Sweet Tea, Sweet Memories

This week, I have felt overwhelmed, over-worked, and woefully under appreciated. I was dealing with this feeling by wallowing in my misery. I looked for an opening in my schedule so I could take a couple of hours to go to the spa, sit in the sun, sleep past 5am....anything that would give me some down time. My calendar provided no such openings. Driving down the Mass Pike, off to another person in need of kindness, grumbling to myself, grunting at jerky drivers, snorting with disgust every time my phone rang, I did something I rarely do....I pulled across 3 lanes of traffic and found myself in the McDonald's drive-thru. I felt a little guilty -I'm a Burger King girl- as I ordered my sweet tea. Only a dollar. What a score. I had actually caught my first break of the week. The guy even remembered to put a lemon in it. It was 3 pm on Friday but the week was finally improving.

As I took my first sip - a long, greedy gulp actually, I felt a smile creep over my face. This was the real deal - real Southern Sweet Tea. It immediately took me back to 2005 - Louisiana - Hurricane Katrina. I had been sent there by my employer to help with humanitarian aid. I was sent alone and scared but knew I was doing good work at a shelter. It was long days (I worked from 9 am until 11 pm every day) and there were few restaurants open, let alone restaurants open at the hours I was available to eat.

At the end of my first shift (11pm), I was driving back to my hotel, the Gentlemen's Quarters, when I saw the bright yellow Waffle House sign. I pulled in, saddled up to the counter, ordered a grilled cheese and a sweet tea. The women behind the counter (who had gold teeth, gang tattoos, the most unruly braids I had ever seen, and neon fake nails) stared at me like I was crazy but served me the most refreshing iced tea I had ever had. I watched as they took thick slices of bread, held them over a spinning wheel of melted butter, slapped it down on the griddle. Next, 2 thick slices of American cheese were placed directly on the hot griddle until they melted to a bubbly perfection. As one woman scooped the cheese onto the grilled bread, the other filled my glass with more fresh brewed sweet tea. Comfort food at its best. When the bill came, it was $8 - I left a $20 and went off to catch some sleep.

Morning came too soon. I headed to the check-in area which had advertised a "morning special" which I assumed was food. Wrong. It was sexual in nature. Oops.

So it was back to the Waffle House for me where the same 2 women were working, still looking at me like I was insane. I had an english muffin, hot coffee with real cream, and a grilled english muffin which enjoyed the same butter bath my grilled cheese had the night before. My bill came, $4 - I left a $10. That night, the routine began - at 11 pm, I pulled into the Waffle House and ordered the same meal. The next morning, my same breakfast. Always the same women there.

By the third day, I asked, "don't you two ever get to go home?". They retorted, "don't you know you're the only white person in here at all sorts of odd hours?". I explained I was an aid worker and we got to chatting. Over tall glasses of sweet tea, they would tell me how they were sisters, Nadine and Jadine, how they worked nights (10pm - 8 am) as their Mom watched their kids so that they could be home when their kids came home from school and keep an eye on them. It was important that they cooked dinner for their kids every night and had dinner around the table. They would tell me how they saw too many kids slip away because their Mamas didn't keep an eye on them. They wold joke that they would catch up on sleep when they were old and gray.

They had lost people to the Hurricane. I explained how I worked with kids in shelters, tried to help complete aid forms, that I missed my dog and my nieces.......a friendship was forged. After about a week, they told me I could stop tipping them insanely, they liked me and had "put the word out" not to mess with the white chick. I explained that I appreciated that but I wasn't tipping them out of fear, I was tipping them because no matter what I ordered, I was getting a flat rate for food so I would rather pass it on to them...I wasn't there to make money. Always, fresh, cool pitchers of sweet tea full of lemons sat amongst us as we talked the night away. They laughed as I begged for a real southern sweet tea recipe - I had tried to duplicate it and just came up with a cloudy mess of tea.

Then I received word that I was to fly home. On my last night, I told Nadine and Jadine I would be flying out the next day. They made me promise to come in the nex morning before I left so we could say "proper" good-byes. I showed up bright and early. We took pictures. Cried a little. Hugged. As I was waving my final good-bye, the ladies tucked a gift bag in my hand and wished me safe travels.

Once I was settled on the plane, reliving all my Katrina memories, I remembered the bag. I opened it and found a note that said, "You gave us so much and we had nothing of value to give so we put this together. Thanks for showing us that not all white ladies are bitches. We miss ya already." In the bag was a Waffle House mug for coffee, a tall Waffle House glass (perfect for sweet tea), a long handled spoon a box of tea bags (a brand I had never heard of before) and the recipe for real southern sweet tea. The secret is in the brand of tea bag (which they had enclosed) and a pinch of...something else I won't tell.

I started to tear up. Nadine and Jadine thought they had nothing of value to give but they gave me comfort, friendship, protection and a recipe I searched my whole life for. All things I value tremendously.

So back to current day, while I cruise down the Mass Pike, sipping my McDonalds sweet tea, I am reminded of that time of my life and can't help but put aside my grumpiness and just appreciate all my good fortunes.

Who knew sweet tea could be so important?