[Kings Waffle] Chapter 12: Commonality
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Some quality folks to sip coffee with.
Pat
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| - July 14, 2014 |
When I first started going to Kings Waffle regularly, I’d usually get there well into the night. Guests departing the nearby amusement park would have already come through, as well as, the secondary rush of now off-duty park employees. While those tired folks closed out their days, I was still back at the park working as a manager in the Rides Department. I had to go look for lost guest items, respond to complaints, finish paperwork, and handle a multitude of other tasks along with my colleagues. If I wasn’t in the mood to head to the bar or home after all of that, Waffle was the best option and it quickly became my preferred option. One night, arriving late and still in my uniform of cheap khakis below a sweat stained button down, some of the other Waffle regulars invited me to go see a movie at the nearby theatre. Like the amusement park across the street, the theatre was also closed for the day, but we had a hook up in the form of Pat—another regular who also happened to be a theatre manager. That’s how I first met him: kind, polite, professional, and donning glasses—dressed up in a way moviegoing patrons would expect. He invited us in, started up the film, and our group of 24-hour diner regulars had our own private screening. I don’t remember what movie it was. I fell asleep quickly, still in that Kings Island uniform, but was still happy to head back to Waffle House for coffee and camaraderie once I woke up.
Over the years, I got to know Pat well. He loved his job managing a movie theatre and oversaw quite a few in the region. He’ll tell you how much he enjoyed splicing reels and working with physical prints, a skill he describes as “not really being relevant anymore.” Pat’s career took him in a different direction, though, and as was discussed in the previous chapter: he was one of those regulars who found himself on the Waffle payroll for a time. Originating at the place with friends from nearby Kings High School, Pat eventually took a job as a cook, a tertiary means of income to supplement his other two jobs that had him working 48 hours a week. “Hang out long enough, they’ll offer you a job,” he once told me. Although ambitious, Pat won’t sugarcoat his lack of affection for a Waffle House career. He cooked for about a year before just walking out one day. As I recall, he made the transition from employee back to regular pretty rapidly. One day he was making me food, the next he was back at the low counter out of uniform, talking and sipping coffee (black with a few ice cubes) alongside the rest of us.
What kept Pat coming back to the Waffle House for so long was the social aspect of the place. As he describes it, there was a time where you could go to Kings Waffle, “throw a rock, and hit five of your friends.” And he’s totally right. I got to know him best via this strategy. For a time on Sunday nights, whether I was working at the amusement park or not, I’d find myself hanging out at a nearby apartment with some amusement park coworkers who were also close friends. Whenever the evening wound down, I could never bring myself to drive back home, so I’d go to Waffle House and see who was around—regardless of any obligations or responsibilities slated for the next day. I always seemed to run into Pat on these nights. We’d smoke cigarettes and discuss anything under the sun, or in our case: anything under the yellow sign by which I’d eventually photograph him.
One time we got on a kick talking about the “McNugget Kids” (technically, the "McNugget Buddies")—these anthropomorphic and sentient chicken nugget mascots once given out in McDonalds happy meals. We developed a hand drawn investigation chart like we were detectives, theorizing how their disappearance from Ronald McDonald’s marketing was due to murders caused by the Hamburglar—a crime being overlooked by Officer Big Mac and the corrupt Mayor McCheese. It was a ridiculous plot that seemed silly then, but could probably work as a Netflix series today. The whole nonsensical conversation and parody of network crime shows combined with our fondness for fast food marketing had us laughing so hard that we worried if the two State Troopers dining nearby would think we were stoned. We weren’t, but if they knew of some of Pat’s stories, they might have given us a bit more scrutiny. I’ll save on sharing those tales, though, they’re Pat’s to tell and no matter how humble he may seem—he needs to write a book one day.
Pat is deeply intelligent, driven, creative, and empathetic. There’s many times I’ve been with him, both at Waffle and outside of it, where he’s looked out for me—made sure I was doing ok. As we sat one day outside of a closed Kings Waffle recently, both of us in lawn chairs near the uncut grass wondering if our place will ever reopen*, the first thing he said to me was: “how are you doing?” It’s that same generosity I experienced from a polite, glasses wearing movie theatre manager over a decade ago.
Phil O.
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| - July 2, 2014. |
Out of all the Waffle characters, perhaps no one is a better representation than Phil—always happy to see you and always saying hi even if he was usually quiet at first, taking things in when he’d first arrive. He’d talk politics, tell you about when he saw the Cincinnati Royals (formerly of the NBA) play at the Gardens, or fill you in on the latest gossip from the low counter. Phil had always been one of my favorite people to see, the sight of his truck in the parking lot or him waltzing up to the door putting a smile on one’s face. He never seemed to visit as long as some of the others, just a few cups of coffee and then he was off. When you needed to get away, to be distracted, to talk about something else, or just have some company—Phil was already there or pulling up right at those key moments. At one particularly strained crossroads in my life, I ventured to Kings Waffle just to hear some noise and get away from the quietness of my apartment. I walked in, sat at the counter, and replied to Phil’s “hey Ron.” He was reading the paper, a story about NASCAR. I hadn’t followed auto racing since I was 12, but was way more interested in talking about its current scoring format than talking about my own life or going through the thoughts in my head.
Phil explained the rules to me in between sips of his coffee before stating “well, I better be going.” It meant a lot, even if I still have no idea how the National Association for Stock Car Automobile Racing operates. He told me that he liked the people of Waffle, liked the atmosphere, and that sometimes it was the “only place to hang out”—a simple, honest way to describe the place. Phil was the kind of guy who knew when to stop in and just how long to stay, never loitering forever like some of the rest of us. Even if he didn’t realize it or intend for it: he was one of the best presences at the counter.
Sadly, in the years since this photograph was made, Phil passed away.
Eric
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| - July 1, 2014. |
One time, in my early days of hanging out at Waffle House, “The Mayor” had to leave and run an errand. I stayed back at Waffle chatting with Eric while we waited for Mayor Matt’s return. The next time we heard from him, Matt had been in a car accident. We hopped in Eric’s vehicle and raced to our friend’s aid (as if there was anything we could do besides give him a ride). On the way over, it was one of my first times really talking with Eric. He was one of the first people I met through Waffle House, but before this incident it had just been casual conversation. Now we were flying down the interstate, talking about our respective lives and wondering if our friend was alright. I hadn’t seen Eric much in the later years of hanging out at Waffle and this photograph may have been the last time we crossed paths.
As it turns out, Matt got hit and spun into a ditch. We met up with him at a gas station as his radiator was overheating. Eric and I provided moral support.
The duo of Eric and Matt once had an interesting interaction with another regular...
Chris
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| - July 1, 2014. |
Chris had telephoned some of the regulars/friends and according to Matt, the phone call went something like this...
Chris: “Hey man, you working today?”
Matt: “No man, I’m off.”
Chris: “Alright, well you wanna help me move a gun safe for this old guy who can’t move it himself? You’ll definitely get paid.”
Matt: “What do you think? 20, 30, maybe 40 bucks?”
Chris: “Probably $30.”
Matt: “Let me think on it.”
Chris: “Well Eric’s in.”
Matt: “Alright, I’m in.”
Matt went over to Kings Waffle and found Eric and Chris, completing the gun-safe hauling trio. Nick, a.k.a. “The Supreme Chancellor,” was already there and had the foresight to decline Chris’ offer of making a quick buck, waving goodbye as Eric and Matt jumped in a car and followed Chris to nearby Lebanon. They arrived at a man’s house to find a “very, very, very large gun safe (this story warrants three “very’s” according to Matt).” They used a dolly to roll the safe down a U-Haul ramp and into a house. Their job wasn’t done, though. In the house, they found that they now apparently needed to relocate the old safe to another person’s house. They then unloaded their second gun safe of the day and were told to reconvene at Waffle House. Matt and Eric spent the drive back, following Chris, conversing about whether or not they would actually get paid. The man who had required the transportation of the gun safes informed them all upon arrival: “Boys, lunch is on me today. You can get whatever you want off the menu, including the steak!”
It should be noted that yes, Waffle House does serve two varieties of steak (sirloin and T-bone). The most expensive steak, however, sells for something like $11.95, not “20, 30, or maybe 40 bucks.”
After their compensation meals were finished, Eric and Matt inquired with Chris as to whether or not there would be any further recompense for their time, maybe of the monetary variety. There wouldn’t be. Chris got a new mirror for his truck out of the deal, though.
Chris was also once practicing driving a semi-truck with another regular, while on the quest to get his commercial drivers license. He hopped the curb out front, destroying the bush that we had affectionately named “George W.” Like Washington’s cherry tree, the iconic shrub that once graced the Waffle entrance was cut down. Never to return.
All that being said, Chris has a good heart and a mind filled with good deals for you. The last time I saw him, he was trying to sell me a Ford Escape that didn’t have any headrests. He’s featured in the above photograph displaying a tattoo of a wren, a piece of art placed upon his skin in honor of his daughter. I haven’t seen Chris in awhile. Recently, there was a debate raging as to whether or not he now drove trucks for Coca-Cola or Pepsi (and which one was a better drink). Wherever he is and no matter what soda company he’s loyal to in these ever divisive cola wars, at least we know two people are storing their guns safely.
Tookie
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| - July 1, 2014. |
I don’t quite understand the history of the “Big Boy” restaurant franchise. In other states I’ve visited, they seem to be more like traditional diners—coffee counters, late hours, greasy food. In Ohio, they seem to be a “step up” from that perception—regular hours, family friendly, and the greater-Cincinnati franchises are deeply engrained in local affection with most Queen City folk referring to the restaurants as simply “Frisch’s” instead of “Big Boy” or “Frisch’s Big Boy.” I, for what it’s worth, never cared for Frisch’s. Too little food for the price, food that’s not really great anyways. When the Queen City and its suburban outcroppings seemed on the verge of revolt after the local Big Boy stores switched from Pepsi to Coke, I could only shrug. Tookie, though, was on the front lines of that culture conflict (while we all debated whose side Chris was on). We’d often talk, after he got off work from a nearby Frisch’s, about how customers could be so passionate about which soft drink provider the brand partnered with (and don’t even get them started on the crushed ice). These were good conversations, indicative of Tookie’s demeanor and disposition no matter the subject at hand. One thing I noticed about him was that he’d never just talk about himself or his own experiences, he always liked to ask people questions and would always listen to you—no matter how tired he was after a shift of slinging Big Boy burgers during the height of soda sadness.
Frisch’s eventually switched back from Coke and the local populace went back to worrying about other pressing issues that no one outside of the '275 loop' cares about (by the way, Pete Rose isn’t getting into (and doesn’t deserve to be) in the Hall of Fame). I don’t know if Tookie ever had a preference between Coke or Pepsi, though Waffle serves Coke. Truth be told, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him—our last meeting resulting in him him introducing me to his newborn daughter with a huge smile on his face.
Phil M.
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| - June 24, 2014. |
At any Waffle House counter, you’ll no doubt come across a handful of arm-chair philosophers and intellectuals who have solved the world’s problems. Few, though, truly have the answers. Phil, on the other hand, was very much grounded in logic and education. He could speak with authority on any number of subjects ranging from physics to music. While certainly not opposed to the often juvenile (yet wonderful) conversations taking place in the glow of the parking lot lights, Phil was always down for a deeper conversation, often rubbing his chin in the trademark way seen in the above photograph. I always enjoyed his takes on politics and given that this photograph was made in 2014, I can’t imagine what he’d have to say about how things have changed in the years since. While covering the recent protests in the wake of the killing of George Floyd, I ran into Phil who was marching with a group of demonstrators in Northern Kentucky.
Dugan
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| - June 10, 2014. |
I once got into a conversation with Dugan about Game of Thrones. Specifically, the differences between the television show and the books on which it was based on. While I appreciated his status as a passionate reader and his loyal conviction to the source material—the show was enough confusion, detail, and disappointment for me. I always liked talking to Dugan and I hope wherever he is now that he’s received some vindication and satisfaction from the books he loved, because in the years since we made this photograph—the HBO show took infamous turns into absurdity and ultimately an unfulfilling plot.
Dugan, you’re the true "king in the north," even if our north is just a Waffle House off exit 25.
Hunter
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| - June 16, 2014. |
I sent Hunter a text out of the blue a few years ago, when I was once again trying to get back into this Waffle project and wanted to see if I could ask him a couple of questions. Since making the above photograph of him in 2014, I hadn’t seen him much and I couldn’t remember when or how we first met. That’s not to say Hunter’s forgettable, I have plenty of good stories about hanging out with him, but I just couldn’t remember where those started and where those ended.
Hunter’s the kind of guy who you could share a serious and detailed conversation with over science or current events. At the same time, when you get him on a roll about something less serious, he’d be laughing non stop. It was always a good time to run into this man who I don’t think I’ve ever seen in the daytime hours. One time, the poor guy got hit square in the face with a frisbee while being distracted by “The Mayor.” He wasn’t even mad about it.
The world needs more Hunters.
Gabriel
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| - January 14, 2015. |
Gabriel wasn’t a regular at Kings Waffle in the same vein as many others seen here, but he’d been there many times before. Like so many who stopped by, he was a Kings Island refugee—another former employee who’s done their fair share of time in a booth waiting for a warm meal or sharing coffee with friends after a long day “checking bars” in the nearby amusement park. Gabriel and I met through the internet as two roller coaster aficionados who eventually were introduced in person as coworkers. We ended up working together for years. From his high school graduation party to the last day he worked at the park, Gabe had this iconic smile. Although not showing it in this particular photograph, he’d see you coming from a mile away and perk up with his signature grin, head nod, and point of his finger—always down to share a good inside joke while taking his job seriously. During the majority of his time in service to corporate overlords that pay youth just above minimum wage to operate heavy amusement machinery, Gabriel was a fixture at “Tomb Raider: The Ride.” TR:TR had been credited by officials as a “heavily themed, totally immersive, dark ride adventure.” It truly was that for about a year before the special effects started to fade. Nevertheless, the ride was one of Gabriel’s favorites both as a guest and as an employee. He loved it so much that he had aspects of the ride’s decorative theming tattooed on his upper arm.
In later years, Kings Island’s movie studio owners sold the park and their “Disney on a budget” attractions to new owners. The Tomb Raider theme was gone and a generic name that didn’t require paying licensing fees was put in its place. Gabe and I both found ourselves working on what came to be known as “The Crypt”—often standing in front of the line to repeat: “we’re sorry, this ride is currently closed, please check back later (but don’t really, cause this ride sucks and you’re not missing anything).” Not a marketable aspect, one of the ride’s features was frequent downtime.
When working in the fall one night, the ride let out a loud screech, shook the entire building, and acted as if it was going to rip itself apart. I ceded to Gabriel’s vastly superior knowledge of the attraction when I picked up a radio with my shaking hand and called to him in the control booth: “Uh, have you ever seen it do that before?”
“Wow! Nope, this is a first for me!,” he replied.
Ultimately, after a maintenance check, everything was fine, but the ride only lasted another year before meeting the scrap heap. Nevertheless, while I always hated working at “disappointment: the ride,” Gabriel saw the good in it. The same way he does in people.
When I made this photograph, he was home for a break from traveling the world helping to produce entertainment in the cruise line industry. These days, he’s a bit far from Kings Waffle, on the other side of the country and working with one of the nation’s premiere entertainment franchises. Gabriel is a helluva guy and I’ll always be grateful for those hours spent with him in the bowels of “The Crypt.”
Even if I truly, truly hated that damn ride.
Squirrel
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| - May 1, 2015. |
Squirrel has a real name. I know it, but there’s no point in using it. She’s just Squirrel. I don’t even remember the first time I met her, except that at one point—we eventually became coworkers. She was working at Kings Island for a season alongside two other jobs (one of which was her continued service under the employment of Waffle House). She combined the talents of both professions in an off the books, underground, KI employee event known as “Christmas in July” where she made waffles for anyone who needed a morale boost midway through the summer before their shift. If she needed a boost herself that day (or any day), you couldn’t tell. Squirrel is tough and more than happy to lay out her thoughts without reservation. She’s not a person I’d piss off. As to how she got the nickname, frankly, I have no idea. I never thought to ask. She’s a Waffle House legend who can call an order over even the loudest and most crowded dining room. She’s moved on to greener pastures and better opportunities these days, but lives on in the lore of Kings Waffle and the occasional text message. When she was still there, though, you always knew from a distance—spotting her iconic vehicle in the parking lot. Good for just getting around, taking a road trip, or providing shelter if the store’s awning couldn’t keep the rain away from your smokes: “Squirrel Manor” was a large GMC conversion van. It dwarfed squirrel in physical size, but never in personality.
All Them Witches
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| - September 3, 2014. |
While the “regulars” of Kings Waffle (appearing in many generations over the years, at the time I was there, and I’m sure now in the days when my friends and I are not there) are an interesting cast of characters that represent so many things to me, the place is also one of transience. It’s a spot where truckers can sleep in their cabs after a meal, where people stop by on their way to and from work, and a diner where those deprived of energy via employment, stress, or other substances can recover. I’ve had many conversations with faces I’ve forgotten and names I’d never remember anyways. Being adjacent to a major tourist attraction and along an interstate, Kings Waffle beckons in many from various walks of life. One night, we found ourselves talking to a band that was rolling through in a van: “All Them Witches.” These Nashville based guys were cool enough to pose for a photograph, to talk about what I was doing, why we were all there, and to share a bit about their time on the road. They’re still out there today.
Joe
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| - March 6, 2015. |
Joe drove a tow truck. Except for that one time he didn't—showing up during a snowstorm on an ATV.
Matt a.k.a. "The Mayor"
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| - 2014 and May 31, 2020. |
Matt was featured back in Chapter 5, but I wanted to add an updated photograph for him. He’s still “The Mayor” and still a great friend, but he’s also 170 pounds lighter now. His personality, though, has never changed. And for that, I’m grateful. One of the nicest people you’ll ever meet.
*At the time I wrote this chapter, the restaurant had been closed since mid-March due to the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic. It's my understanding that as of this publishing—the place has reopened.