Overheard at Hooters: April 28, 2010

"It's as smooth as a prom queen's thighs."

"I'm not sexually harassing you.  Just wanted you to know that."

"I like tall girls.  I just want to climb right up you and kiss you."

"What's the difference between bone-in wings and boneless wings?"

Where is Hans?

Hans appeared today after an absence of several weeks.  This is very unlike Hans; he is a man of consistency.  Normally, I can gauge my days by the appearance of Hans.  If he shows up close to noon it's a Tuesday, closer to two it's a Thursday.  Given this reliability, Hans' extended absence had me a little worried.  Then today, not a Tuesday or a Thursday mind you, Hans appeared.  The fact that it was a Monday was only the first irregularity.

As the door opened, I didn't initially realize it was Hans from across the restaurant.  First of all, another older gentleman accompanied him, holding the door as Hans gingerly entered.  This was also unlike Hans.  Though he is older, Hans hardly has trouble getting around.  Today, however, walking appeared a chore as he slowly moved toward his usual table.  Moving closer, I watched a smile appear across his face as I noted how red and swollen his lower jaw was.  It was suddenly very apparent that something had happened to Hans. 

Carefully sitting down, I went to get his usual Miller Lite bottle.  Slowly, Hans raised his hand as if to wave off the idea and requested a water with lemon.  Something was wrong indeed.  Setting down his water and sitting down next to him I was unable to hide my look of concern.  He noticed.

Hans:  "Oh, I am fine.  Life has given me a test.  I have passed."

From there he went on to tell me about his heart attack.  Hans had suffered a massive heart attack that left him unconscious.  After being out for a number of minutes, Hans came to and managed to call the ambulance for himself.  On the way to the hospital, miles from his semi-rural lake house, Hans' lung collapsed further complicating his situation.  Luckily, he was stabilized and released after an extended stay in the hospital. 

Hans:  "Now I am strong.  Therapy maybe, but only if I have a pretty one!"

Even now, Hans still has his sense of humor - even if his heart decided to slow him down a little.

The Tattoo

I got a tattoo touched up today.  While that is all exciting and good, what got me most appeared on the "Basic Tattoo Care" information sheet I was handed as I walked out the door.  I've seen these sheets before and ordinarily wouldn't even read them anymore, but for some reason I took it.  And I read it.  I'm glad I did.

Line two of "WHAT NOT TO USE/DO" (yes, that is in ALL CAPS) reads:  No swimming, hot tubs, baths, saunas or nylons for 10-14 day or until completely healed.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Apparently, whoever wrote these guidelines is unfamiliar with the whole nylon aspect of Hooters.  Then again, Hooters Girls aren't meant to have tattoos so maybe the joke is on me.  Either way I'll be breaking the rules of tattoo care for the next 10-14 days.  Starting tomorrow.  I am such a badass.

Mr. Corporate

Our swimsuit pageant is judged by "celebrity" judges.  Usually, a local celebrity means someone like a local radio D.J. or the weather guy.  You know, important people.  This year however, we actually had a judge from Hooters of America.  Yes, we had a corporate judge.  This wasn't just some yahoo, but a man who actually knows about Hooters.  A man who knows what the perfect Hooters Girl should be.  The stakes were high.

Well really, it didn't make that much of a difference in the end.  We all did our thing and looked damn good.  But you know all that, you read the play-by-play.  It was after the contest ended that having Mr. Corporate around got a little interesting.  There we were talking and generally sucking up and it came up that I play the guitar.  This is what followed:

Mr. Corporate:  "Wait, YOU'RE the guitar playing Hooters Girl?!"

Sauce:  "Yeah, I guess that's me.  I do indeed play the guitar."

I then expected him to say that he had heard about me from another corporate employee I had played for.  In fact, that employee had played me through her phone for another corporate employee.  Naturally, at this point I assumed that had been Mr. Corporate.  I was wrong.

Mr. Corporate:  "The guitar playing Hooters Girl that blogs.  The Hooters blog."

Uh oh.  I am now totally unprepared.  I feel my face flush as I worry about what he may say next.

Mr. Corporate:  "I LOVE your blog.  It's great!  I read it and forward it and everyone just loves it."

Sauce:  Sigh of relief, "Thank you!  I'm glad I'm not overstepping my place as a Hooters Girl."

Mr. Corporate:  "Hardly.  Even the ones that rip on Hooters are great.  You give the Hooters Girl a human face."

So on and so forth.  All I know is that I think it's pretty cool that corporate reads my blog.  I think it's even cooler that corporate actually likes my blog.  Thank goodness.  I can't imagine what would have happened had he said they hated it.  Well actually, I can.  It would have involved a lot less blogging and a lot more deleting.  You get my drift.

Oh and corporate, if you're reading this I'd love to work for you.  I have a marketing degree you know.  And I'm awesome.  I could write for your magazine or maybe do some design work.  Drop me a line.

The Waitlist, the Flu and Hooters Trivia

Yesterday, as I was sending my weekly trivia questions to my manager, I got an email saying I was wait-listed at my top law school choice.  Needless to say, I was devastated.  I was devastated and I had to go be cute and bubbly as a trivia host for three hours.  It was not a fun time.  Luckily, I am allowed to wear my hair up and throw my glasses on for trivia - fits in with the whole school girl theme we have you know?  So I trudged into work, looking like shit.  Naturally everyone noticed and there I was trying to explain what happened as even the mention of the words "law school" immediately brought me to tears.  Simplified, the night sucked before it even started.

Of course, it couldn't end there.  That would be nice and only mostly devastating.  Instead, my email decided to be a fuck and not send my trivia.  So I had to run home (which is luckily extremely close) and send it again.  This required opening my email, which forced me to see that stupid effing email again that screamed "you suck, but not enough for us to totally reject you".  It's like that boyfriend that doesn't totally dump you, but ignores you sort of until you go away.  You know the type.  It then took my email FIVE DAMN MINUTES to send a simple Word file.  All while that email laughed in my face.  Thank you, cruel irony!

So, I sped back to work realizing I was very glad I hadn't worn eyeliner.  Of course when I got to Hooters the internet was down.  They couldn't receive my email.  Note to self, purchase a printer.  Again I rushed home, this time grabbing my laptop and flying out the door.  I did not open my email.

Finally trivia got underway roughly 43 minutes late.  I was clearly an impressive hostess.  Actually, given the circumstances I was a damn good hostess.  I even got tipped $20.  I never get tipped for trivia.  In over a year of trivia, I have not been tipped once.  So to the man in the red shirt, I thank you.  While the tip made my night, the pain in my stomach did not.  I'd been feeling pained for the past day or so and assumed it was nerves relating to my impending law school notification.  I ignored it, finished trivia and went home to sleep off my awful evening.

Today, after a fitful night sleep, I woke begrudgingly and began to get ready for week.  Still my stomach hated me.  Along with my general sense of failure.  I was not even close to hooterific.  I tried desperately to remember what a wise woman from Hooters Corporate once told me,  "Put it all in a shit and leave that shit at the door.  Drop off your shit and you can pick it up when you leave."  But this shit was unrelenting.  It stuck right to my shoe and wouldn't let go.  Hooterific was an impossibility.

Luckily, it was slow and, understanding why I was in a desperate funk, my manager sent me home after only a few tables.  I was relieved.  But my stomach was not.  Getting home I suddenly realized that my stomach was perhaps more than nerves as my protein shake from a few hours before returned with a vengeance.  My shit that I couldn't leave at the door had multiplied into full blown, both ends, angry, vertical hating stomach flu.  Life delivered the final low blow.

So here I am on the couch, feeling like a failure, running to the bathroom every few minutes and wishing that my sister had a car so she could bring me some ginger ale.  I am not a happy camper.  I am however happy that I used my tax return on a couch.  Good foresight.

Swimsuit Contest: The Day After

I'm sure you're all curious about the swimsuit competition.  No, I didn't win.  No, I didn't win the trip to Vegas.  No, I didn't place.  But I looked DAMN hot and realized that a month of crazy healthy eating and hitting the gym before 7:00 a.m. has done my body well.  And by doing my body well I really mean doing my body really effing well.  I am a hottie and summer isn't even here yet!  I call that being proactive my friend.

Anyhooters, the contest itself was actually really fun.  This surprised me.  One would think that prancing around in a bikini in front of a standing room only restaurant would be anything but fun.  I was apparently mistaken.  Silly me.  Yes, I can honestly say that I enjoyed my time on stage.  I enjoyed the cheers and yelling and gawking.  I like hearing, "Dear, God, look at those long legs."  This even surprised me.  I expected to feel embarrassed during my time on stage; somewhat ashamed I would display myself that way.  As I alluded to before, a swimsuit contest really isn't me.  I'm not the girly-girl Hooters Girl that likes to be on display.  I'm the Hooters Girl that is down to earth and talks sports with her tables while actually knowing what she is talking about.  I'm the tomboy Hooters Girl.  But apparently I'm the swimsuit pageant Hooters Girl too.  Who knew?

So what is a Hooters swimsuit contest like?  Well they're all a little different.  But every Hooters is different, so this is to be expected.  Our competition went a little something like this.  First we all paraded around in our bikinis in a procession of half-naked awesomeness.  Wings were prevalent, beer was flowing and bodies glistened with baby oil.  It was a beautiful thing.  After all thirteen of us marched out together we switched to "clubwear."  Basically, clubwear means finding the sexiest little dress you can.  The shorter and cleavagier (it's not a word, I know) the better.  You get the idea.  This time we came out individually to strut and pose and answer a question.  Out of that big list of twenty questions they effing asked us one.  I thought this was a little lame considering you can't discern much from one damn question and quite frankly some of the questions sucked.  Luckily, the swimsuit contest gods were kind to me and presented me with a question I liked.  It went a little something like this:

MC:  "So, Sauce, who is your favorite professional athlete?

Sauce:  "Well currently I'd have to go with Usain Bolt.  I'm a track girl and he gives all us tall sprinters hope.  But - and don't hate here - all time favorite I'd definitely have to go with my boy John Elway."

A thunderous roar erupts from the crowd.  It seems the Broncos fans were out in force.  Sweet!

MC:  "Ok, so how about your favorite nonprofessional athlete?"

Sauce:  (Eff I am unprepared for this little twist) "I'd have to go with myself.  Obviously."

More applause and laughter emits from the crowd.  Humor is a plus with crowd.  Noted.

MC:  "So what about the curlers?  No love for them?"

Sauce:  "Excuse me, curlers are professional athletes in my eyes."

Nailed it.  The crowd loved me.  And somehow I had taken a single question and effortlessly made it into a conversation.  I am just that good.  The other girls were impressed.  And glad they didn't get the sports question.

After we all had our clubwear interview we changed back to our bikinis and did our individual bikini judging.  Basically this consisted of a sexy walk, some smiling a little wave maybe, a wink if you were really saucy, a pose, a turn, a pose, some more walking, more posing, a little final flirting and exit.  Of course all of this was also completed in insanely tall shoes and a bikini on a slippery stage, even slipperier floor, and the most slippery of all, two frightening stairs.  Final count resulted in only two major falls and about nine minor slips.  I'd have to say this was pretty good all things considered.

Finally, we all came out for one last group walk before returning for judging.  This is quite possibly the worst part.  You have to stand there and smile and wait and keep smiling when they don't say your name.  Yes, we're all friends and I'm happy for the winner and those that placed, but it's still no easy thing to do.  You stand there and look pretty and smile and then your name isn't called.  It's marginally disappointing.  Even to a girl that didn't want to win.

So the winner was announced, we were all happy, relieved and excited to indulge in copious amounts of fried food and alcohol.  Please note that if you value your life you will NEVER get in front of a girl who has spent the last two days basically starving herself after living for weeks on protein shakes, Boca Burgers and vegetables after she has completed a bikini contest.  You will get trampled to death as her heeled feet sprint to the nearest bar/fried food haven.  Luckily, we were in a Hooters.  Fried food and alcohol was rained upon us.  A cheat day never felt so effing good.

That concludes my swimsuit contest experience.  I loved it.  Now, I am serving as Miss Hooters Missoula's manager.  Well sorta.  Since I'm the one with the degree and business knowledge and the marketing foresight that can only be gained through five years of college courses and one award winning student advertising campaign, I have graciously decided to help her get sponsors and get her name out and generally be awesome.  Last year our winner spent $2,000 out of pocket to attend the Hooters International Bikini Pageant.  This year, I'm going to prevent that.  I've already gotten her a weekly radio gig.  Less than 24 hours after the contest.  I am that good.

Note:  Yes, that headless chick is me.  And yes, the picture does make my boobs look small.  Thanks for noticing.

Swimsuit Contest

Swimsuit contest is today.  I'm not expecting, or wanting, to win - I don't want to be in the International Pageant.  Second place is an all-expense paid trip to Vegas though; that I could definitely handle.

The Crop Top

The infamous crop top has indeed returned to Hooters.  Once upon a time, Hooters Girls wore t-shirts tied up at the back.  They also didn't wear nylons.  True story.  Well we're still wearing nylons, but Hooters has reintroduced an updated version of the cropped top.  Instead of a tied up t-shirt, the new crop top is a tight fitting, v-necked shirt with cap sleeves.   Overall, it's a more flattering looking than the traditional tank.  Well unless you count the bare midriff.

The crop top that was recently introduced is NOT replacing the Hooters Uniform.  While some stores are including the crop top - mine included - they cannot force their employees to wear it.  At my store for instance, certain girls are approved to wear the top and are allowed to wear it only on certain night shifts.  Our management decided the crop top was not necessarily appropriate for dayshifts and I tend to agree.   The only exception to this is the bartender who is allowed to wear the crop top during any shift.

So what do I think of the crop top?  Well first off, I was approved for the top, but I have a tattoo that shows on my back when wearing it and I'm really too lazy to cover it up.  So it will be a rare occasion on which I dawn the crop top myself.  But surprising, I actually don't mind the top.  When I heard about it initially, I was very hesitant.  I thought it would make Hooters look trashier and somewhat increase the negative image that many hold.  In fact, my opinion before experiencing the top was pretty much summed up by a fellow blogging (ex) Hooters Girl HERE.  However, on the right body, the crop top can look adorable if it's fit appropriately.  This is the key.  In some pictures I have seen, girls that should not be wearing the crop top are hanging out all over.   I'm not judging a curvy, womanly body.  I'm simply saying that it is a very, very unforgiving uniform and is not for every Hooters Girl.  But in most cases, I am a crop top convert.

Now, please note that who can wear the crop top and when is to be decided by the management (or franchise owner) at any given store.  Some stores don't have the top at all.  What I mentioned above is what was decided for my store and my store only.  Check out the new crop top and make your own opinions at a Hooters near you!

Overheard at Hooters: April 9, 2010

"So, you mean people don't get spring break after college?!"

"Does anyone know who's playing in the Masters this week?"
"Who's the master?"

"Is there chicken in your wings?"

Hey Girl!

"Girl, girl!  Hey, girl!  GIRL!"

I was at the computer putting in an order.  While I heard the man as he called across the restaurant I didn't realize he was talking to me until I got a tap on the shoulder.  The reason was unimportant, in fact I can't even remember.  He probably needed ranch, or decided he wanted the coleslaw over the baked beans, or something else trivial.  What I do remember is realizing that "Girl, girl!  Hey, girl!  GIRL!"  had actually been for me.  I was obviously less than impressed.

Among the things that really bother me, being objectified is right up there at the top.  And I'd say being referred to as "girl" is right there at the top of being objectified.  Especially when I took the time to quite obviously right my name - as well as a nickname - on a napkin carefully placed on the center of your table.  Yes, I have a vagina.  Yes, I am a girl.  But in case you didn't know, they give girls names now and amazingly my parents decided to give me one.  I'm really luck like that.  Even if you don't want to use my quite obviously provided name, there are about a million other things you could say other than girl.  I could have handled miss, ma'am, or even honey.  But not girl.  Would you wander across a restaurant saying, "hey woman"?  No, of course you wouldn't.  It is apparently fine however to call a 25-year-old woman you don't know girl as you rush across a crowed Hooters.  Thanks for that.

Now, I realize most of you would never do this.  Yet, some of you probably will.  Please, I beg of you, please refrain.  Not only do you sound like an idiot, but you look like a total pig.  A douchy, Hooters loving pig.   

A Bad Day at Hooters

We all have our bad days.  One thing after another goes wrong with reckless abandon and try as you may things never seem to get back on track.  This is life.  This is natural.  There is no stopping it.  It is frustrating and annoying and painfully uncomfortable.  But you get through your day on some subtle hope that it will get better.  The afternoon may drag on and the night may suck too, but you hold on to the idea that tomorrow will be better.  You suck it up and you move on.

Today was one of those days.  One of those days that you try to salvage, but it's gone to shit basically before it's even started.  It all began with a Hooters top.  Being out of my size and desperately needing a new top, I was forced to shove my 5'11 frame into a shirt much too small.  So small it was actually painful.  Not a comfortable situation.  The day flew downhill from there.  Needy, crappy tippers, angry girlfriends, cooks that can't read a receipt, assholes, screaming children, Canadians (more on this another time) and pretty much every other annoying, frustrating, angering thing that could happen had to happen today.  All while my circulation was being cut off by an unflattering Hooters top.

I won't regale you with specifics.  We've all had shitty days.  We've all been there.  The circumstances may different, but we know a bad day when we see one.  But there is a difference between a regular bad day and a Hooters bad day.  While a regular bad day can be explained away rather painlessly, a Hooters bad day seems to be a negative reflection on you.  This makes that bad day even worse.  You see, I spend a majority of my time at Hooters dispelling the all to common myth that Hooters Girls are shallow, vapid, idiotic girls that were luck enough to be pretty.  If I have a bad day and mistakes are made (by me or by others) most people immediately assume that Hooters stereotype is true.  If things go wrong I am automatically just a stupid Hooters Girl.  I hate this.

Now, you might think that sounds rather dramatic, but this idea was substantiated throughout my day (and bad days before it) by a number of stupid comments and snarky remarks - the sort of remarks that basically call you stupid without coming out and saying it.  Remarks that say, "yes, there is a reason you are a Hooters Girl."  Remarks that make me feel like a piece of useless shit.

This is why I hate bad days at Hooters.  There is nothing that makes me want to prove myself more than the insinuation that I am stupid.  It makes me feel like I have to play catch up and spend even more time proving my worth as a college graduate and a woman.  And really, I do.  We all do.  Hooters Girls in general spend their days serving wings, pouring beer and proving that the whole "typical Hooters Girl" doesn't exist.  Some days it seems like the world doesn't want you to prove every one wrong.  Those are the days you forget the cheese sticks, or drop coleslaw on a customer, or just fuck up in general.  Those are days like today.

I can't wait for tomorrow. 

Search Terms Will Never Cease to Amaze Me

Recently, this turned up in my search terms:

Can you ask to squeeze boobs of hooter girls?

Seriously?!  What do you think?!  No, you cannot ask to squeeze the boobs of Hooters Girls.  Actually, you can ask, but I can tell you with complete certainty that the answer will be no.  Or hell no.  Or a slap.  Or a hell no accompanied by a slap.  You get the idea.

As often happens with my searches, the main reason I even posted this is because I am fairly astounded that someone would come up with this question let alone take the time to plow through pages upon pages of Google results.  Really?  You were that unsure about this that you took the time to scour the Internet?  Wow, just wow.

Hooters and the Little Old Ladies

They came in giggling.  This is a fairly common female reaction to Hooters.  The door opens, they hear "Hi, welcome to Hooters" and instantly turn fifty shades of red.  This time, however, it was a little different.  These three ladies were old.  When I say old, I mean could be my grandma, 75+ old.  Upon closer examination, they weren't embarrassed, but rather had giggles of surprise as they surveyed the scene before them.  Judging their reaction, it seemed they expected something else entirely as they entered the doors of Hooters.

This is also fairly common.  People have no idea what Hooters is.  They come in unsure what they might find.  They might have heard a few things here and there that generally aren't true.  Rumors and lies and false impressions are all too common.  I probably spend half my time dispelling myths and righting misconceptions.  This wasn't in the job description.

So as I'm approaching the three with bev naps in hand, I am ready to meet a barrage of questions.  I'm ready to explain what were about and why I'm wearing what I'm wearing.  I'm ready to defend my job choice.  I'm ready to defend Hooters.  As I get closer, the alpha grandma looks at me quizzically.  None of my prepared answers for the general questions that a 75-year-old woman would ask could prepare me for what came next.

Alpha Grandma:  "But why aren't you topless?!"

Sauce:  "Oh, we aren't topless here.  Hooters is a family restaurant."

Alpha Grandma:  "Well some Hooters are topless.  Why isn't this a topless one?"

Sauce:  "None of the Hooters restaurants are topless.  It's a pretty innocent place."

Alpha Grandma:  "Are you sure?"

The conversation continued in this general direction as I led them to a sunny booth.  As I set out their napkins and introduced their Hooters Girl, I couldn't help but be amused by the situation.  I mean these cute, little grandmothers thought Hooters was topless and expected Hooters to be topless and STILL came in.  I think that is truly amazing.  I mean, that these seemingly innocent elderly ladies would purposely go to a topless restaurant is refreshing.  What is even more refreshing (and entertaining) is that there was a twang of disappointment when it was obvious we all had shirts on.  Go, old ladies, go!

I hope I'm cool like that when I'm a senior citizen.

Overheard at Hooters: April 3, 2010

"We're here for Happy Hour.  Can you make me happy?"

"What do you spray on your legs to make them look like that?"

Maxim's Hometown Hotties

I meant to post this at the beginning of the week.  But life caught up with me.  By "caught up" I mean it's spring break here which really means that while everyone else is off being fabulous I'm working twice as much.  It's a painful irony.

Anyway, my dear friend, Brittney, is a finalist for Maxim's Hometown Hotties.  Currently, they are doing weekly voting to narrow down the field.  I know the week is almost over, but spare a moment and go vote for her.  She's hot.  Do it.  Do it now.

Ariel's Adventures: Mr Bush

Recently as Ariel was telling me yet another of her amazing work stories, I decided I would star sharing some of them with you.  These will be called Ariel's Adventures and this is hopefully the first of many.

Ariel is a free spirit - hardly your typical Hooters Girl.  Well unless you count the fact that she is tall, thin, gorgeous and bubbly as can be.  Then she is the perfect Hooters Girl.  But beyond being stunning, she's a philosophy major because she wanted to be "an educated and enlightened human being."  That, not so Hooters typical.  This is why I love her.  The aspiring law student and philosophy student at Hooters, hilarity ensues.

Recently, Ariel had a table of men in their late twenties.  Naturally, they wanted beer.  Big beer.  Lots of big beer.  Naturally, Ariel asked for IDs.  Hooters has a policy of IDing anyone who appears thirty-five or under.  Way to follow the rules, Ariel.  Gold star.  As she's checking IDs, she stops at one.  Observing the last name, Ariel cannot help but say something.  This is classic Ariel.

Ariel:  "Bush?  Like the president?"

Bush:  "Yup, just like 'em"

Let me pause here.  The fact that Bush said both "yup" and "'em" in one sentence should have caused Ariel to refrain from making her next comment.  Or the fact that she was in Montana.  But Ariel is a philosophy major.  And from Portland, Oregon.  She couldn't stop.  This is why I love her.

Ariel:  "So are you closed minded like him too?"

Bush:  "EXCUSE ME?!"

Before he even managed to spit something out about being a Republican, Ariel was calmly making her exit from the table.  This is just her style.  Don't worry, because she is (as afore mentioned) tall, thin, gorgeous and bubbly she managed to salvage the situation and play it off like she wasn't a liberal goddess from Oregon and rather just a comedic genius with effortless humor.  She is amazing like this.  I blame it on Socrates.