Hans and the Bikini

Hooters can give one a little bit of notoriety.  Not so much in the way that you're actually important, but more in the way that you might get noticed in awkward non-Hooters sorts of places - like the grocery store.  That's fun.  But it's also cool because you sometimes get your picture up on the wall of Hooters.  And by cool I actually mean it can be a little weird to serve some dude wings under a picture of you in a bikini.  Here's your wings and oh hey check out my nearly naked body as you get wing sauce all over your face.  Yes, I realize I work at Hooters.  It comes with the territory.  That realization doesn't make it any less weird. 

But this story isn't about the picture; it's about the content of the picture.  It's about me and more specifically it's about the bikini (and no, that's not my bikini, the photo just fits the story).  And it's about Hans.  You see one day recently, Hans came in on one of my days off.  Naturally, Hans was disappointed and to appease him his Hooters Girl showed him the picture of me newly added to the wall.  It seems Hans was impressed because I was soon informed that Hans wanted to pay for my bikini.

A week later, I had all but forgotten Hans desire to pay for the bathing suit I'd purchased over two months ago.  In came Hans and he made his way to his usual table.  Still unable to drink beer after his recently heart attack, Hans ordered a water that I promptly delivered and sat down to talk to him.  Before I even had a chanced to get two words out, Hans stopped me.

"First we attend to business," he said as he reached for his wallet and removed three crisp twenties and a ten.  He'd done his research on the cost of my bikini it seemed.

Graciously I attempted to decline.  After all, I'd already purchased the bikini months ago.  Plus it didn't seem right for me to accept the money.  But Hans wouldn't let me say no.

So he drank his water, we talked as always and Hans left me $70 to pay for my bikini.  Hey, at least it's not a couch.

Receipt Art: May 30, 2010

I don't fish.  Well once when I was eight I got to go with a YMCA day camp.  We used marshmallows as bait.  That's a pretty good indication of my fishing abilities.  Being from Montana, however, fishing is a pretty big deal to everyone else.  Especially here in Missoula.  It seems the nearly every day people I serve are either coming or going fishing.  As such, a fishing receipt is pretty much a given.

While I am not an amazing fisherman, my name apparently is.  Check out my name (if I hadn't clone stamped it - go PhotoShop) and its masterful ability with a rod and reel.  That fishy is certainly a doozy - a million pounds at least.

Receipt Art: May 27, 2010

It was rainy today - just like it's been all week.  Spring just doesn't want to let go.  Naturally, several of my receipts featured rainy little motifs to match the weather.  It was a natural progression.  While clouds and rain and all that shit was fairly common, one receipt was extra special.  It had a goose.  With an umbrella.  Epic.

Note that this is a very friendly goose with the foresight to kindly cover the total with his cute little umbrella.  Thanks dude, we couldn't have done it without you.

I had another receipt which featured the mascot of my high school for a group of guys from a rival school from my hometown, but they unfortunately took that one before I could get a picture of it.  I wish I had it mostly because in addition to the mascot and "Go Broncs" it featured a winky face.  Everyone knows that the winky face is the ultimate way to say something borderline mean and look like you totally don't mean it.  Wink.

Viva Las Vegas

It's been nearly a week since I got back from Vegas and all I really know is that I can't wait to go back.  It really was the most fabulous vacation of my adult life (I say adult life because Disney World when I was twelve was pretty epic) and will most definitely be repeated.  Many times.  Since I got called out on my new Formspring account I figured I'd better post something about this most wonderful journey to Sin City.  Below I present my adventure with highlights from each day.

Day 1:  Sunday
I arrived in Vegas just after 11:00 a.m.  Alone.  My friends were all flying out of Billings, a city hundreds of miles from where I currently live.  They were also arriving over eight hours after I got there.  So I had some time on my hands and due to my name not being included in the room reservation I couldn't even check in.  Slightly annoying, but I'm awesome and can handle anything.   After dropping off my bag I decided to venture out onto the Strip.  Given that I was going to be spending the trip with mostly guys, I figured this would be prime shopping time.

Staying at Mandalay Bay, my journey down the strip was a long one.  I probably walked about a million miles through and around and through again just about every casino on the Strip.  I figured I not only got to shop, but got my exercise too.  Score! 

While in the Forum Shops at Caesar's I encountered the most beautiful shoes by Guess by Marciano.  I feel in love.  Then I saw they were $178.  I cringed.  I didn't buy them.  I thought about them constantly.  I walked more.  I didn't buy anything.  So I went back and I bought the shoes.  I felt like shit as I swiped my debit card.  I regretted it.  Oh well, they're really cute.

Day 2:  Monday
We had a cabana rented on the Mandalay Bay Beach for the day.  Lucky for us Vegas decided to be a little bitch and be windy and overcast and (for Vegas at least) cold.  Naturally, they wouldn't refund our money.  Little did they know we're from Montana so we toughed it out and enjoy our cabana anyway.  So there Mandalay Bay!

Day 3:  Tuesday
I'm not much of gambler, but I decided to put a twenty in slot machine.  I was freaking in Vegas after all!  I sit down at one of those banks of machines where you can win a car.  It had a red Camero in the center.  So effing sexy.  So I put in my twenty, hit bet max and hit the button.  I hit three out of four on the first pull.  Had I hit four I'd have won the car.  I won almost four hundred in one effing pull and I cashed out.  I moved to another machine, put in twenty and twenty became fifty.  I cashed out.  I tried my hand at blackjack.  I won.  I cashed out.  I was $700 up.  I didn't feel bad about the shoes anymore.

We ended the night at Mix Bar located on top of THEhotel at Mandalay Bay.  It was the sweetest bar ever.  I mean even the bathroom had a view.  I'm talking from the toilet.  I was impressed.  While at Mix we also made some new friends.  People from Montana have a way of making best friends wherever they go.  It's a gift really.  Suddenly we found ourselves in a cab bound for the Playboy Club with a group from Indianapolis celebrating a 40th birthday.  The whole night was nothing less than amazing.

Oh and we saw Terry Fator.  Not really my thing, but talented for sure!

Day 4:  Wednesday
Today I experienced Hooters.  It was laughable at best.  Rundown and small, it was downright awful after spending time in places like the Bellagio and Wynn.  But it was certainly delightfully tack and quite unrefined so I guess they achieved their goal.  The first thing I notice was that they wore the old style shorts.  It made me feel bad for them being forced to look like total shit like that on a daily basis.  But then again the talent left a lot to be desired anyway.  I think they were probably the girls that didn't make the pirate show at Treasure Island.  Depressing. 

Luckily, I only went there to get a shirt.  With paystub in hand, I inquired if they would do a shirt swap.  I was rudely informed that they don't do that.  That is what "other Hooters" do.  Not the casino.  But I could go buy one for twenty effing dollars in the swag shop.  Ok, first off I have never seen a Hooters that sells the Lycras (Hooters speak).  And second I know that they buy them wholesale for less than six dollars.  Of course I still bought one and I'm sure they knew I would.  I bet they make bank off of Hooters Girls from around the country.  So very soulless.

That night I experienced Cirque du Soleli "O".  This can only be described as the most amazing thing I have ever seen - much more my style than Terry Fator.  I would honestly go back to Vegas just to see O again.  Go see it.  Seriously.  You need it in your life.

While walking back down the Strip we chanced upon an outdoor karaoke bar.  Of course I had to stop and sing and I performed what is quite possibly the most awesome rendition of "Don't Stop Believing" that has every escaped my lips.  I shit you not, people were stopping on the Strip and cheering and clapping.  It was amazing.  I mean it could have been for the sequined skirt I was wearing (check out that blockhead) or maybe for the inflatable guitar playing karaoke host, but I'm not really sure.  All I know is, that I loved it.  It was also at this time that I heard my name screamed from behind the crowd and ran into a fellow Hooters Girl.  In Vegas.  No prior planning.  Weird but awesome.

The rest of the night I spent partying my mind away.  I was flying out at 6:15 a.m. and I planned on not remembering that flight home.  I think I achieved my goal.  I am fairly certain that Allegiant schedules the flight that early just so the crew can laugh at people.  Haggard doesn't even describe it.

And that was my trip to Vegas very, very, very summarized.  All you really need to know is that in the end I came out $200 ahead.  Including all my expenses.  Awesome.  I actually made money.  I rock.  Now when can I go back?

Formspring: Because Bandwagons Are Fun!

So I decided to get a Formspring account because it seems like all the "cool kids" are doing it.  Obviously, I am a cool kid and I don't want to be left behind.  Please feel free to go crazy and ask me questions and learn all sorts of fabulous things about me and Hooters and the universe.  Yay!

I have also included a form here on the page where you can submit your question right to my Formspring!  See it.  No, little more to the right.  Down, down.  Yup, that's it.  Now ask me shit!

Ask me anything!

What NOT To Do If You Want To Get Hired At Hooters

I've seen lots of people come to interview for jobs at Hooters.  I mean people of all types.  Guys, girls, young, old, pretty, not so pretty - you name it, I've seen it.  Some of these people got jobs and lots of them didn't for all sorts of reasons.  A lot of times people simply aren't qualified or we're not hiring, but all too often people aren't hired because they epically fail when they come in to interview or even when they come in to pick up the application.  Here I present a list of things NOT to do when applying for a job at Hooters.

1.   Don't come in at noon or 7:00 p.m. to request an application
All too often, I see people coming in at the most awkward times to pick up an application.  This totally baffles me.  If one is going to be applying at a restaurant you'd think they'd have enough sense to not come in at the busiest times to try and get a job.  Lunch is busy.  Dinner is busy.  Don't come in and get an effing application when it's busy.  You look like an idiot or at the very least incredibly inconsiderate; neither of which are desirable in an employee.  Do yourself and - hopefully - your future employer a favor and come in between 2:00 and 4:00 p.m.  Or better yet call ahead and see when the restaurant you're applying to prefers to accept applications.  Trust me, you'll look like a way better potential employee this way.

2.   Don't bring your friend/significant other/family member in with you

I have actually seen people sit down to interview with someone else in tow.  This is hardly impressive and makes you look like you can't handle your shit.  Are they going to come to work with you?  No, so why would they come to the interview with you?  Be an adult and handle your own shit.  Are you twelve?  You don't need anyone holding your hand.

3.   Don't dress like a total skank or total slob
I realize you're applying at Hooters, but please don't come in hanging out all over the effing place.  Hooters hires the "girl next door" not the slut around the corner.  While I would suggest you dress to show off your body, I advise you do so in a professional manner.  Yes, it's Hooters.  No, you don't need to be dressed up in business attire, but do look like you give two shits.  This will show that you're serious about the job and put in some effort.  Believe me, you are not impressive when you come in looking like you just rolled out of bed and put on the first slutty dress you could find.  You look like the epitome of the walk of shame.  This is not a good thing.

4.   Don't fill out the application like an idiot
While honesty is important don't list on your application that you "hated the boss" or "couldn't get out of bed" as reasons for leaving a previous position.  Yes, I've actually seen both these things on applications.  Actually, I've seen a lot of stupid things that basically scream, "I am a total ass-clown."  Trust me, no one wants to hire an ass-clown.  You'd think this would be the most obvious thing, but people seem to write whatever the hell they want on an application.  "Der, paper.  Let me scribble words on it."

Also, watch your spelling and write legibly.  Nothing says idiot like misspelling the word restaurant or waitress or writing them so sloppily you might as well have written elephant or plaster of paris.

5.   Don't forget to look good

In case you didn't notice, Hooters is image based.  As such it is important to look the part when you come in (if you're applying to be a Hooters Girl).  Wear makeup.  You'll be expected to wear it at work so wear it when you apply.  Not a lot, just enough to emphasize your best features.  You know what these are.

More important than the make up is your hair.  I.E. don't wear you hair like you just rolled out of bed after you got rammed into the headboard for the last six hours.  Sex hair/bead head/I didn't even know I had hair let alone did it/grease never, ever, never looks good.  Do yourself a favor and AT LEAST run a comb through that shit.

6.   Don't be a bitch to the girls on shift
Perhaps the quickest way to not get a job at Hooters is to be a dirty whore to the girls on shift.  Most likely they'll be the ones to take your application and the first to get an impression of you.  Odds are the manager will ask the girls if you were pretty and had the right personality to get a call back.  If you are a bitch you can be pretty sure they'll say you were a mute troll even if you're effing Megan Fox.  The girls you meet when you come in are your potential coworkers so you should treat them as such.  If you're nice to them and show a bit of personality odds are they'll report well to the manager.  Think of them as your first interview.

7.   Don't come in wearing a Hooters shirt
You look like a groupie idiot.  Seriously.  Take that shit off.  This is not an Abercrombie store; we're not impressed.

8.   Don't show up late to your interview

Seriously?!  Effing self explanatory.

Now you'd think all of this would be pretty common sense, but apparently it's anything but.  Everyday I am thoroughly entertained by idiots that come in to apply.  Are they really idiots?  Maybe not, but they certainly present themselves that way.  If you really want a job take the time to think about what you're doing and make sure that you present yourself correctly.  Trust me.  I know these things.

The Shrinking of the Hooters Blog Universe

Recently, it has come to pass that the world of Hooters blogging has come to what can only be described as a screeching halt.  You see over a year ago when I began this whole little adventure of blogging about my Hooters life there were four of us (five if you count the Mayor of Wingville).  Beside myself, there was The Hooters Girl, Caution: Blonde Thinking and Jedi Mind Tricks Among Other Things.  It was like a little blogging community of awesome with everyone updating fairly regularly.  We all "knew" each other, emailing and using *GASP* Twitter to communicate on nearly a daily basis.  Things were good in our little blogging universe.

Then Jedi suddenly stopped posting just about a year ago and we had our fist blogging causality.  There was no warning.  She just stopped blogging.  We were a little worried, but our blogging world went on even if we were one girl short. 

As time went on, a few more girls came and just as quickly they seemed to go.  It seems that while blogging looks glamorous and fun and easy as eff it is really quite time consuming.  It's something you have to actively think about and sit down and do.  It's one of those things people are all gung-ho about for awhile but then one day they just sort of stop.  They find more important things to do in their lives.  But while these girls came and went in what can only be described as moments in the online world, Blonde and Hooters Girl and I hung in there and kept blogging away.  We were the core.

Now here we are a year later and suddenly I feel like I'm the only one.  Blonde recently quit Hooters and moved onto other things - her blog seems to have quit with her.   The Hooters Girl has also stopped posting and her most recent entry was well over two months ago.  Even the Mayor seems to have disappeared from the blogging world.  Suddenly I feel very, very alone.

Now that everyone has seemingly fallen off the edge of the world I feel somewhat obligated to keep this thing going.  Luckily in addition to a feeling of obligation, I generally like writing this shit down.  It's fairly therapeutic to vent about my days at Hooters whether people want to read it or not.  So I'll still be here posting.  Don't you worry. 

But blogging family, I miss you.  Please leave me a comment or an email or a smoke signal and let me know you're alive.  And next time leave a note on the fridge if you leave the house.

Seriously I Have to Move AGAIN?!

So it's about that time when I have to start thinking about moving again.  I find this to be incredibly lame.  Mainly because I feel like I'm moving every moment.  While that's obviously an incredible exaggeration, I have moved two times - soon to be three - in the last year.  This is obviously ridiculous.  But my life seems to be in some constant state of crazy unrest that is drawn to things like constant moving.  Dear life, get it together!

At least this time I'm not being forced to move by things like my landlord breaking up with his live in girlfriend.  This time I've just decided that I'm tired of living alone and even more tired of spending lots of money to do so.  Actually, I like living alone, but it's that whole lots of bills and lots of money being spent that I don't like.  Can I easily afford to stay here?  For sure.  Do I want to afford to stay here?  Hell no.  I mean essentially I pay $600 (not including utilities) to live in a glorified hotel room.  I don't think this is O.K.

My lease will be up at the end of June and once again I find myself looking for alternate housing.  I considered moving back in with Cor and the boys, but since that living situation brought on an epic mystery illness (which I don't think I ever wrote about, but involved lots of horrible coughing with no discernable cause for over seven months) I'm very leery of moving back in.  I think it's pretty logical that said mystery illness was caused by something in and around that house given that within two weeks of moving the cough was suddenly gone.  I can't take the chance that it resulted from one of their dogs or something.

Anyway, where all of that blabbering has led me is to say that Ariel and I are planning on moving in together and testing the bonds of best friendship.  Up until this point we have avoided moving in together as we have both seen too many friendship torn apart over shared housing.  But seeing as we spend nearly every waking minute together anyway it seems rather logical.  We both feel that the time has come that we are both ready for this.  If I didn't already know what I was talking about I'd think I was moving in with a guy.  But I'm not.  We all know I have horrible luck in the relationship department.

Yes, Ariel and I are moving in and letting our good friend Asian Marine in on the deal.  Holy shit, did I just introduce another effing character today?!  Fuck yes I did!  I rock!  I'm just gonna jump out on a limb here and guess that you know two things about Asian Marine.  He's Asian and he's a marine.  How did you know?  Now I wouldn't generally be as obvious to blatantly point out that he is Asian, but this is Montana and Asians here aren't too common.  Actually, I'm pretty sure if you go to the China Buffet you can see the majority of the state's Asian population.  Seriously.  Plus when I met him one of the first thing he said was, "Would someone break the ice and making a fucking Asian joke already?!"  I loved this and knew we should be friends immediately.  And he loves my legs; who doesn't love someone who constantly compliments?

Ariel, Asian Marine and I.  I CAN'T EFFING WAIT.

Introducing Twin Tower

Today I am introducing you to a new character.  I realize that as far as specific people go, I've pretty much avoided creating too many recurring roles on my blog.  Why have I done this?  Really I'm not effing sure, but as I feel somewhat obligated to have a good reason I'll just say no one else was interesting or memorable enough to be included up until now.  This is obviously a lie, but I don't really care.

Anyway, today I introduce you to Twin Tower.  Twin Tower is a fellow Hooters Girl who, like me, is also fairly tall.  Get it?  Twin Tower (she came up with the name in a Facebook album once upon a time).  I mean when we transfer tables to one another we typical introduce each other by saying something like, "you're just getting one awkwardly tall girl for another!"  But beyond being similarly vertically gifted, we are also twinsies because we have a similarly strange sense of humor.  And we are both wildly intelligent (I'm unsure if her level of modesty mirrors mine) and serve as alternating hosts for the trivia nights our store holds every Wednesday.  Tangent: that reminds me that this is my week, better start working on writing some questions.  Whatever.  You get the idea.  We're similar people.

So the other day - meaning Saturday - Twin Tower and I decided to turn up the excitement at work by entertaining ourselves with the idea of creating a Hooters musical.  Oh did I mention we're also effing weird.  Obviously we are really effing weird.  Anyhooters, we spent our shift exploring the possibilities of Hooters combining effortless with outbursts of song and show stopping dance numbers.  We had songs and plot ideas and lots of other really lame stuff.  Do I remember lots of specifics?  No, not really and this makes for a fairly shitty blog entry.  But the whole point really wasn't the lame story, it was to introduce you to a character and I did manage to introduce a new character so there.  Goal accomplished.  Day off made productive.  GO ME!

Stay tuned to hear more about Twin Tower.  Also, get ready for our musical to hit Off Broadway soon.  And by Off Broadway I really mean watch for it never.

Parking Lot Drug Deals

Today was one of those days that starts with a crazy rush that dies down to a comfortable flow of customers that isn't stressful yet isn't boring.  These are good days.  I like these days because you're busy for a bit, but then you settle in and are able to take more time with your guests.  It's the kind of day that also affords you the ability to notice things.  Things like people in yellow Pontiac G5s parking like assholes in a half full parking lot. 

When I say this guy parked like an asshole, I mean he parked like a real effing asshole.   I'm talking diagonal across two parking spots sort of asshole parking.  He clearly didn't want anyone to door ding his Sunfire G5.  Sitting with a few regulars (and by sitting I mean standing because these regulars never sit), we exchanged a few witty remarks that only grew in scope as we watched a guido wannabe in a flat-billed hat and a Tap Out shirt and a Snooki look-a-like exit the car.  This is even more fun because they had Washington plates.  Washington Jersey Shore freaks.  Classic.  As the two stretched and casually made their way to the door, our comments culminated in me proclaiming I would call out Washington Guido on his parking skills - in a cute "I'm a funny Hooters Girl with an amazing personality and cunning wit" sort of way of course.

After my usual door opening and greeting I casually said, "Sweet park job out there."  This statement was completely ignored.

Snooki: "Do you have a bathroom here?"

Sauce: "No, we don't have one of those.  Of course we have a bathroom!  Just head on back through the door there and you can't miss it!"

After pointing them in the right direction, Washington Guido and Snooki proceeded to the bathroom without so much as a thank you.  I noted to myself that they seemed incredibly uncomfortable.  Or just really, really odd.  Either way, they were off.

A few minutes they both returned from the bathroom and I approached them to offer them a table.  As I was just about to ask them if they preferred a booth or a high top, they headed out the door and back to their yellow G5.  Only they didn't get in.  They simply stood there.  Then paced around the car.  Then sat in the car.  Then got out of the car.  Then looked at the mulch lining the flower bed.  Then stood around some more. 

"They're freaking weird," said my regular as we watched Washington Guido climb onto the cement base of light pole in the parking lot and stare out at the street.

Sauce: "Guess he didn't like me pointing out his failure to learn proper parking technique during drivers' ed."

Regular: "Or he's doing a drug deal, this is the drop off.  You wait and see.  I know these things."

I laughed at this, but then five or ten minutes later a black truck pulled up behind the G5.  Washington Guido went up to the window and Snooki followed.  Being that we looking at the passenger side of the truck we could see some sort of exchange going on, but nothing too specific.  However it was fairly obvious what was happening.  Quickly the situation was handled and the truck swiftly backed out followed by the G5.  The deal was done.

Now obviously I don't know for sure that this was a drug deal, but that's really, really, really what it looked like to me as well as my two regulars watching out the window.  All I know is that if I were doing a drug deal I probably wouldn't do it in the front parking lot of Hooters.  My regulars didn't agree.  They said that if they were from Washington, picking a Hooters right off the Interstate would be a pretty logical choice.  Even if it wasn't a good choice Washington Guido didn't seem smart enough to know the difference and Lord knows Snooki wouldn't have been much help in the decision making process.

So if you need drugs come to Hooters.  Our parking lot is apparently a hotbed for potential guidolicious criminal activity.  On Sunday afternoons.  During business hours.  I'd classify that as "delightfully tacky, yet unrefined." 

Receipt Art: May 23, 2010

Hooters encourages their servers to make each and every customer's visit to Hooters one of a kind.  This is hardly new news - I've spoken of this before.  After all Hooters food can be rather forgettable (though I honestly do love a lot of it), but the experience lies in the interaction rather than the meal.  It's the Hooters Girl's job to create this memorable interaction and she is encouraged to do this pretty much anyway she pleases.  This is one of the things I love about Hooters, there is a certain amount of creative freedom that allows each and every one of us to use our strengths and personalities to achieve our job.  While this can involve the Hooters standards - hula-hooping, dancing, more hula-hooping - it can also involve more irregular things like playing your guitar or making balloon animals or even doing origami if that's your thing.  Hooters lets the Hooters Girl shine.

Now I do a lot of different little personal things for my guests.  For example, every Friday I bring my guitar.  People know this and they come to see it.  It's my thing.  But in addition to this I bring candy to hand out guests (Laffy Taffy is my favorite because the jokes are a conversation starter) and fold each and every paper towel into a mini "sleeping bag" for silverware.  Do other girls do this?  No, I'm the only one.  They have their own things.  That's the point.

Perhaps one of my guests favorite things that I do is I draw on EVERY receipt I hand out.  Each and every one gets a drawing whether I'm busy or slow or happy or pissed or whatever.  The other girls think I'm nuts.  They write thank you and their name and maybe a heart or two and there I am drawing a masterpiece.  But the thing is that people love it.  They turn over the receipt and it's like a little surprise every time.  Sometimes the drawings are random, sometimes they relate to the weather or current season, sometimes they deal with sports and sometimes they somehow relate to conversation we've had at the table.  These are the best receipts because not only did I take the time to draw something there, but I took the time to pay enough attention to what you were saying to draw something relevant.  It's a gift.

Today as a customer turned over their receipt they said, "You should have a website of these.  It'd be cool to see them all and I bet people would like it."

Little did he know, I already have a blog.  How very handy!  So I'll be presenting some of my receipt artworks here from time to time just for the heck of it.  Here is my first of what is hopefully many.  It features a spring theme.

Note that the receipt circles the total as well as the employee name (obviously taken out in this image).  This is uniform across all my drawings, the artwork will always feature the total and my name prominently within the image.  This way, the important stuff is still easily identified.  It's just prettified too!

Overheard at Hooters: May 14, 2010

"So if I hop in your bag and end up in Vegas on Sunday do you want to get married by Elvis or like a real person?"

"Your dad's from Holland?  That's really cool.  That's in Michigan right?"

"My mom doesn't like balloons, but if you blow it up real small maybe she won't see it."

"How long do they send you to Hooters College for?"

"Your nametag says you're a trainer.  What do you train people to do?"

Excellent Questions: Hooters Girls & Undercover Boss

So I'm still getting questions about "Undercover Boss" at work.  Generally this means I am asked, "So did you see that 'Undercover Boss' thing?" or something of the like.  Yes, yes I did see.  And yes, yes I did think it was contrived yet awesome but that's just me.  But you knew all this, after all I wrote about it already.

Anyways, I came across this video that interviews both Hooters and 7-11 employees (and random other people but it's still funny so that's cool) after 'Undercover Boss' aired.  And let me tell you it's pretty hilarious.  You should watch it.




And because this funny too, the outakes...



And yes, I did notice that the blonde chick has CRAZY boobs.

Trading Tops

I figured it would be very unfair of me to race off to Vegas and have a fabulous time without updating my blog.  So here I am the night before I jet off leaving you all with a little something to tide you over.  You're welcome.

Being a Hooters Girl, you wear the same thing every day.  It's sort of like being a cartoon character - you open your closet and every outfit is exactly the same.   I remember seeing this on Doug once long ago; every outfit was that green sweater vest and khaki shorts.  Little did I know, that my daily life would one day be reduced to one outfit just like Doug Funny.  Only my daily wardrobe would include orange hot shorts and nylons.  There are some days I'd prefer the sweater vest.

In a life full of uniform redundancy, I look forward to the few little changes I'm allowed.  Changes like black on Friday and special holiday themed tops.  It may not seem like much, but even that can bring some joy to the life of a Hooters Girl.  Ah the simple things in life. 

In addition to these changes in tops, a Hooters Girl can get really lucky and somehow obtain a top from a different store.  Then rather than wearing the same top from the same place, you stand out from the other girls rather dramatically.  Suddenly you have something distinguishing.  Yes, everyone's top says one place and yours says something entirely different.  This differentiation is a coveted thing.

It is no easy task to obtain a top from another store.  Generally, you'll have to have a pay stub and a top to trade when going to another store.  Since Hooters Girl uniforms are so coveted and unavailable to the public, you have to prove your official Hooters Girl status.  Sometimes, regulars can obtain shirts trading them out along their travels, but this is even more rare.   Some stores aren't so strict, but generally a girl needs to be there in person with proof in hand.

Recently, through a very kind regular both at our store and at a store in Wichita, Kansas, I was able to obtain a new top.  While having a Wichita top seems random, it's still pretty cool to have something different.  Plus it's a great conversation starter.  I'm also hoping it's just the first of a growing collection of official Hooters tops.  I already have my paystub packed in hopes that I can get my hands on a Vegas top (though I have a feeling they probably don't hand those out even with a pay stub).  Here's hoping on Friday I'll not only have a killer tan, but also a really killer top to show off on my first shift back to work.

Overheard at Hooters: May 11, 2010

"We have Coke products."
"I'll take a Pepsi."
"Sorry, we don't have Pepsi, is Coke alright for you?"
"But I want Pepsi."

"Do you mind if I smell you real quick?"

"Why is your coffee so hot?"

I STILL Hate Teenagers

Today started out as a typical Monday, steady but overall pretty slow.  It was the sort of day when having three girls one the floor was painful and eventually even having two of us became unbearable; one girl could easily handle the floor with the bartender taking tables if need be.  So at slightly passed 2:30 p.m. the floor was cut and I was the sole waitress in the restaurant. 

At first things were fine, at my busiest I had three or four tables - very manageable.  Then it happened, looking out the window I saw the bus turn the corner.  Not a school bus, not a city busy, but one of those big tour buses that screams hungry people.  It didn't turn at IHOP.  I crossed my fingers it would turn at Johnny Carino's , but it just kept coming.  Finally it disappeared from view and I cautiously walked to check the back parking lot through the patio garage doors.  There it was, the bus.  I could vaguely make out figures moving toward the front of the bus through the tinted windows.   Then I saw them.  Teenagers.  Lots and lots of teenagers.  My worst nightmare.

Now, I've written about teenagers before and how they generally tip like shit.  This hasn't changed, teenagers still tip like shit.  What do twenty-four teenagers tip like?  Yes, I said twenty-four teenagers on a tour bus.  Of course as they entered the restaurant led by their fearless chaperone the first thing I heard was "split tickets."  Why does one go to a restaurant with twenty-four effing people and think that they will get separate tickets?  Believe it or not this a lot of extra work.  But that's another story.

In addition to having separate tickets, I am informed that no one wants to sit at one table.  Try as I might they don't want to wait for me to push some tables together to accommodate them.  They want to sit at seven different tables.  Apparently, there were cliques in the group.  Now I am quite annoyed.  I now have seven separate tables, wanting individual tickets in addition to the three tables I already had.  Fabulous!

Even though things are a little stressful I manage to get everyone their food in a timely matter and get everyone on their very own ticket.  Each and every teenager seems to be having a good time.  They like their food.  They like to hula-hoop.  They joke with me.  I have tip hope as I carefully print twenty-four individual tickets.  I apologize to the Earth.

I deliver the tickets.  If I get a dollar on each ticket I'll be happy, I tell myself.  Tickets are paid, most with cash (remind me why you need separate tickets when most pay with cash?) and souvenirs are sold.  These kids had enough cash to buy over $200 in shirts, shot glasses (underage) and lanyards.  The whole time I am curious what I'll find on the tables.

What do I find?  I find fourteen effing dollars.  $14?!  Had each tipped me a dollar, this would mean that ten of them left nothing.  Of course some teenagers understand the world and those ones left me more than a dollar.  That means even more than ten of them didn't tip me a dime.  WTF.  At least you'll have a nice t-shirt to remember your cheapness by!

One Week

Guess what I'll be doing one week from right NOW.  No, I won't be at Hooters.  No, I won't be at church. Good try.

I'll be getting off a plane in...wait for it...VEGAS!!!

Yes, I will be spending four glorious days in the city that never sleeps.  I'll be enjoying the sun and the shopping and the ability to drink copious amounts of alcohol on the streets.  I'll be leaving snow in May and other Montana weather evils behind.  I can't even wait.

Mandalay Bay here I come!

The Kelly Jo Dowd Fund

Hooters is about boobs.  Well not all about boobs, but they certainly play a big role.  Yeah, you already knew this, but stay with me here.  So Hooters is about boobs.  Breast cancer - if we simplify a horrible disease - affects boobs.  As such, Hooters donating money for breast cancer research is a pretty good idea.  After all, 1 in 7 women will be affected by breast cancer in her lifetime.  That is an awful lot of Hooters Girls.  We have about 45 girls in my restaurant alone, thinking that five of my friends might have to battle such a horrible disease is a frightening thing.  It's even more frightening to think that I very well could be one of them.

The Kelly Jo Dowd Fund is Hooters way of raising money for breast cancer research.  Kelly was not only a Hooters Girl, but also a calendar girl and eventually a Hooters General Manager.  She used her cancer diagnosis to educate Hooters Girls around the nation about the importance of helping themselves through self-screenings and early detection after unfortunately failing to do so herself.

"I did something pretty stupid," Kelly said in a 2006. "And the only way that I can let myself feel better about it is if I know that people can learn from our situation."

Now, Hooters Girls not only hear Kelly's story - through a video she created prior to her death - but raise money annually in her name.  Right now, you can go to any Hooters restaurant and make your own donation.

I've managed to personally raise around a $100 in the few days since we've began the campaign.  After raising fifty, I got a special Kelly Jo Dowd Hooters top.  Go me!  I like supporting good causes and I love challenging myself to raise more money each day.  It's just the way I am I guess.  As such, I ask every table if they want to donate.  Most will donate a dollar.  Some will donate five.  And some (ok well one) will offend you like this guy did.

Sauce:  "Here's your ticket.  I'll be able to handle that for you whenever you get a spare minute.  Also, we're currently accepting donations of any denomination to support breast cancer research through the Kelly Jo Dowd fund.  Please let me know if you'd like to donate!"

Jerk:  "Well why would I donate without seeing the boobs I'm gonna donate to?"

Naturally, he's staring directly at my chest as he says this.  He is obviously classy like that. 

Sauce:  "Well fortunately I haven't been affected by breast cancer.  So at the moment you won't be helping me personally.  Guess I don't have to show you."
*Note* I put on my best "I'm adorable yet witty" smile.

 Jerk:  "Well you're probably gonna get it one day.  Guess that means you'll show me now."

Excuse me?!  I'm going to ignore the fact that you asked to see my boobs.  This is Hooters, that shit happens.  But did you just tell me that I'm going to get breast cancer?  Maybe it's just me, but I'm pretty sure that's not ok.  I would never wish testicular cancer on you.  I would never hope that they remove one of your effing balls though you probably don't deserve them both.  That's just not cool.

He didn't donate.

But you totally should.  Go to Hooters.  Donate.  Just don't wish breast cancer on your Hooters Girl.

From Hooters Girls to Red Hat Ladies

I am officially in love with the Red Hat Ladies.  If you are unfamiliar with this, it is basically a social and philanthropic society for ladies over 50.  Perhaps you've seen them, they wear fabulous red hats and purple dresses.  Actually, I'll just describe them as fabulous in general.  Yes, I love the Red Hat Ladies and the Red Hat Ladies adore Hooters Girls.

This mutual adoration began over a year ago when a group of Red Hat Ladies chanced into Hooters because the IHOP next door was busy.  Rather than move the whole little group across town, the ladies decided Hooters was a good second choice.  A long lunch, extreme hula-hoop session and several dance lessons later the Red Hat Ladies were officially Hooters biggest fans.

Now here we are a year later and the Red Hat Ladies of the great state of Montana find themselves gathering for their yearly convention.  The convention that is the Red Hat Ladies' biggest gathering is held at a different location around the state annually; this year the convention is right across the street from Hooters.  Naturally, this means that we have been inundated with Red Hat Ladies.  I can only describe this as amazing.  Never before have I met a group of women who are more in love with life.  They will try anything.  They will sing and dance and make fools of themselves.  They will laugh out loud and yell and not care who's listening.  Basically they fit in with us just fine.

In addition to our restaurant being overrun with loudly dressed women, we were invited to act as entertainment for their keynote banquet.  Imagine a room filled with hundreds of older women in loud shades of red and purple being entertained by five Hooters Girls.  Of course we came out hula-hooping and yelling and smiling.  The ladies loved this.  No sooner had I introduced the girls and proclaimed us "future Red Hatters", the ladies were on their feet cheering and applauding.  They enthusiastically learned the Cotton-Eyed Joe and loved the YMCA.  Then we began to bunny hop.  As we hopped around the room I looked back to see what was the longest, loudest, most totally awesome bunny hop line I have ever been a part of.  Awesome.  Then on completion, a most adorable woman gave us each our own envelope inscribed "Hooter" that held a ten dollar bill.  Not necessary, but adorable.

So why are the Red Hat Ladies so drawn to Hooters?  Well as I was told by many a Red Hatter, they see themselves in us.  They say they would have been Hooters Girls had it been around way back when.  Red Hat Ladies are Hooters Girls and Hooters Girls are Red Hat Ladies.  Their own website states, "in the Red Hat Society, we throw most "rules" to the wind, but we still remember our manners. When we gather in public, we believe in being courteous to each other and to those around us. After all, we are ladies and members of a group like no other."  Yup, that sounds like Hooters Girls to me.

So yeah, I'm a Hooters Girl and I love it.  I also think I'm a future Red Hat Lady and I might just love that even more.

Hooters and Humanity

Waiting tables makes you believe in stereotypes.  Waiting tables at Hooters makes you believe in certain stereotypes even more.  This is an unfortunately but inevitable fact.  Over time you see patterns.  You read tables and before they've even settled into the booth you can tell if they'll tip a dollar or two or twenty.  You judge, and often you are right.

Many girls refuse to take the tables they think will tip less.  They run to the back or look really busy or just flat out refuse.  Or they'll take the table and give them minimal service.  Why would you give someone extra attention if you know you'll get no return?  Well of course the answer to this is that as true as a stereotype may be it is not always true.  It is not a rule.  It is not a certainty.  

I personally treat every table the same.  Is it because I think I can get a good tip every time?  No, unfortunately I've noticed some truth to the stereotypes too.  But the thing is that every person who comes into Hooters expects a certain level of service.  It is my job as a Hooters Girl to make sure that each and every customer gets that level of service no matter if they tip me zero percent or 100%.  After all, as much as I wish my job were about making money, it's not.  My job is about being a Hooters Girl.  My job is to give that signature service that Hooters is all about.  Every time.  No exceptions.

And this has shown me that as much as serving has made me hate humanity, it has made me love it even more.  Yes, often with giving even the most remarkable service to those people that most would stereotype I get a dismal tip.  It's frustrating and infuriating and is enough to make you hate people.  But then, there are those times you're surprised.  There are those times when that table with six teeth between the four of them leaves you $20 on a $26 dollar tab.  Those are the times when I smile to myself and realize that the world can be just and fair and surprising.  Suddenly you don't just believe in humanity but you are truly inspired by it.

In the end, it goes to show that as much as stereotypes are true - I mean they have to start somewhere after all - they are hardly ever all inclusive.  Girls and people in general may forget this, but personally serving has taught me this lesson more than any experience I've had.  Hooters has taught me many things, but mostly it has taught me to believe in people.