Fork at the Waffle House

A couple of weeks ago, a story ran in our paper about two men who got into an argument at the Waffle House in Forsyth and one allegedly stabbed the other in the forehead with a fork.

My first reaction was: “Wow, that had to really hurt!” My second was that everybody probably has a “Waffle House” story to share and mine also happens to involve a fork.

My senior year in college, I ended up at the Waffle House with some friends at 2 a.m. on a Saturday morning. There were plenty of other places I can think of where I would rather be. We used to call it the “Awful House,’’ even though I’ve always considered the food to be pretty good.

Anyway, we were sitting in a booth talking and waiting for our food. There was a man at the counter who was sitting on one of the stools. I’m pretty sure he had been drinking. He obviously knew the waitress behind the counter.

It wasn’t long before they began exchanging words. Loud words. Angry words. Words not fit for Sunday School.

It was causing quite a scene in the restaurant. She yelled out him to get out. He didn’t budge for several minutes, then reluctantly got up and left.

When he reached the door, he turned around and fired a parting shot.

It was then she reached for the fork.

What concerned me most was that I was in the direct line of fire between the counter and the door. The waitress reached back like John Smoltz going into his windup and tossed the fork.

I may have embellished some of my college tales over the years, but this is not one of them. That fork was headed straight for my head. My life flashed before me. I envisioned bodily injury. At the very least, it was going to put my eye out.

Miraculously, the trajectory stayed high. I felt the blades of the fork as they whooshed right over the top of my head. I came inches from having a new part in my hair.

The fork hit the man at the door. He grumbled a few more words and left. The rest of us sat stunned.

And every time I have been in a Waffle House since that night I have told that story.