Waiting for TheEggs

No that’s not a typo in the title, I was trying to come up with some kind of play on “Waiting for Godot” and that’s the best I could do by trying to be avant garde and match the syllable count. Because, like that play, this blog is about the absurdity, to me, of Waiting for Breakfast. (That just didn’t seem quite the absurdist tile.)


Let me first say I’m not a foodie. I don’t think I’d go out of my way to get something to eat someone said “was to die for.” Never experienced that phenomenon in my life except with a woman. Boom!

Also let me say that the restaurant pictured, The Omelette Inn*, in downtown Long Beach, is very good. I’ve eaten there a number of times.

Here’s my thing: maybe because I can cook, maybe because I’ve never tasted anything that was so outstanding or maybe because I’m just too hyper, I don’t get standing in line for breakfast. There is a place called Ann Sathers in Chicago that has really really delicious and one of a kind cinnamon rolls and the line around the block on Sundays. Here’s me: “I’ll come back another time.”

Because the act and the wait really end up diminishing the experience in my mind. For everyone involved. First there’s you and your party, because I assume that no one would ever wait alone. If they are waiting alone, they are saying “she’ll be right back” whenever someone catches their eye because it’s just so sad. I’d rather eat a bowl of dry shredded-something cereal on a small TV tray then go through that. No one ever prepares by having a piece of fruit before going to brunch and so they’re really hungry. So there’s you and your party and the fidgeting and the whiny stomach and the olfactory perception that is going to cause time to move very slowly. You’ll begin with idle chit-chat but there has never, in the history of dining, been a host or hostess that got the time right. Not her fault, she’s just trained to guess and the factors that affect the amount of wait time rival those that affect the weather forecast.

Next there’s the diners. Having people watch you eat is like having a dog watch you eat. You know you’re not supposed to give him “people food” but please for the love of God would you stop looking at me and waving your tail! I tend to get really uncomfortable, like we should all speed up because there are people waiting.

Lastly there’s the waitstaff. And they’ve got to have it the worst. Because the balancing act of trying to be friendly to the people you’re waiting on while mentally doing the math to determine the number of tables cleared divided by the number of people waiting divided by the number of stations has got to be staggering!

Of course, I’ve waited in line, and will again. But I don’t know, breakfast? Man it’s just some version of eggs and potatoes and toast.

*Omelette Inn has not paid any promotional consideration. And if I show them I put them in the blog they probably still won’t.