The Comfort of the Hooters Pouch

The pouch is a quintessential piece of the Hooters Girl uniform.  It's that sort of awkward hanging apron that we're all forced to wear.  Nothing about it is attractive because it's the one piece of the uniform that's actually utilitarian.  Out of the whole uniform it's the only thing that actually serves a purpose besides showing off my body.  Of course being that's it's also the one thing that gets in front of showing off said body Hooters has kindly made it as small as possible.  You're welcome. 

I get the joy of shoving everything I need into the one little pouch - also lovingly known as the "Hooters penis" - slung around my waist.  This is not always easy.  Especially when it's a really busy and I'm trying to keep hundreds of dollars straight in the damn thing.  You see, I have to keep all the money I collect during a shift and then I pay Hooters (my sales minus my credit card tips) at the end of the day.  Usually servers have a nice little book to keep everything all organized.  Now I understand that even with a book all the cash can get a little crowded, but without it it's can be truly awful.  Of course that's the situation I'm in because a waiting book and a Hooters pouch don't really get along.  Hooters so kindly decided to design these little pouches so they are just ever so slightly larger than a typical serving book.  Yes, I could shove one in there, but then it's annoying as hell to get in and out and even more annoying as thing slaps against you over and over and over again as you run around the restaurant.

So what's a girl to do with this puzzle of organization?  I fold up a take-out menu and put all my money and credit card receipts in it.  It's a really simple solution to a really annoying problem.  It might not be the best solution, but it's the better than the alternative - shoving all the cash and receipts into the thing.  Yes, some girls just throw all that money into their pouch.  These are generally the same girls that complain about their tips being off at the end of the night.  I wonder if there is a pattern here?

Anyway, all this ranting serves to prove how much I despise the pouch.  Or rather how much I THOUGH I despised the pouch.  Last week I began training as a bartender.  Now if you've been with for me for a while, you'll know that I was supposed to be bar trained LAST June.  And I'm just getting trained now.  But whatever, the lack of followthrough in this situation isn't the point of today's post.  The point is that as a bartender I don't have to wear a pouch.  This is because bartenders actually get their very own till.  Feel free to comment on how awesome that makes me.

While having a till makes me feel more important, not having a pouch makes me feel a lot more naked naked.  After wearing the pouch for over two years I now realize how much coverage that annoying little thing actually offers.  As bothersome as it is, the pouch is just perfect for covering the...er...camel toe.  Suddenly, being without it, I realize just how important the pouch actually is.  I feel as if I've just turned ten and my mom decided I was too old for my favorite blankie.  Yes, the pouch is my safety blanket and I'm not afraid to admit it.

I'm hoping that the added income of bartending will quickly replace the comfort of the pouch.  I might need a twelve-step program.