Tiger Does Hooters

So in the midst of personal statements and studying and LSATs and letters of recommendation and pulling my hair out, I figured I'd give you a little post to tide you over.  If you don't hear from me soon after February 8th you can assume I am dead.

Anyway, so I have thus far avoided this topic mostly because I'm not one for being a celebrity gossip whore.  However, after seeing about a gillion people laugh at this photo I had to include it in my blog and jump on the "Tiger is a sex-crazed, man-whore" bandwagon.

Yes, this is the infamous Tiger Woods.  At Hooters.  With blonde chicks.  Please feel free to comment on these things as well as his affinity for white women, his goofy ass smile of sex addicted elation, the provocative lean of the girl in the middle and the annoying glare (sorry).  Also feel free to make any number of tired, played out Tiger jokes.  I won't regale you with all the stupid ones I've heard.

Yes, the picture is funny.  Yet the placement of the picture within Hooters is even better.  You see this picture is right next to the bathrooms.  Shitty for you, Tiger.  Now, every person needing to relieve themselves sees this picture.  They all laugh or shake their heads or comment.  They all see Tiger right there in the shitter.  I love irony.

Oh and no, the creepy girl in the reflection isn't me.  She does lend a certain something to the picture however.  Thanks creepy reflection!

Study, Study, Study

I figure that I owe you all an apology.  I said I would be better at posting.  For awhile I actually was better at posting even.  Then suddenly I wasn't so good on posting.  Shame, shame on me.  But back it up.  This time I have the most legit of legitimate reasons.  You see I am scheduled to endure man hours of torture on February 6, 2010.  I have officially signed up for the LSAT.

So basically I have been studying my ass off.  When I am not studying my ass off I am working my ass off.  When I am doing neither of those things I am skiing my ass off in a - so far - painful attempt to break in my sick new boots.  Obviously, with the loss of my ass times three, I am left with little time and ass for bloggage.  Don't worry though, on February 8, 2010 (duh February 7, 2010 is reserved for football, unless the Cowboys make the Superbowl...in that case they can suck it) I'll replace all that study time with blog time.  This means a lot of potential blogging.  Lucky us!

In the meantime, tide yourself over with photo of my awesomeness.

That's right, some of the best service they ever had.  And that was from a woman my friends.  A woman is about a gillion times harder to please at Hooters than a man - this is a fact of life.

The New Girls

After nearly a year and half of being open we have finally gained the one thing that is generally synonymous with Hooters.  It's official, my Hooters has its very first set of fake boobs.  One of our "less endowed" girls has official become the most endowed.  And of course they look great even if they still need to fall and she can't sling in a ticket.  And of course her tips have gone up. She's cute and sweet and making sick money and awesome and has amazing effing tits.  Lucky her.

I could now go into a tirade on fake breasts and be all sorts of sarcastic, but I won't.  You see the thing is I would love fake boobs one day.  I mean I have 34C breasts (the same as my coworker's newest additions), but I have natural 34C breasts.  Trust me, there is a very definite difference.  One day, I would like to personally explore that difference if you know what I mean.  Here's the thing though, I don't want new boobs today or tomorrow or even next year.  I want an augmentation when I'm say, forty.  You know when things are no longer where they should be and (potential) children have changed things irreversibly.  I guess I see nothing wrong with putting things back where nature intended.  Well, where nature originally intended.

And for the record she will be the first to say that is disgusted by the notable increase in her tips.  She's the sort of girl - much like me - who believes that tips should be based on personality and service rather than the fullness of one's chest.  I love her for it.

A Year in the Life

A year in the life of Sauce through random pictures.

There was skiing, down large and picturesque mountains.  Yes, I said skiing.  I tried snowboarding once.  I sucked and switched back to my skis halfway down the run.  Seriously.

In the summer I spent some time on lakes, which of course was gorgeous.  And lazy.  And awesome

There was also some diving.  For the first time ever.  Yes, I am 24 and just learned how to dive.  Probably my greatest accomplishment of the year.  That and making out with boys.

Along the way I touched Rodney Atkins.  David Cook was in there too, but that turned into one big blogging mess.  Thanks a lot, David.

I decided to spend a little more time on yet another lake.  Apparently I am addicted to water.  I feel pretty good about it though because I could be addicted to something serious like Facebook...or Meth.

We went downtown - a lot.  But one time there was a horse named Hangover IN THE BAR.  Seriously.  So naturally we rode him to the next bar.  He was an excellent DD.

Once I drove through a snow storm.  It was emergency travel only.  It was worth it though...

...Because I ended up in effing VEGAS for 23 hours.

And of course I watched football because I'm an American.  That's what Americans do.  Well that and get drunk.

Oh and there was Amsterdam...Montana.  The real Amsterdam was last year.  Damn

The Million Dollar Question

So a lot of people search the following question in some form or another; do Hooters Girls wear underwear with their uniforms?  First off, that is so fucking creepy.  The fact that you think about this shit is quite frankly disgusting, disturbing and so wrong.  I really don't want to think about some perv imagining my state of undress beneath my nylons.  I'm already scantily clad, is it really necessary for you to go beyond that?  Is it really necessary for you to imagine my vagina against my nylons while I serve you hot wings?  No, I don't think that is necessary.  In fact, the very idea that you think about vaginas and food at the same time is bit off putting.  Yes, I realize you're a guy, but most men still have standards.  Standards that include not obsessing over the girly parts (below the belt at least) of Hooters Girls while you're eating.  Yes, I realize this is Hooters, but it's not a damn strip club and my vag is covered up.  Stop effing imagining it.  So allow me reiterate once again that I find you disgusting - just incase you couldn't deduce that on your own.

Unfortunately, my rant has now left most of you probably wondering about the underwear situation.  Fine, some Hooters Girls wear underwear and some don't.  It's a personal preference.  We do what we want in regards to our private areas.  I won't tell you what I do, because frankly the material surrounding my intimate areas is for my eyes only, and of course my boyfriend if he existed.  So stop thinking about what's under the uniform.  Case closed.  If you like vag that much go to a titty bar or find a prostitute - either way.

The Cutting of Hours

January is notoriously slow in the restaurant business.  The holidays have come and gone and with them a lot of that discretionary income families would choose to spend eating out.  With a decrease in customers comes a most dreaded decrease in hours.  The six days a week I generally work have dwindled to a dismal four days a week that aren't even guaranteed.  With girls being called off shift or sent home early when the restaurant is slow, those four days can easily become two.  And it is really hard for a girl to pay her bills on two to four shifts a week.

Now, I find myself in that dreaded position of contemplating finding a second job to supplement my dwindling income.  This is immensely stressful to me.  It's not that having two jobs isn't a doable situation. It's the process of finding another job and interviewing.  It's the scheduling of two jobs around each other.  It's all those little everyday issues that will be a huge pain in my ass.  Basically, I'm stressed about the whole process of not only finding a compatible job, but also scheduling them so I give them both the attention they deserve.  Oh and I'm finishing my law school applications.  Kill me now.

Yeah, yeah, I could just quit my job and find something that has more hours, but I really love working at Hooters.  I mean genuinely LOVE it.  I like looking cute and being silly and as funny as it sounds I like being a waitress.   Yes, I get annoyed with people and hate being treated like an idiot, but overall I love being a server.  This is something I never thought I'd enjoy, yet here I am a year and half later still excited to go to work.  I never dread a shift.  I've never once been late.  I appreciate my job.  If I could work seven days a week at Hooters I would.  I'd love every minute.

Unfortunately the world is not perfect and I can't be a Hooters Girl 24/7.  So I'll start looking for that second job.  Maybe I'll be a server.  Maybe I'll be a casino attendant.  Maybe I'll be a Barnes and Noble nerd.  All I know is I will NOT work at clothing store.  I did my time at Old Navy.  That sentence is thankfully over and I will not be a repeat offender.

So what does this mean for you?  Less Hooters stories?  Hell no!  It means Hooters, plus a little extra.  It means another view into my entirely legitimate life.  It means more Sauce and everyone knows that a little extra Sauce is never a bad thing.

Introducing Hans

Today I introduce you to Hans.  Hans is yet another Hooters regular.  Correction, Hans is MY Hooters Regular.  You see Hans is picky.  Hans likes consistency.  He is even picky about his consistency.  Sixty-three years old, Hans hails from Germany.  He still exhibits a strong German accent and the deliberate way of speaking that suggests he's searching for words.  He's not a citizen; he's a resident by marriage.  He's also an ex-NHL player (hence the name Hans taken from the sweet skate shop guy from "Might Ducks" who is pictured to the right).  He has money and three houses and is unashamed to flaunt either.  And Hans loves me.

Hans doesn't like blondes.  The first time he came in our blonde bartender rolled her eyes before giving me that "you HAVE to take him look."  So I took the table.  Hans looked at me expectantly and very politely ordered a Miller Lite bottle.  He drank the bottle slowly, smiling as I spoke to him.  He listened as if he was genuinely interested in my life.  He didn't want to talk about him.  He drank one bottle, then two, then got up to leave.  As he made his way to the door he gently brushed my arm.

"You have the best butt of all Hooter Girls.  You must have a sugar daddy," he nodded.

I grinned and laughed it off gently as I said goodbye, flattered and shocked simultaneously.  Hans left my mind soon after, but a week later he returned.  This time he told me quite bluntly about hi dislike for blondes and his affinity for dark eyed women.  He told me about his life.  He told me once again that I must have a sugar daddy.  I noted that he left me a hundred dollar tip.

Now Hans comes every week or two.  If I am not in the restaurant he asks were I am.  Apparently he is also rude.  It seems that Hans literally only has eyes for me.  And he's not afraid to admit it.  So it seems that I have my first ever sugar daddy candidate.  A 63-year-old, German, hockey playing sugar daddy.  Don't worry; I am not one to take advantage of a senior citizen.  Unless of course you count putting this story on the Internet, then I'm guilty as charged.

Hooters Kiss AKA I'm a Huge Douchebag

While I find it mildly impressive that you can drink a beer that quickly, I still think you're a super douche.  Obviously, college taught you two things: how to chug and how to be an asshole.  You must have been in a frat.  So continue your douchery and stealing kisses from poor Hooters Girls.  You get extra fucktard points for posting them on Youtube.  Oh, and I dare you to come to my Hooters.  I effing dare you.

That being said, the first part of video actually made laugh (though under my breath and most ashamedly).  The rest of course made me feel sorry for you...and your poor mother.

The Wall of Shame

This is Hooters.  Hooters is full of pretty girls.  Pretty girls get numbers.  So naturally Hooters Girls get numbers.  We generally ignore them.  Usually, a phone number is left on a napkin from some guy that mistakes your hooteriffic attitude and winning smile for real live flirting.  Sorry, usually we are not flirting; we are doing our job.  Of course most number-leaving guys are generally too drunk or too starry eyed to take notice.  So there the number is when you bus the table on a napkin or card or left in a mess of ketchup on a plate (yes I've really seen this happen).

Recently, I decided we should keep the numbers left and begin a wall of shame.  There in our changing room we have created a wall of shame filled with the evidence of semi-confident men.  I say semi-confident because leaving a number with no indication of having done so is really rather passive aggressive.  I mean can't you man up and say something if you're going to go that far?  But I digress.  The number wall has continued to grow past the photo presented below and will continue to multiply.  We're waiting for the day a number turns up twice.  That would be embarrassing for Joe or Bob or Douchebag!

Note that I have disguised numbers and names of Hooters Girls.  Note that I have not disguised names (first names at least) of those guilty gentlemen.  Sorry guys, you left the numbers after all!  And finally, notice the two numbers left on Hooters paper.  These were left on an order pad implying a Hooters Girl provided the paper.  Naughty girls!  Isn't that cheating?  Oh and finally, finally notice the nylon vending machine in the mirror reflection.  Yup, that exists too.

The Holiday Spirit

As the holiday season has come to a close, I find myself reflecting on what it has meant to me as a server.  To most, the holidays mean presents and family and all sorts of yummy, delicious food.  To me, and many of my fellow Hooters Girls it seems, the holidays mean walkouts and grumpy assholes and shitty tips.  It seems that while people are spreading all that holiday cheer they conveniently forget to extend any pleasantries to their server.

Everyone knows that people worry about money during the holidays.  Hell I worry about money too.  There are gifts to buy, parties to attend, friends to entertain and a million other little things that invariably cost money.  So you save money where you can so you can spend it on those holiday "necessities."  Unfortunately for me, one of the places you decide to save money is in your tip to your poor waitress.  Johnny NEEDS an Xbox 360; I get a shitty seven percent tip - if I'm a lucky of course.  Often, after you regale me with tales of your most epic shopping day, I find that there is nothing left for me on the table.  I can sit there and calculate the hundreds of dollars you spent as you tell me about the crowds at Best Buy and Target and the Mall.  Oh and here's you tip.  Wait, I spent that at Bath and Bodyworks.  Merry effing Christmas.

Of course, I'd rather have you leave a shitty tip than walkout on me.   If you tip me little to nothing I just make less money, but if you walkout on your tab I'll usually have to pay for it.  That's right, I get to pay my employer for the pleasure of serving your cheap ass.  So while you saved that $33.45 to spend on Grandma Sue, I paid that money for you.  I guess my grandma is not as important as your dear Grandma Sue.  How the hell did I miss that memo?  Oh and did I mention that my grandma survived the World War II eating tulip bulbs - literally.  Please feel free to feel like the jack-off you are.

What it all comes down to is that people are cheap during the holidays.  Trust me, I understand the desire to save money where you can.  However you being cheap means I don't get to enjoy my Christmas as much.  I'm not saying you should be overly generous, but a less than ten percent tip is quite frankly ridiculous.  It is especially ridiculous when I know I went above and beyond to provide you with exceptional service.  So while you save your money and have a fabulous Hooters experience, I figure out how I'm going to make enough money to see my family let alone give them gifts.

Really though, the question is if you can't afford to tip, or especially if you can't afford to pay you bill, then why are you eating out in the first place?  Oh, that's right you have to buy your children some opulent gift they'll probably forget about in the next month, but not at the cost of neglecting your addiction to fried shit.  Odds are that electronic, must-have, made in China gift is out of you price range too, but not at the cost of forgoing fried pickles and ranch.  I am no financial planner, but it seems to me that if a fifteen percent tip or a $40 meal is a stretch for you then you'd probably be better served getting a savings account and eating in. 

Happy 2010!