that a Waffle House waitress should know enough about the food she's serving to know that tomatoes are a fruit. We got our food and our boss fell asleep with his face in his omelet half way into his meal. Dan and I cleared our plates and I picked around my sleeping boss to get to his hash browns. I woke him up when it was time to leave and laughed as he picked up his face covered in egg, peppers, onions, and of course, those fruity tomatoes.

It was a strange bonding experience, but ever since then he was our best friend in Panama City Beach. He became a really fun guy to go out with and he had no problem playing favorites with us at work. It’s a shame that an innocent Waffle House waitress had to be treated like garbage to seal a friendship, but I guess you've got to crack a few eggs if you want to make an omelet.

  
“I destroy my enemies when I make them my friends.”
- Abraham Lincoln