Saturday, June 25, 2005


I don’t remember the exact path that first lead me to Waiter Rant. I do remember that it was totally random, one of those serendipitous arbitrary link clicks that lands you on a quality blog that soon becomes one of your daily reads.

Unfortunately, only a few days after I chanced upon it, Waiter Rant was identified as a Blogs of Note at Blogspot. Then it was profiled in a newspaper. Then another. The number of comments sprang from the single figures to the triple in a matter of weeks. In less than a month, the anonymous waiter seemed to go from being a virtual nobody to having traffic to rival Dooce or Wil Wheaton.

It’s a shame, because Waiter writes in way that works best as a small, personal pleasure. He has a wholly distinctive voice, with a tone that drifts between drollery and melancholy, the literary equivalent of dark, bitter chocolate. I was looking forward to being a member of a small but keen audience, until the floodgates opened and the hoi polloi rolled in.

Yes, I’m a snob. Yes, I’m jealous of the traffic. But more important than either of those, I’m very intolerant of gush. And judging by the comments attached to this post, poor old Waiter is now drowning in the stuff.

Frankly, he deserves better.

Read through the post, if you have a few minutes, and cast your eyes over the comments (the Haloscan ones). You’ll find that the adulation verges on creepy, and some of the reactions are, well, unhinged. If you don’t have the stomach to read it en masse, you can just read the highlights that I’ve cut and pasted (and snarked about) below.

Thank you. That was incredible.

Why do I have the uncomfortable mental image of Trey lying back and lighting a cigarette?

Wow, just wow. I'm all choked up but don't know what to say.

I find that a good slap upside the head usually loosens things up.

i'm in tears. beautifully written waiter.

i’m so distraught i can’t even find the shift key…

Death, the final frontier . . .

Alas, our poor loved ones are gone, but they have forever changed our worlds . . .

Let's inherit everything they did that made us want to make the world better, and forget the rest . . .


wow...being reading your posts for awhile and this is the first one that left me speechless

Er, do you usually chatter at the screen while reading blogs, Megan? You know, that might explain those hostile looks you’re getting from your co-workers.

You made me cry at work. Thank you. Work can be a cold and lonely place when you work for a large corporation. You feel insignificant. This made me feel a little better about my life and know that the small things don't matter. I, like quite a few others, check your site for a little laugh or chuckle. Today, I got an even better, warmer feeling that I miss every once in a while. It's nice to have someone take you there. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I'll be back for more.
John Bauhgman

Just as soon as I grow a spine.

You know, when you think of it, Maria was not alone nor unremembered. She touched a piece of you and you have carried it all these years. And now we know her, too.Her life was not wasted, in the end. Not if it helped you face the truth about yourself.

Beautiful post.

Karla, I’m sure that wherever Maria is now, she’s thinking, “I may have died a lonely, painful death after a short, drug-strewn life, but if I helped to turn one man away from a career of service to God, then my life and death were not in vain.”

I cried reading this post. In fact, I'm still crying. I feel a myriad of emotions now, and, in a small way, a bit of my faith back. Simply beautiful. Thank you for sharing this with us.

(I think you have your angle for your book.)

What is it with being named Megan and being a complete sap?

I will never forget Maria.

Yeah. Right. Fifty years from now, I can just see Joanna on her deathbed:

Joanna: Maria!

Family: Maria? Who’s Maria?

Joanna: She was… uhhhhhh…

Family: An illegitimate daughter? A secret lesbian lover? A sled?

Joanna: I read about her… in a blog… once… augghhhhhhh (dies)

Family: You have got to be kidding me.


there is no light, no life without this hunger
each restless heart
beats so imperfectly
but when You come
i am filled with wonder

sometimes i think
i glimpse eternity.


Glurge… my own personal kryptonite… my one weakness… must fight… urge to hurl…

And, in contrast, because there’s one in every fanbase;

People are really like sheep, you could really write about anything and they'd love it.

Less about an imaginary creator please.

Do you get the feeling that Brian is very upset that people worship God instead of him? Damn it, why are people not bowing down before his enlightened genius? What’s wrong with them?

Fifty bucks says Brian ends up as Waiter’s stalker.


Blogger Laziest Girl said...

Oh Blandy. Your cynicism intrigues. Your giant intellect baffles. I will take your post and email to all my friends with pictures of fluffy kittens, such is my regard for your words of wisdom.

6:35 AM  
Blogger phaedrus said...

Angels dancing on the head of a pin dissolve into nothingness at the bedside of a dying child.

I dunno, when you write stuff like that you kind of have it coming...

8:03 AM  
Blogger Blandwagon said...

The question is, Laziest Girl, did I make you cry?

I want tears, and plenty of 'em!

9:08 AM  

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