I knocked on another door and held up a hollow plastic jack-o'-lantern, manufactured with a machine-tooled grimace to scare suburbanites into filling it with my candies."Trick-or-treat," I squealed at the gentleman of the welcoming abode.
He produced a bowl of giveaway delights, teeming with miniature toy dinosaurs and snack packs of ramen noodles. "Pick one," he said.
"Uh," I adlibbed with a fresh air of uncertainty, "I can't eat dinosaurs past their shelf date, and I don't know what a ramen is, so I certainly won't suck its noodles. Do you have anything else, mister?"
"I have this," and with that phrase I heard a fife pipe and a wind chime tinkle. My exposed knees knocked, all goose pimply, in the late October breeze. The man held out a business-sized card and motioned for me to take it.
"Aw," I read from a prepared statement, then adlibbed, "did I win another beauty contest, get out of jail, or take a ride on the Reading?"
"No, sonny, you have been gifted a rare and glorious treasure, the otherwise elusive Free Waffle!"
It was true. A Free Waffle with my butter on it was waiting at one of the hundreds, if not thousands, of convenient Waffle House locations near me, sorta near me, or out there beyond me. Good Food Fast."Thank you, oh, thank you, kind sir. I shall cherish my Free Waffle until the day I squeeze it down the gullet and move on to Quiznos coupons. Consider this a treat. I won't h-h-harm you."
And I was off.
Several weeks went by, while I had visions of Free Waffle dancing in my head. I believe it was doing the Frug. Maple syrup flung everywhere. I'd heard of sweet dreams, but never sticky ones.
I wanted to revel in the anticipation, so I waited until the Free Waffle availability was about to expire. I made my move. I selected a lucky Waffle House, entered, and plopped myself down at the counter. I was among them, the society of waffles, free.
"What'll you have?" asked the waitress.
"I would like a Free Trick-or-Treat Waffle!" I smiled wide, showing off my incisors, the very teeth I would be crispy, indented lattice design, promotional item-gnashing shortly.
"My card, madam," I added, presenting madam my gratis battercake credential. "I understand the kitchen will prepare to order?"
"Sure. How would you like it?"
"Free Waffle."
She looked at me, put the pencil behind her ear, and barked my exacting instructions to the fry chef.
"Would you like anything else?"
"Yes, what kind of coffee, double cream and sugar, and hash browns smothered in onions go with Free Waffle? Oh, surprise me."
I hear you salivating, reader, and envying, so I'll cut to the chase. Free Waffle wins!
Dinner was served. I craved a keepsake of the festivities, so I snapped this photograph of my Free Waffle.
Beauty.
Mmmmm, delicious, gridlike goodness, too. I had learned a lesson well. Waffles taste better free and accompanied by hand modeling.
The hash browns, coffee, and sales tax set me back $3.42, plus a one-dollar tip -- a small price to pay for Free Waffle.
I slipped outside and kept moving. Those rubes forgot to charge me. Ha! Free Water!
