Let's Not Meet Again

Waffle House Weirdos

To preface, I was about 25 years old when this occurred. My boyfriend and I had been out visiting with friends, and we left their house late (around 2 a.m.).

Now, I've never been much of a drinker (I was addicted to opiates at the time, but that's neither here nor there), so I did the driving. On our way back, we decided to call in some omelettes from The Waffle House, which is the only place where one can get takeout in the super-early morning.

So, we arrived at the Waffle House, and I went inside to pick up our orders. As I was paying for the order, a young man to my left began pacing and mumbling angrily, muttering something I couldn't understand. I didn't think much of it, since most diner patrons are either drunk or truck drivers at that time of day.

When I collected the food and turned to leave, I noticed a young woman outside of the diner. She, too, was angrily pacing back and forth, grimacing and cursing. The young man followed me out into the parking lot. I sidestepped the woman to get in my car. The young man had gotten into another car, and the young woman sat in the passenger's seat. Whatever, I thought, tweakers.

As I put my car into reverse, the car with the two tweakers screeched to a halt behind my car, pinning us in the parking spot. Within seconds, the man was knocking ferociously on my driver's side window and yelling at me. My boyfriend and I exchanged What the fuck? glances, and I unrolled the car window about an inch. The conversation went something like this:

Man: You stole my girlfriend's wallet and you'd better give it fucking back right the fuck now.

Me: I have no idea what you're talking about. I have my own wallet, and that's it.

Man: YOU FUCKING STOLE IT FROM THE COUNTER AND WE'RE GETTING IT BACK ONE FUCKING WAY OR ANOTHER.

Me: Dude, I didn't steal shit. Move your car or I'm going to back into it.

Man: YOU GIVE IT TO ME RIGHT NOW OR GIVE ME YOURS OR YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD.

I rolled up the window and backed my car up a few inches. He continued to scream at me through the window, then leapt back into his car with his girlfriend. They peeled backwards, and I exited the parking lot. At that point, my boyfriend and I were amused more than anything else, and we reentered the highway.

Just then, we heard the same car roar up behind us. The man was driving like an absolute maniac to dodge other cars, traffic lights, and stop signs, until he got so close to us that their car nearly rammed our back bumper. I weaved in and out of the sparse traffic as safely as I could in an attempt to throw them off of our route. Each time, he'd manage to pull behind us again.

He clicked his headlights on and off the bright setting. He leaned on the horn. Inside our car, it was blinding and deafening. I sure as hell wasn't going home so that this tweaked, unhinged couple would know where we lived. I swear it was almost like I could hear him still screaming, even over the blaring car horn.

My boyfriend and I didn't do much talking, as I suppose we were both shocked and trying to figure out what to do.

"Fuck this," I told him. "We're going to the police station."

I doubled back, the car still bearing down on us. When I pulled into the police station, they followed. I locked my car doors, picked up my cell, and began to ring the station, because I sure as shit wasn't going to get out of my car.

The man practically ran out of his car and up to my window, again banging and yelling. I'd gone way beyond concerned and scared to absolutely pissed.

Man: WE WANT OUR GODDAMN MONEY!

Me: LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE! I'LL LET THE FUCKING COPS SEARCH ME FOR YOUR GIRLFRIEND'S FUCKING WALLET!

Man: (Silence)

Me: I'm on the phone with the cops right now.

Man: Uh... if you don't have it, I guess you don't have it.

He then sprinted back to his car with his sour-faced girlfriend and burned rubber out of there. I stayed in the police station's parking lot for a while, talking to the cops on duty.

When we finally left at about 3:30 a.m., I still made several loops through town before eventually heading home, arriving after 4 a.m.

Legally, nothing came of the incident. I had no idea what the couple's names were, nor did I get a license plate number. We gave the cops descriptions of their physical appearances and vehicle, but they seemed far more interested in making sure I wasn't drunk. (Thanks, fellas.)

I'm fairly certain that the maniac couple was pulling a strong-arm con job, or else they were genuinely convinced that I'd mysteriously and magically stolen the girl's wallet (even though they were pacing and muttering as soon as I'd entered the diner, before I'd paid for the takeout), and that methamphetamine psychosis was responsible for the bizarre severity of their behavior.

Anyway, fuck those assholes. My omelettes were cold and rubbery by the time I got home.