Training in My Sleep

In preparation for the busier warm weather months I’ve been training a lot of new girls lately.  Out of my regular five to six shifts a week I’m training someone at least two of them.  And let me just be totally honest, while a few have been really great hires most of them leave a lot to be desired.  It seems experience has taken a back seat.  Or it’s taken the trunk.  Or more likely it wasn’t even in the car to begin with.  Yes, this is Hooters and looks do matter, but believe it or not is possible to find girls pretty faces that also have experience – or at least common sense.  Maybe I should fill in our hiring manager.  Maybe I should also let him know that his “nines and tens only” make me feel like a freaking thirty.  But that’s another story.

Oh hey, Holly.

Anyhooters, all this training has been draining.  While I am paid an extra dollar an hour while training (take that minimum wage), after awhile that hardly seems worth all the extra work.  Especially when you consider I have to take less tables and explain every little thing I’m doing and why I’m doing it.  All that baby stepping can really get on your nerves after awhile.

It’s probably not hard to imagine given all that venting that training has been on my mind a lot lately.  In fact it’s been on my mind so much that the other day I had a dream about training.  If there is one thing I hate more than anything it’s dreaming about work; I spend enough time there during the day without it finding me during sleep.  Sleep is my time, Hooters.  Back off.

Dreaming away, I suddenly realize I’m in the back room at Hooters.  Gathering uniforms, tests and employee manuals, I’m readying myself for my newest trainee.  Of course this is a dream so somehow I’m suddenly waiting for her as she tries everything on.  It’s all pretty normal until the door opens and the trainee starts to come out of the bathroom but she doesn’t just come walking out.  She comes rolling out.  Rather than having on her standard, Hooters issued Sketchers she has on roller skates.  And not just any roller skates, but the hardcore low-top type that burly roller derby chicks wear.

As I begin to tell her that the skates are a horrible idea and not appropriate, the trainee interrupts me to tell me that she is a roller derby girl and she gave up walking for Lent to improve her moves on the derby circuit.  Even within my dream I note that Hooters Girl and roller derby girl make no damn sense together.  I let her wear the skates.  This is probably mostly because she is a total bitch and I want to see her eat shit.

And that is exactly what happens.  I wake up just after watching her fall into a hula-hooping child.  I sadly missed the aftermath. 

It was all strangely statisfying.