“I shouldn’t have to go into work and think I’m about to die,” one worker at a South Carolina location told Rolling Stone.
My first employer was Waffle House.
I was 16 on a dead afternoon shift after school one day when a couple came in and ordered some steak and eggs. I gave them their silverware plus some steak knives and wait for the food to cook. The only other people in the building are the meth-seasoned cook and this little old man and his little 6 year old daughter, so I’m back on my homework while I wait.
Another group comes in, three guys. I’m getting their menus ready so I can seat them and they were already gone. Whatever.
Five minutes later one of the guys comes back, walks swiftly and directly to the couple’s table, grabs a steak knife, and tries to STAB THE GUY because apparently the woman was his girlfriend and the guy was now persona non grata for Stabby Man.
Before I even process what’s going on, Little Old Man has teleported across the dining room and grappled this guy into a secure hold. Meanwhile he’s speaking to me in a sweet gentle grandfatherly voice, telling me to get the phone, call 911, etc.
Turns out the little old man was a retired Texas Ranger and if he wasn’t there that day, that probably would have been a really messy, traumatic day for everyone.
Again: this was a Wednesday afternoon in full daylight, not 4 am Waffle House Chaos Afterhours
It seems like every other day is news of some group organizing. I really love it.
The pandemic has done a lot to increase class consciousness and workers movements across the globe. It’s always encouraging to hear stories of workers taking their rights back, no matter how bleak things look most days
