I know what the musical pick for my Waffle House trip would be: “Helter Skelter.” It’s just a given.

I went to my local Ho for a study brunch, note cards in hand. I did learn a lot about audit risk while I was there, but I also learned about the fascination that Charles Manson still holds over so many people. You see, I also brought along my current book, in case I should decide that I needed a break (I didn’t). And I got into two separate conversations about the book, one with the waitress, who wanted to know where I’d bought my copy because she lost hers and couldn’t find a new one here in town. I also had a ten minute chat with the guy sitting beside me (I always sit at the bar), who is 66 and lived in Oregon (=too close to LA) at the time of the Tate murders. I could have told you that Helter Skelter isn’t a book you can read lightly, but I didn’t realize that it was also a book you cannot bring into public unless you’re prepared for discussing it (I was).

And on a different note: when I was younger, I dreamed of owning a coffee shop (it’s their fault). You could say it was the only real career dream I’ve ever had, my current career being more along the lines of the chauffeur father in Sabrina who loved to be able to sit and read in the lull times at work (a tax accountant has lull times from mid April to mid January) – which isn’t to say I don’t enjoy my job. Anyway, coffee shops no longer hold the fascination they did for me when I was 20, but am totally in love with Waffle House. Nothing beats going to a WaHo all by yourself and sitting at the bar with a cup of coffee and some hash browns (covered and chunked) and a BEC. I could live there. And apparently I’d have lots to talk about.