Denny’s is arguably the least cool restaurant in existence. As a truly devoted customer, I can say this without reservation. Denny’s, though dear to my heart, is an awful, awful restaurant. While studying two nights ago, the ceiling dripped on me.
My fellow Denny's regular noticed first. “Uhh, scoot to your left.”
“What? Why do—SICK! What is that? Is it on me?!” I frantically bounced around in the booth. “Why do we come here again?”
“For the great service.” New Guy, who we’re still working on training, likes to look at our empty glasses and pushed-aside plates, ask if we need anything, and walk away empty-handed. We miss our old waiter, “SayWhat” (yes, his nametag really says that). He was equally oblivious to our clean-table needs, but he was a real ham. And, he knew our names. And our table.
“For the hip tunes, which are never distracting.” Kelly. MJ. Backstreet. Petty. Kanye. J-Timberlake. Frequent roller-rink throwbacks. Techo remixes. Even real talent, like Hannah Montana.
“For the health food.” An acquired taste. I’d recommend the Plain White Shake (cheesecake mashed into vanilla deliciousness), or Strips ‘n’ Sticks (greasifried chicken and mozzarella). When camping out at Denny's for our typical 3-5 hour sessions, everything tends to taste oh-so much better.
"For the popularity—this place is hoppin'." We're often the only people not paid to be there.
...Well, Denny’s, see you again tonight! Kindly lend me your fluorescent ambiance. Big test tomorrow. And 3 papers (or is it 4?). If I may, for my grand entrance, I’d like to request Britney’s “Womanizer.” You say I’m crazy. I got yo’ crazy. I’m confident that this will happen—both the song and, by the end of the night/morning, the sentiment.
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I will have to make my argument for Waffle House being the squarest place to eat terrible breakfast foods. Pun completely intended.
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