Smothered, Covered, and Teleported
Teleporting Trump Officials
Everyone by now has heard that Gregg Phillips, FEMA’s head of the Office of Response and Recovery, was teleported to a Waffle House in Rome, GA some fifty miles from where he was initially. According to The Guardian, Mr. Phillips said that “teleporting is no fun,” but also that “you just go with the ride. And wow, what an incredible adventure it all was.”
Gregg (with three Gs) seems conflicted by his experience. On the one hand, he was abducted and forcibly taken miles from his intended destination. On the other hand, he was taken to a Waffle House, baby, which suggests that the entity or force (The Teleporter) controlling Mr. Phillips is fundamentally benevolent—or at least well-meaning.
“No fun” but “an incredible adventure.” Such a perfect description.
An “incredible adventure” is a perfectly apt description of any dining experience at Waffle House.
And “no fun” is a perfectly apt description of life under Donald Trump.
What can we learn from this teleporting experience?
I’m not a leading teleportation expert, but what I find most intriguing about the whole episode is this: Rome, Georgia is my hometown, and Rome has three Waffle Houses, not one. Which Waffle House the teleporting force chose will surely help us suss out The Teleporter’s intentions.
Let’s first establish what is true of all Waffle Houses.
Universal to all Waffle Houses:
Quality of waffles: Sublime
Quality of customer service: Outstanding—or at least well-intended
Juke-box selection: World class, especially if one’s world is Southern rock
My wife’s hashbrowns: Smothered
Over-medium eggs: Over-easy
Threat level of trichinosis with bacon: Five minutes more to acceptable
Butter level of grits: Glistening to swimming
Tension between servers: Simmering/passive-aggressive
Anger between servers and grill operators: Open/aggressive-aggressive
Rage at Ruby for skipping her shift for the second time this week: Homicidal
Temperature in the second booth under the industrial-strength air-conditioning unit: Nearing Absolute Zero
These conditions you are entitled to as a Waffle House customer, no matter where you go. That said, there are subtle differences among individual locations, and Rome is no exception.
But first, full disclosure: I’ve been to the North Rome and West Rome Waffle Houses far more often than to the East Rome Waffle House.
And a confession: I’ve even been to the East Rome Huddle House (!) more often than to the East Rome Waffle House. Yes, I do feel shame about this moral atrocity, as Huddle House is the lowly Dan Quayle of 24/7 breakfast diners to Waffle House’s John F. Kennedy. It’s just that I’m too lazy to drive two additional miles.
Do you see what I mean now about The Teleporter being a good force? What wouldn’t I give to bypass a stupid ol’ Huddle House and be teleported directly to a Waffle House?
Here’s what I can share about the three Rome Waffle Houses:
North Rome Waffle House:
Caters to: College kids
Waitress’s term of endearment for me: Sugar
Most likely to see: Pre-med majors questioning their life choices at 3 a.m.
Overall irony vibes: High
Political ideology of customers: Unjaded optimism
West Rome Waffle House:
Caters to: Factory workers grabbing a bite after the second shift
Waitress’s term of endearment for me: Darlin’
Most likely to see: Kids’ birthday parties
Overall irony vibes: Nonexistent
Political ideology of customers: Don’t Tread on Me and Keep Your Hands Off My Medicare
East Rome:
Caters to: Biker gangs and the occasional hotel customer
Waitress’s term of endearment for me: Hon’
Most likely to see: A customer caressing a sleeping squirrel on his lap (not a euphemism)
Overall irony vibes: Low
Political ideology of customers: Burn It All Down
Here’s my belief. In short, I think we’ve discovered that The Teleporter took Mr. Phillips to the North Rome Waffle House, almost certainly with the intent of giving him a chance to reconsider his life choices.
Unlike the thrust of the Trump administration’s mission, government should not be about burning it all down. It’s about saving us from fires. And hurricanes. And other disasters where we need a helping hand. It’s about coming together as a community. It’s about promoting, not destroying, the public good.
It’s my longing that our benign Teleporter will be able to teleport all of Donald Trump’s officials to Rome’s North Waffle House to encourage them to reconsider their lives.
Reconsidering lives: one worker at a time, one waffle at a time.
Classic stuff.