Today was Awesome

Yes, you read that correctly.  Today was a totally awesome day at work.  Not only did I have a sweet table of Korean businessmen who BOWED at me when they finished their meal, but every table tipped at least 20%.  And I didn't even have to wear a crown or sash.

That's right, today I was actually completely and totally appreciated for doing the awesome shit I always do.  Karma must have read the story I posted yesterday.

Curse You, Johnny Carino's

We are right across the street from a Johnny Carino's.  This generally has no effect on my life except when I get a craving for shitty Italian food, but the other day it got all up in my Hooters life.  Not too happy about it.

There I was serving a very nice man and his young son.  They ordered wings and allowed me to guide them to the best sauce choices and side options.  This is usually a good sign.  If you can suggest people a few sauces they like, they will generally be happy with everything else and tip you well.  I think this is because it shows both a level of knowledge and a high level of service.  It's like going the extra mile even though it's easy as anything. 

Anyway, I'd done everything well as the two enjoyed their meal and they seemed to notice.  They were happy and appreciative and a nice 15-20% tip seemed within my reach.  I was sailing in smooth waters as I ran a tub of dishes to the back.  And that's how long it took for it all go downhill right into a steaming pile of shit.

Returning the empty tub to the wait station, I noticed a woman and two young girls were now standing around the table as the boy and his father finished the last of their wings.  I went to the table to offer drinks to the new guests and was immediately shot with an icy stare.

Mom:  "Oh no, we don't want anything here.  We just had Johnny Carino's.  But the boys HAD to have wings."

Naturally all that was said in a tone that screamed, "I can't believe I'm standing in a Hooters and I feel dirty just being here."  Great.  Regardless of my frozen reception, I put on my best smile and was as nice as possible.  Of course Mom hated my existence so much  that my kindness was totally unnoticed.  I could have been Mother Theresa reincarnated and she would have hated everything about me. 

I tried to not let it bother  me and did a fairly good job until I saw Mom whip out her credit card.  Wonderful.  The woman who had no idea what sort of service I gave and hated Hooters was paying.  I was effing screwed.  Even with the impending doom of not getting what I had worked so hard for I continued to be nice as I took her card.

Sauce:  "I hope you three enjoyed your lunch over at Carino's!"

Mom:  "Ugh it was awful.  Just not what I expected.  They changed one of their sauces and didn't even tell me.  Plus the service was horrible.  Just awful - the whole entire thing. "

Wonderful.  Not only did this lady hate me, she was a woman who had just had a bad lunch and hated me.  Even the slightest hope of a good tip all but disappeared.   I couldn't do anything but run the card and make a few last ditch attempts at niceties.

But it didn't matter.  Of course that credit card receipt had a big fat nothing in the tip line.  And it wasn't just no tip, she'd taken the time to make one of those big, obvious strikethrough zeros.  She'd made it entirely  and painfully obvious that I deserved nothing in her eyes.

While I never feel like I deserve a tip - it is a matter of personal discretion after all - I was pissed off.  Not only had I lost out on a tip because of a dislike of Hooters, but I had probably also lost out based on the poor service at another restaurant.  It was a double whammy of total suckage.

Hey, Johnny Carino's, step up your game over there!

This is Where I Live

Yup, I live here.  As you can see it's a really ugly place.

Birthday Princess

Tomorrow is my birthday, but as I have Wednesdays off I celebrated my Hooters birthday today.  Basically it was the same as any other day at work, but I got to wear a sash and a crown.  While that might seem like a pretty small thing, it turned out to be anything but.  That sash and crown were total money makers.  Not only did only two tables leave me under 20%, but I even got a few dollars here and there from other tables.  I ended up making a cool 34% (not counting the $20 Barnes and Noble giftcard one regular left me)

Now before you go and say that isn't fair, I think it's more than fine to have at least one day a year when you're guaranteed to have a good tip day.  And dammit that day should be your freaking birthday.  I suggest everyone leave their shame at home and whore themselves out on their special day with a crown and sash.

In addition to becoming rich, my manager made me the most beautiful cupcakes.  This girl seriously hasn't had a birthday cake in probably five years and today I got these; I was effing stoked.  Check out these beauties!

Yup, that's a guitar made out of fondant.  Did I also mention they were filled with Almond Joy frosting? Yes, such a thing actually exists.

Being old is fun!

Don't Do This If You Want a Job

Today an ad went up on Craigslist looking for new line cooks at Hooters.  Naturally this brought applicants out in force for what I can only imagine is one opening.  It's amazing how competitive the job market can be even for fry cooks.  Welcome to 2011, friends!

Please note the absence of alcoholic beverages.

One of our first applicants sauntered in just after we opened at eleven and took a place at the bar to fill out the application.  As he began to write, I casually asked him if he'd like a water or something else to drink while he was filling out the paperwork.  Now usually I get one of two answers: "no, thanks" or "I'll have a water, please".  This time I heard, "I'll have a Jack and coke - you can make it a double."

Double Jack and coke?  I was surprised, but being as I really couldn't tell him it was a bad idea, I made him the drink.  I watched him casually sip and write his way through the first half of the application.  About the time he flipped over the paper, I asked him if he'd like anything else.  He asked for a Bloody Mary.  I didn't even give him the option of a double the second time.

The Bloody Mary went down faster than the first drink and as I grabbed the glass I once again asked if he'd like anything else.

"Oh I better not.  I probably shouldn't get too wasted while I'm out looking for a job."

You think?!  Better yet, you probably shouldn't even start drinking if you're looking for jobs.  If you really can't stop yourself from indulging, I'd advise not drinking at the restaurant you're applying to.  Especially not WHILE you're applying.  That's pretty much a sure sign you won't be getting a call.  Do all that drinking before noon and you can guarantee the phone won't be ringing.

I don't care if you're a raging alcoholic, I'd hope you're smart enough to not drink and hide that shit while you're applying for a job.  You'd think this would be one of those rules that could simply go unsaid;  Apparently this is not the case.  If it was the case I wouldn't have been serving this guy hard alcohol while he used his application as a coaster on a Monday morning.

If you're reading this, Mr. Drinks, you won't be getting hired.

If you're reading this and you're the guy from Georgia who applied I'd be expecting a call.  I put in a good word for you because you were nice and I liked your hipster blazer.

Well That's a First

I've seen a lot of things of Hooters.  In fact, Hooters is a pretty good place to catch the unexpected, strange and weird.  It's not a normal thing per say, but every once and awhile something will happen that is downright surprising.  Today was one of those kind of days.

My first table of the day seemed normal at first - a family with three young daughters.  After Mom helped the little ones use the bathroom, they sat down and I began my usual introductions and took their drink order.  It was while I was figuring out if the youngest girl wanted regular or chocolate milk that Mom began digging in her large handbag.  Slowly she began removing things from the purse.  A comb.  A brush.  Some body spray.  And finally a huge can of Aqua Net.

Now if you're a dude and you're unfamiliar with Aqua Net, it's basically some of the most industrial hairspray you can legally buy.  They call that shit "Extra Super Hold" for a reason.

Given the supplies now on the table, I figured Mom would be going to the bathroom to fix up her hair.  That wouldn't be weird at all.  Actually that would be pretty normal.  It was about the time that the very distinct smell of Aqua Net began to waft across the restaurant.  I say across the restaurant because that's how far away I was getting their drinks.  Yes, even that far away I could smell the hairspray leaving the can.

Making my way across the restaurant with drinks in hand, I pressed through the ever thicker cloud of Aqua Net.  I rounded the half-wall that marks our first set of booths and suddenly had made my way into a full service hair salon.  There was mom yanking one of the girls hair with the brush only stopping to spray the hair spray.  I set the drinks down, careful to avoid the direct line of the can.  I didn't know what to say.

Sauce:  "So do I get to be next?"

That's all I could come up with.  Over the course of the meal Mom did all three daughters and her own hair.  Right there at lunch.  I can only imagine how much Aqua Net all of them ingested as they downed wings and curly fries.  I know I  breathed in enough to induce a mild asthma attack.

Note:  Do your hair before you leave home.  Or at least leave the Aqua Net there.

Special Sauce

I returned from Europe over a month ago and I just remembered how much I wanted to post this story.  I'm almost 26 (next Wednesday) and clearly experiencing memory loss.  Deal with it.

After a night enjoying the pleasures of Amsterdam's cafes, my sister and I began trekking home through a soft drizzle.  Of course it would be far more accurate to say we were stumbling back to her flat entirely intoxicated, feebly attempting to shield ourselves from the downpour with a stolen umbrella of unknown origin.  Less poetic, but far more true.  There we were, at a time somewhere between three and five in the morning, wandering the streets of Amsterdam like too incredibly hot messes.  Two - as it just so happens - hungry hot messes.

Passing closed bakeries and snack bars, our hunger drug us on a wild goose chase despite being cold, wet and tired.  Nothing can separate a drunken person from food.  Nothing.

Then finally we saw the light of an open store reflecting off the wet cobblestones in front of us.  We hurried in from the rain to find ourselves in a New York Pizza.  Yes, there in Amsterdam two drunk American girls ended up in a New York Pizza.  Go figure.

But we didn't care.  We were hungry and promptly ordered two huge slices of what I can only imagine was - by sober standards - the worst pizza ever.  We eagerly handed over our money and reached for the plates in front of us when the man at the register casually mentioned that we should try their special sauce.  Soon we learned that this sauce was so special that it couldn't be found anywhere except for this very franchise of New York Pizza.  It sounded utterly magical and  I was intrigued.  How could I not say yes to a sauce so unique?  I had to have the sauce.

Thrusting my plate forward enthusiastically, the man grabbed a large, nondescript, red squeeze bottle from behind the counter.  I watched his hand grip the bottle and anticipated the amazing substance.  First a drip, then a pool settled next to my pizza.  It looked totally amazing.

Finally, finding a table in the back, my sister and I dug into our pizza and cautiously dipped our slices into the special, one-of-a-kind sauce.  It only took one taste.  We looked at each other and both said the exact same thing:

"RANCH DRESSING"

I traveled half way around the world to try ranch dressing.  And yes, I ate it all.

The Biebs

Yes, that is the infamous Justin Bieber in my blog's background.  No, I don't particularly care for Justin Bieber.  But I figured as people have started to notice, I might as well address his prepubescent presence.

So why the Biebs?  Well, Hooters' walls are festooned with photos of fames people.  And when you type "famous people at Hooters" into Google he's right there on the top.

Plus, Dreamy has an ongoing joke about how much he likes him that stems from people telling him he looks like Justin Bieber.  For the record Dreamy looks NOTHING like Justin Bieber.  Unless Justin Bieber is suddenly 6'8 and his balls have dropped.  Really Dreamy looks a lot like Ashton Kutcher.  Especially in that new movie with Natalie Portman.  Seriously, seeing that movie freaked me out with how much Ashton Kutcher looked like my damn boyfriend.  I could date uglier people I suppose.

Wow, look at me ramble!

Bieber Fever.

The Worst Kind of Bad Tippers

I'm not carrying this shit for fun!

Some people are just crappy tippers.  But of course you knew that because I've bitched about it before.  There is just nothing more disheartening than when you know you did an awesome job and you go to the table to find two bucks hiding behind the ketchup bottle.  That just plain sucks.  And makes you want to punch people.

Yet something more awful exists in the restaurant world.  Even worse than a regular bad tipper, is a bad tipper who is an awesome person.  What I'm talking about is when a table is cool and friendly and just all around seem like legit people and then they totally screw you over at the end.  You go through the whole dinner or lunch having a great time because you have one of those wonderful tables that makes it actually seem fun to be waiting on them hand and foot.

And of course in the end, these are the types of tables that you can usually guarantee at least a decent tip from.  Obviously that doesn't suck.  It's nice to do your job sometimes knowing you're going to be appropriately rewarded.  But then your hopes and dreams for 20% come crashing down.  They tipped like shit.

There is no worse feeling that when an awesome table leaves a less than awesome tip.  It's just one of those situations where you truly witness to how lame people can be.  Yes, it really sucks that bad.

If you're going to be a shitty tipper I almost wish you could just make it obvious from the beginning.  Run my ass off.  Speak to me like a child or a pet you don't particularly care for.  Make me feel like a piece of total shit.  When you do all that crap, I won't expect anything grand in the way of monetary compensation; I'll be ready for that 10% or less.  It'll still suck, but at least I'll have some warning of your suckage.

When you're nice and then tip like shit it's apparent that you have a dead, black soul.  Yes, you are soulless.  You toy with people.  You bring them up and make them smile and then crash reality down on them like a hammer.  A hammer of cheapness.  You, just plain effing suck.

Now, if you're elderly or Canadian you have a pass.  The rest of you, stay away from my damn section.

Get Her Wings

This year for Valentine's Day, Hooters is being really sweet and giving free wings to all the people they love.  People Hooters loves include beer drinkers, hula hoopers, fried food addicts, scrunch sock fans and anyone else who chances through the doors today.  This probably includes you.  Yay, you get free wings!

All you have to do is order ten of your favorite wings and Hooters will give you ten for free.  Whether you prefer bone-in or boneless, hot or mild, half of them will be free.  Pretty sweet.

Now, what might not be so sweet is the way they decided to advertise this wingtastic event.  Hooters decided to go with the tag line, "No Ring?  Get Here Wings!"  Don't get me wrong, I'm a girl that effing loves wings, but I have a feeling that most women probably wouldn't really appreciate the sentiment on Valentine's Day.  Especially if she's the type of woman you like enough to give a ring to.

I imagine a guy down on one knee.  He's sweaty and nervous as he hides something behind his back; he tries to work up his courage.  Expectantly gazing into his eyes, his lady love stands gripping his right hand. She's been waiting for this moment for so long.  She's already planning the wedding as his hand begins to move from behind his back.  And then she sees it.  Not a ring, but a plate of piping hot wings.

That, my friends, is romance.

Of course this is extremely dramatized.  Go, get your wings.  Just don't give them to your girlfriend as a sign of your undying love.

Hooters Gets Political

CREDIT.

In the current issue of Hooters Magazine, Julia Hurley is featured in a relatively new column titled "Orange Pride."  Orange Pride features past Hooters Girls in a "where are they now" format meant to show how Hooters can change a woman's life for the better.  Now no one really cared much about the magazine article in the mainstream media until it featured Julia.  This is because Julia is Republican state legislator from Tennessee.  Suddenly the column totally matters.

The following is an exert of an article that appeared in newspapers across the country.  Thanks to my mom for pointing it out.

A freshman Tennessee legislator credits her success in politics and business to the time she spent working at a restaurant chain known for buxom waitresses in tank tops and short shorts.

Republican state Rep. Julia Hurley, 29, won her November election by knocking off the Democratic incumbent in a conservative district west of Knoxville, but she says it was while working as a "Hooter's Girl" that she began honing her business sense and networking skills.

Hurley writes about it in the latest issue of the restaurant chain's Hooters magazine, and says opponents tried but failed to make her past employment and photos from her modeling career a campaign issue.

"I have taken quite a bit of flack from the public at large during my run for State House in Tennessee for being a Hooters Girl," she said. "But I know that without that time in my life I would not be as strong-willed and eager to become successful." 


Of course that was just the article.  Naturally the topic of Julia the Hooters Girl turned politician is the topic of blogs and message boards all across the Internet.  And lots of it isn't flattering.

Yes, Representative Hurley worked at Hooters.  But she's also a Southern Baptist who's a member of Gun Owners of America.  It's my opinion those things have a lot more influence on her political leanings than her time at Hooters.  What I'm sure Hooters does influence is her ability to deal with people.  It probably helped her gain confidence.  It probably made her strong-willed and determined.  It probably greatly influenced who she is and definitely helped her to become the politician she is today.

In the end though, while Hooters helped Julie - as her column in the magazine clearly revealed - it certainly isn't the defining piece in the woman she is today.  And it most certainly isn't the defining piece in her ability to serve the public either.  That, as with any politician, would have to do with her political rhetoric; shouldn't that be the topic of discussion when regarding any politician?

Too often, Hooters becomes an issue where it doesn't need to be.  Yes, we are Hooters Girls, but we're all so much more.  Hooters is only one piece of the puzzle.  But for the record I think it's an important piece.  Hooters has made me more confident, patient, outgoing and a million other things that are infinitely valuable.

These are the things that got me into graduate school today.  Yes, Hooters and more specifically this blog was part of my letter of intent and what evidently made me an "interesting and valuable candidate" according to a member of the selection committee.  And that means the world to me.

I'm honored to share the pages of Hooters Magazine - her article directly follows my own - with Representative Hurley.  I may not share her political beliefs, but I certainly share her confidence.  Thanks for that, Hooters.

Someone is a Graduate Student

This Hooters Girl is going to graduate school.  Yes, I was just accepted this morning and I have already spread the news like wildfire via Facebook and cellphone (which I hope will soon be an iPhone on my day of birth).  I proudly proclaim, "I am nerd!"  My brain is thirsting for knowledge and my resume is hungry for a way to get me a real job where I can wear pants - one day; grad school should do both those things nicely.

I'm now going to have a celebration because I'll use any excuse to have a good time.  Celebrations are even better when the reason is totally legitimate.

Oh and I get a new computer now which is awesome considering since my wreck a year ago the screen is slowly but surely going to shit.  Can't say I'll miss the cracks and growing black spots.

Go me!

Hands Off

Not my butt.  CREDIT.

Once upon the time - meaning Friday - a customer at Hooters went over the line.  In a moment one man went from regular ass to unbearable ass.  And all he did was touch a Hooters Girl.

Twin Tower was waiting on a table of two gentlemen who were unashamed to share their uncouth comments.  Now this might seem like something that is somewhat common at a place like Hooters, but really it's not.  I like to think this is because most people are smart enough to realize that we don't give a shit about what they say.  After all Hooters is just another sports bar when you really get down to it.  I also like to think that people are smart enough to realize that being a jerk isn't going to do a damn thing for them.  These guys were apparently not of this particular IQ level.

 So they began with their comments and while they were annoying and occasionally rude they were innocent.  Twin Tower, being a girl with a sense of humor, deftly handled their words with quick comebacks and expertly planned exits. 

Then it happened.  One of the men reached out and touched Twin Tower.  In fact, he not only touched her but put his hand inside the front of her shorts, grabbing the fabric as he pulled her toward him.  After letting him know this was inappropriate and meeting shock and disbelief, Twin Tower did what any girl would do and grabbed the manager to talk to the table.

Of course these particular gentlemen weren't the type to head the words of a manager.  They were the type to yell and make a scene and blame everything on the manager.  They said they'd never come to Hooters again and tell all their friends to do the same.  For this I would have thanked them.

After having a temper tantrum, the men noisily made their leave.  Naturally they left a messy table and no tip on their way out.

I love people.

Things Not to Tell Your Hooters Girl

Accessories sold separately

A note to Hooters guests:  If you plan on being a huge douche and tipping $1.00 on a $30 tab do me a favor and DON'T tell me that you just bought a huge flat screen at Best Buy for the big game.  Now I know you're not just cheap, but you're a cheap asshole which is so much worse.

I hope that you spent your Super Bowl Sunday with epic diarrhea brought on my indulging in too much bean dip, trapped under that 50'' TV.  I say trapped because you seem like the particular type of overcompensating individual who need to put that shit on the wall.  You also seem like the type of dumbass who wouldn't put the thing up there right.  Hope you enjoyed the game from you front row view!

To avoid this particular fate, do yourself a favor and either tip your server appropriately or don't let her know you just spent over a grand on a television.  Karma is a bitch after all.

Happy Super Bowl

I got off at four and find myself at Hooters - Dreamy wants to win a flat screen. Tomorrow more stories; today eat, drink and forget about responsibility til Monday.

P.S. Blogging from my phone is not my new favorite thing.

Hostess with Too Much Mostess

Mostess?  Mostest?  Even Google can't decide.  CREDIT.

The other day, someone brought up an interesting point on my Formspring account that I hadn't really thought about regarding Hooters.  To summarize, the situation involved a Hooters Girl coming to the table too much and basically being annoying in her Hooterificness.  The question was how do you politely let her know to go away.

Before I go into how I would handle the situation, I think it's interesting to discuss the issue itself.  Hooters prides itself on not only offering good food service, but a certain level of entertainment.  As the Hooters Girl manual lamely puts it, Hooters expects its severs to all be the "hostess with mostess."  Excuse me while I gag.  Tired clichés aside, one of the ways that Hooters expects us to entertain our guest is to speak with them often.  They encourage us to get to know our customers and - when appropriate - even sit down right there at the table with them.

Yet even with the expectation that this happens at Hooters there is still a very fine line of over serving the customer (and I'm unfortunately not talking about alcohol).  How does a Hooters Girl give that expected higher level of service without taking it to the point of annoyance? 

This is where reading your table is crucial to the role of a Hooters Girl.  Basically it's not just your job to be the hostess, but also to know when the hostess should let her guests be and mingle elsewhere.  I mean it's fairly obvious that a table full of business men at lunch needs to be helped differently than a family coming in for dinner.  I've always considered the reading of tables to be a strength of mine; which is probably why I've never even imagined the scenario or overdoing it.  What it comes down to is that not every table wants to talk to you.  Believe it or not some people really do just come to Hooters to eat.

So what do you do if your Hooters Girl - or any server for that matter - is being too chatty?  Well you suck it up and tell them.  I realize this is often easier said than done, but I certainly would want to know if I was being an annoying little bitch.  In the end I actually want you to enjoy your meal.  Not only is this because I really don't want to be irritating, but also because odds are the more I bug you the more my tip goes down.  And that, my friends, is no bueno.

Now if you don't want to up and tell your server to get the eff away from you, you can totally feel free to lie.  I'm not against white lies to avoid awkward social situations.  Feel free to tell your server you have business to discuss and would prefer privacy.  Or that you need to let your dining partner know the results of your recent STD test.  Just do so with a really solemn expression.  I'm sure that would chase her away real quick.

Here, Have a TV

I'm sure she actually plays football

So what are your big Super Bowl plans?  If you're like me, you're probably working.  If you're not like me you're probably going to have an awesome time doing awesome Super Bowl type things.  These are likely to include eating cocktail weenies, drinking adult type beverages and yelling at TVs.  I am jealous of all these.

Now if you don't have Super Bowl plans, I highly suggest you watch the game at Hooters.  This isn't because I think it's the most awesome place to watch the Bowl - I'm a home football watcher typically - this is because it's one of the few places you can watch the Bowl and leave with a flat screen TV.

EVERY Hooters in the US will be giving away a 42"LCD HDTV on Super Bowl Sunday.  And if the Hooters where you are is anything like the Hooters where I am, you need to be present to both enter and win.  Those make for pretty good odds my friends.

Super Bowl Sunday at Hooters might be sounding pretty good now.  And did I mention there is beer and fried food there?  Yup, consider your calendar marked.

I Can't Math

One of my former Hooties and all time favorites, Amber D, posted this gem on my Facebook (JOIN HERE) and I couldn't resist posting it.

Math hard! CREDIT.

Yes, this person clearly can't math.  In addition to their arithmetical deficiencies, they also can't grammar.  My guess is that they probably didn't school very well.  "I can't school at all."

It's actually pretty common for people to just write in a lower total and avoid writing in a tip.  They might suck at math, but they're still smart enough to not call themselves out on that shit.  Had this person just written in $11.00 we never would have assumed their shortcomings.  Perhaps they were in a hurry.  Perhaps they wanted to test my own math abilities.  But I certainly wouldn't assume they are a dumbass. Thanks for clearing that up for me.

And Lamebook is awesome.  Go there.

I'm a Winner

World peace!  CREDIT.

Somehow I totally forgot to mention that I am in fact a winner.  This could be due to me being such a winner all of the time that being a winner again totally slipped my mind.  I'm a permawinner.

So those of you who made it through that total crap above might remember that we had a merchandise contest at Hooters during the month of December.  As a recap, the contest basically amounted to seeing who could be the most awesome at selling shit. 

The following prizes were offered:

1.  Trip to Vegas:  free room at Hooters Hotel and $100 towards airfare
2.  Purple Hooters velour tracksuit
3.  Four Maulers tickets:  local farm hockey team full of young boys

So basically, no prize was worth winning but first place.  Unless you're really into tracksuits.  I was gunning for first.

And then I went to Europe missing eleven days of the contest.  So even though I was ahead when I left, it was pretty much a certainty that my lead wouldn't last for a third of the contest that I'd be missing.  I might be good, but not that good.

Upon my return from my fabulous Amsterdam adventure, I was greeted by the final tally posted in the back room.  There it was.  I'd finished third and had won a quartet of hockey tickets.  Lame.  What was lamer was the fact that I'd missed second by less than $100 and first by less than $400 - a margin easily made in eleven days.  I would have won.  But I'll take Europe over Vegas any day.

My competitive streak was wounded, but life went on.  It was just a contest after all.  So I kept working and forgot about it for a few days.  Soon payday rolled around and the envelope that accompanied my check quickly reminded me of the hockey tickets I hadn’t yet received.  Obviously this was the tickets.

It wasn't until hours later that I actually opened the envelope and saw not four hockey tickets, but a voucher for a free room in Vegas and a check for $100.  These were accompanied by a note saying that my hard work was being rewarded and that I too had received first prize.  Even though I hadn't actually won, it was acknowledged that I indeed would have had I had the same amount of time as everyone else.  I was totally floored.

So, kids, the moral of the story is you should always try your best because you may get the chance to go to Vegas and be a total sloppy drunk for four days and three nights.  That's what being an adult is like.

Prank Calls

Hooters is a hotspot for prank callers.  This is likely because it has a funny name and pretty girls.  It also probably has a lot to do with the fact that most prank callers are twelve.  What better way to spend a sleepover or school half-day than calling Hooters and asking about boobies?  Yay!

Now usually, these calls are easily handled by doing a variation of the following:

You can't trust those tricky refrigerators.  CREDIT.

Sauce:  "It's a Hooterific day at Hooters Missoula!  This is Sauce.  How can I help you?!"  (Yes, I actually answer the phone like that.  Even worse, they don't make me do it that way.  I made it up.)

Little Shit:  "Are boobies on the menu?"

Sauce:  "Well they are if you count chickens."

Little Shit:  laughing

Sauce:  "So is your mom home?"

Little Shit:  "No way.  I'm twenty.  No mom here."

Sauce:  "Uh huh.  Well I see here on my caller ID that your number is (123) 555-5555.  I'll just check back with her later."

Little Shit:  "Um oh.  I'm really, really sorry.  Don't tell my mom."

I never tell any moms.  It's certainly amazing how reading back a phone number will scare the crap out of a prepubescent boy.  But sometimes your callers aren't little boys.  Sometimes - though far less often thankfully - prank callers are legitimate, 100% creeps.  These are harder to deal with because they know how to do things like block their numbers.  Which is beyond creepy to begin with.

On Sunday we had one of our worst adult callers ever.  Yes, in two and half years of being a Hooters Girl I have never experienced anything so disturbing from a caller.  It began with a phone call picked up by our female manager.  Unfortunately, I don't know the exact nature of this call because apparently it was so vulgar that she wouldn't tell us any of the specifics beyond it being the most inappropriate thing she'd ever heard.

Naturally, my manager promptly hung up and thought the whole thing over with.  Just another creep doing what creeps do.  But it wasn't the end.  Nearly immediately after being hung up on, our creeper called back.  This time, Ariel - who was bartending - answered the phone and was greeted by the sounds of a man pleasuring himself.  She hung up the phone nearly as quickly as she'd picked up.  He called back just as quickly.

Sauce:  "It's a Hooterific day at Hooters Missoula!  This is Sauce.  How can I help you?!"

I was greeted by the same sounds and immediately noted that this didn't seem like a joke.  This man was either the best actor ever or he really was jerking off on the other end of the line.  I said the only thing that immediately came to mind.

What am I wearing?  Well pearls of course!

Sauce:  "You know, I think they may be able to better handle you if you call a strip club."

Sorry to all you strip clubs out there.  I know you probably don't want his calls either, but it was all I could think of with  al that breathing and grunting going on in my ear.  But what I said didn't dissuade him.  He kept calling.  And calling.  And calling.

So we took the phone off the hook, but then he'd simply be kicked over to the other line.  We just let it ring, but it would just keep ringing for minutes at a time.  Even one of our male regulars answered the phone.

Regular:  "Did you know you're getting off to a guy right now?  You're a sick f@#*!.  You'd better stop calling here."

Nothing would work.  He literally called for nearly an hour and all we could do was pick the phone up out of the cradle and set it right back down again.  Finally, we just called the police.  Naturally they took their sweet time getting there and when they finally showed up the creep had handled his shit and stopped calling.

Not that they could do anything with a "Private" number anyway.  Except subpoena our phone company for his number.  Which will happen if he calls back.  Which I have a feeling he will.  I'll be working on my witty remarks for when that happens.  Creep.

Snow Day!

Happy Holidays from Hooters Montana!  Oh wait, Christmas and all that shit is over.  Well happy snow.

Whatever.

And no, I'm not in this.  I was the only one good enough with the camera to actually capture jumping.