Drive By Photography

There is nothing that I find funnier than people who want to say they’ve been to Hooters, but don’t actually want to go inside.  Yes, this actually happens.  And I know that it happens because I see the shit with my own eyes several times a week; it’s a common occurrence.

It generally goes a little something like this:

PLEASE, come on in!  CREDIT.

A car pulls into the parking lot.  Rather than parking however, the car will conveniently stop directly in the main flow of traffic – these people are never about the convenience of others.  The car stops, but remains running, and one or more people will quickly jump out.  It’s apparent they’ve planned this out ahead of time as they group together and someone snaps a quick picture.  My favorite of these instances is when the driver remains in the car and also serves as photographer to ensure for the fastest getaway possible.

With photographic proof of their stop at Hooters safely stored on a cellphone memory card, the group rushes back to the car nearly as fast as they got out of it.  I can only imagine the giddy laughter and sexual innuendo-laced conversations taking place as the vehicle speeds away.  We’ve experienced a drive by and it all takes less than a minute.

Now I could be mistaken, but I don’t think this goes down at the Red Lobster.  As awesome as their northeastern, beach theme is I don’t think people stop there specifically to snap a photo for the old scrapbook.  This is a Hooters phenomenon that has to do with the ladies inside.  Apparently those ladies are so awesome even a picture of the building that holds them is worth a Facebook post that will be the envy of all your friends.  By the way, Red Lobster has ladies that work there too in case you were wondering.  I checked.

I find myself wondering how a picture of the outside of a chain restaurant can really be all that interesting.  That’s right, this is because it’s not interesting at all.  Yet this still happens with astonishing regularity.  Such things should be reserved for sports stadiums, national monuments, the homes of celebrities and the occasional Mormon temple.  Hooters isn’t and shouldn’t be on this list. 

From my usual post at the bar, I have a primo view of the photographers as they come and go.  Do you think they know that the best pictures happen inside?  Pictures with real girls in real Hooters uniforms?  Do they also not realize that if they come inside these same girls will bring plates upon plates of delicious fried food until they can longer force another bite into their mouths?  It’s America at its finest within these hallowed doors, my friends.  You attack photographers are really missing out.

So the next time your friend suggests stopping by Hooters for a picture, let them know that Sauce has extended a personal invitation for them to actually come inside.  I’ll even hold the door for you because I’m good like that.  You’re welcome.

A Comparison

University of Oregon women's track team circa 1980-something.

CREDIT.

Hooters Girls cira 2000-something.

CREDIT.

Well doesn't that look remarkably similar.  Yes, there are certain physical differences (being a former collegiate track athlete I can assure you that curves and runners are generally mutually exclusive), but the uniforms are nearly interchangeable in a lot of ways.  So is the uniform inappropriate?  My feelings are certainly not.  Outdated?  Perhaps.

What do you think?

Paychecks or Piercings

When training, sometimes things just don’t work out.  You’ll have a girl who comes in and almost from the beginning you can tell she won’t last long.  The fact of the matter is that some girls just aren’t cut out to be Hooters Girls.  Usually girls will make it through training and few shifts and then they’ll simply stop showing up.  Or there are the times when they don’t make it through training at all.  Either way it’s an awful lot of wasted effort for everyone involved.

Our last trainee had a hard time from the beginning.  In fact she had such a hard time that she only lasted one training shift.  Yes, only shift.  Now generally this wouldn’t really be blogworthy.  After all, this is isn’t the first time a girl has quit so quickly.  This time it wasn’t the outcome that was so surprising, but rather the reason.

She didn’t quit because it was hard or she was uncomfortable or she was overwhelmed.  She quit over a facial piercing and her recently manicured fingers.  Seriously.

I think I like her makeup best.  CREDIT.

Hooters has a rather strict policy on the way you present yourself at work.  This includes no facial piercings and French manicures only among a myriad of other things.  This trainee had a lip ring and a set of deep red nails.  Upon arriving for her first shift, she was told she’d have to remove her lip ring and that she’d also have to change her nails within the next few days due to Hooters’ image policies – policies she’d been made aware of when hired.

“But I haven’t taken my lip ring out in like two years!”

“I just got my nails done yesterday!”

She hemmed and hawed and complained and finally begrudgingly took out her lip ring.  She went through her shift and that’s the last we saw her.  So a manager called inquiring as to her missing her second training shift.  It was at this time she informed the manager she didn’t want to take out her lip ring for a job.  She’d take the jewelry over a paycheck.

Now I realize that Hooters is strict when it comes to image, but most restaurants – and even many other jobs in general – have a similar policy when it comes to facial piercings.  Hooters is definitely in the majority as far as not allowing metal all up in your business.  I mean I have a nose piercing and I’ve never thought twice about taking that shit out and getting my ass to work.  Call me crazy, but I’d much rather have a job than a bedazzled face.  If you don’t have income how do you expect to buy that cubic zirconia lip stud you’ve had your eye on?

All I know is that this little lady is probably going to have a rude awakening when she goes to apply for her next job and – nine times out of ten – they ask her remove her lip ring.  This is the real world and the real world doesn’t like metal faces.  It’s sad, but oh so true.  I have the hole in my left nostril to prove it.

The Hunt for the Perfect Table

Pick a table, any table.  CREDIT.

Believe it or not, when your waiter or waitress asks you if you have a seating preference they actually do give a shit.  Contrary to what is apparently popular belief, I do not ask this question for my own health or amusement.  If you want a booth, I want you to have a booth.  That’s how much I care.

On the other hand, if you don’t have a preference that’s fine as well.  I have no problem choosing for you.  Odds are when this happens I’ll automatically take you to my section.  Or I’ll be nice and seat my coworkers so we can keep an even rotation.  However if you do – like I said – want a booth and I don’t have booths in my section I won’t force you to sit at a high table.

What I really don’t like is when you tell me you don’t care when in fact you do.  Generally these situations happen a little something like this:

Sauce:  “Do you have a preference where you’d care to sit today: booth, high table, bar?”

Customer:  “Oh we really don’t care.  Wherever works.”

So I do what the customer says and take them “wherever.”  This involves arbitrarily choosing a table just because I effing feel like it.

Customer:  “Um, no.  Not this table.”

Sauce:  “Alright, well how about this one over here then?  Will this work better for you?”

Customer:  “No, I think that one.  We’d really like a booth.”

Bitch, please.  Did I not give you a choice?  Yes, Yes I did.  And believe it or not I actually did so on purpose.  I wanted you to sit where you wanted to sit.  Call me crazy, but that just seems polite.  Now don’t waste my time taking me on an exploratory journey through the land of open tables.  I am not Lewis.  You are not Clark.  This is not the freaking Louisiana Purchase.  This is Hooters and I want you to sit your ass down, be happy about it, stuff your face and tip me for the privilege of it all.

Here’s the thing, your server actually has other stuff to do besides go on wild goose chases for a table you said you didn’t care about.  If you know what you want by all means go ahead and tell me and save us all a little bit of time.  As much as I’d like to be a mind reader, it’s a skill I thus far fail to possess.  Can I put on that on my Christmas list?

Dear Santa,
I’d really like the following things for Christmas:
The ability to the read minds of needy customers
20% or more tippers
Nylons that don’t run
Rent that pays itself
A kitten

I don’t think that’s too much to ask for. 

(Nearly) Six Weeks of Freedom

My heaven and hell, Gallagher Business Building.
CREDIT.

Well I did it.  After turning in one last paper yesterday afternoon I have officially finished my first semester of graduate school.  Perhaps the best part is that - I think - I managed to get away with a report card full of As.  I want to scream and laugh and cry and get as drunk as possible.  But most of all I want to spend my mornings sleeping in and not having dreams about accounting or finance.

I am free until the 23rd of January and I fully intend to spend each and every one of those days loving my life.  Next semester is like a thunderstorm looming in the distance, classes tumbling around like thunder.  And there is an awful lot of thunder on the horizon.

In addition to enjoying my life a little bit more, I intend to spend an awful lot of time with all of you.  Now that I'm done bullshitting through papers on my "personal theory of innovation," I have a lot more brainpower that is just begging to be used for less academic interests.  You're welcome, one of those interests is you.

Now who wants to get me a drink?  What, you say it's only 10:00 am?  Well that's what mimosas and bloody mary's were invented for.

I Want to Be On TV

Tonight I am going to a playoff game.  This is awesome for several reasons.  First, it is awesome because here in the FCS (or Football College Subdivision or Division 1-AA or whatever the heck else you want to call it) we actually believe in playoffs.  I'm talking to you BCS.  Stop being a money grubbing whore and instate a playoff system.  Don't even get me started.  Seriously.

Second, now that I'm done venting, this is awesome because it's a night game.  To most this wouldn't be cool, but at our stadium we have no lights.  Yes, a stadium that seats 26,000 and is arguably one of the nicest (if not the nicest) in its conference nationally has no lights.  We're working it.  Until then, to host a night game portable lights are brought in at a cost that would have easily paid my college tuition in full.  And probably bought me a car.  Or two.

Now this might seem ridiculous, but it makes sense when you consider the third and definitely most awesome thing about this game is that it's airing tonight, in primetime, on ESPN.  And those Disney sports people are footing that light bill.  Anyway, this is a big deal for the University of Montana.  While we're a favorite since the playoffs started, this means that ESPN thinks we're pretty great too.  This is ESPN people, they know their shit.

While our playoff games have made national television before, they are usually relegated to little sister channel, ESPN 2.  This my friends is the big show.  I, for one, am very excited.

Now, I need you to do the following things:

1. Watch ESPN this evening beginning at 8:00 p.m. Eastern.   You will receive extra credit if you wear maroon.  Double extra credit if you TiVo.
2. Realize how warm your house is when the commentators inevitably remark on the fact that it is fifteen degrees fahrenheit.
3. Become deeply enthralled in the excitement of a playoff.  Yup, I'm talking to you again BCS.
4. Perhaps most important, look for the following sign.  If it is being held by a chick, that's likely me.  If it's being held by a giant man who towers over all the regular looking people, that's probably Dreamy.  If you don't see anyone holding it we have both passed away from hypothermia or alcohol poisoning.

The sign is a reference to the fact that first off, we are hardly ever on ESPN and also that our playoff game last week was only aired on ESPN 3.  If you are unfamiliar, this is an Internet service.  An Internet service that isn't available in the majority of the state of Montana due to limited bandwidth through many providers.  It was a big deal.  In fact it was such a big deal that enough people whined and complained to ESPN (including our representatives and governor) that they ended up offering it on pay-per-view.  And ending up making lots of money.  Everybody wins!

Whatever, all you really need to be concerned with is the fact that it has glitter on it.  That's more important than anything really.

So I hope you'll follow my steps for Friday night enjoyment.  Think of me as I freeze my ass of in a peppermint schnapps induced euphoria.  

GO GRIZ!!!

The Death of a Taco

Just imagine all those soldiers left behind.

I’ve always snickered at people who left to-go boxes behind after eating.   How hard is to remember the leftovers from a meal you just ate?  I’ve thrown away wings and burgers and countless fried pickles.  And every time I’ve thought to myself how silly that is.  Yes, I have judged.

And then it happened, Dreamy and I enjoyed a lovely meal at one of our favorite restaurants in town.  They legitimately have the best potato soup I’ve every stuffed my face with.  This is coming from a girl who loves potato soups above all other soups; you know this shit is good.  Anyway, I’d had my soup and settled on the grilled mahi tacos for my entrée.  Of course being that is America, I was soon staring down at a plate consumed by two huge tacos.  I knew immediately I would only be able to tackle one.

That’s just what happened.  Finishing one taco, I nicely asked for a box to take the other home with me.  I loaded up my taco and Dreamy and I sat and talked for a bit.  And the taco waited.  Finally we got up to leave and made our way to the door.  I was already on my way when I’d realized the taco had been left behind.  First, I was disappointed because it was a good effing taco.  I had already planned my lunch around its deliciousness.  Second, I was disappointed because I’d spent so many shifts judging those who left behind their food.  Karma had gotten me and she was a bitch.

From this day forward I vow to no longer judge your forgetfulness.  I vow to simply remove your food from the table and mourn the loss.  I vow to remember my poor, lonely taco.  I’ll miss you, old friend.

The Internet Doen't LIke Productivity

This is fairly accurate.

You're welcome for that insight.

And we can't leave out you boys.

And with that my day is officially complete.

If Martha Stewart Worked At Hooters

If Martha Stewart worked at Hooters, she would have spent the day as I did and produced the most delightfully tacky, yet unrefined Christmas tree that Hooters has ever seen.  Here's the thing about Martha effing Stewart, she's a master crafter.  You could give the woman anything and she'd turn that crap into the most marvelous thing you've probably ever seen.  Martha is the MacGyver of the craft world.  And if MarthGyver worked at Hooters she would have done this today.

Drink it in.

Observe the most beautiful use of orange koozies, golf towels and other miscellaneous crap to ever grace a Christmas tree.  I even put To-Go menus on that effing tree.  It's beautiful and kitschy and ridiculously awesome.  I'm proud as shit.

Santa is going to poop his pants.