Thou Shalt Not Judge if Thy Carry a Playboy Handbag

I’ve always made a point of being totally accepting of negative opinions of Hooters.  The fact of the matter is that pretty much everyone will have pretty much different attitudes towards pretty much everything.  That’s just human nature, my friends.  Think what you want and I’ll just go ahead and think what I want.  It only seems fair.

Now what I don’t so much enjoy is people who let their opinions blind them.  What I mean is when even the most positive of experiences is totally lost because a person is so set in their ways.  I’m not so much bothered by the fact that the opinion doesn’t change – that’s somewhat against my original premise – but rather bothered that they can’t even see the positive at all.

Beyond that, people whose opinions appear hypocritical also bother me.  My reasons for this are probably fairly obvious.  I mean if you’re going to have a stance on something you damn well better have a similar stance on similar issues.  That’s just commonsense.

Recently, a family consisting of parents and one child sat down to a meal at Hooters.  Given the make up of the table, I did what I always do in that situation – make a point of taking care of the woman first.  I do this because, for one, it’s polite and because I like to do everything in my power to make women, who perhaps have less favorable feelings toward Hooters, feel more comfortable.

Now usually that tactic breaks the ice pretty well, but in this case nothing I could do would make this woman like me.  In fact, nothing I could do would probably even make this woman think of me as a person.  I could have given her the winning lottery numbers and she’d have glared at me.  Her indifference practically screamed of her disdain for me while the rest of her family seemed to thoroughly enjoy everything about their experience; mom just wasn’t having it.

Mmm, glittery.  CREDIT.

While that alone bothered me, what bugged me even more was the fact that she had her purse on the table.  A purse with a giant, glittery Playboy Bunny displayed prominently on the side.  So Hooters isn’t ok, but Playboy is?  I don’t think that makes a damn bit of sense.

Do me a favor and don’t judge my shorts, tank top and so-opaque-they’re-practically leggings nylons if you support naked chicks enough to proclaim it on the side of the purse you probably bought at Spencer’s.  That’s unfair and messed up on more levels than I can even begin to elaborate upon.  What I will say, though, is that I think my job at Hooters is pretty innocent when compared to nearly everything involving Playboy.  But maybe that’s just me.

I hope your Playboy purse continues to treat you well.  And by that I actually mean that you can go and stuff it into somewhat inappropriate places on your hypocritical body.  Who knows, you might be in to that.     

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. 

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.

The Lady Who Gummed a Burger

Once upon a time – meaning Sunday – an elderly couple settled into a nice booth near the front of the restaurant.  They ordered two iced teas and a short time later ordered lunch.  Lunch was fish and chips for the gentleman and a big, juicy burger for the lady.  With fries.  Now I’m going to make it clear that we only serve half-pound burgers.  In addition, our behemoth burgers don’t come with fries but rather come with your choice of bake beans, coleslaw or potato salad.  Fries, at our store at least, will cost you an extra fifty cents because most people can’t handle all that food anyway.  All of that background information serves the purpose of proving just how impressed I was with this rather frail looking woman manhandling a giant burger and taking no effing prisoners.

It was only after their meal had ended and the couple had made their way back into the Montana cold that I really understood how impressive, and disturbing, the burger eating had actually been.  As I moved her nearly empty plate to begin busing the table, I was greeted by the upper-half of her smile staring up at me.  She had left her dentures right there on the table.

So do you come here often?  CREDIT.

My first reaction was utter disgust.  Here were a woman’s teeth just hanging out on the table under the edge of her plate.  She hadn’t even placed them on a napkin like I did with my retainer when I was fifteen.  That would make sense.  Instead, the elderly woman had taken out her slobbery teeth and just let them rest on a table in a busy restaurant.  Germs apparently weren’t a consideration.

After getting over my initial reaction of disgust, I began to contemplate how I should go about removing the dentures from the table and what to do with them anticipating the couple’s return for the rather important item.  I finally decided to go in with a paper towel and a plate and go after her teeth like a man.  Just so you know, even with a paper towel it is not an enjoyable task to pick up a pair of someone else’s dentures.  They felt warm and slippery and altogether unpleasant.  I would place it on the same level as picking up dog shit with a plastic bag.  I don’t care who you are or how many dogs you’ve owned, no one likes feeling poop on the other side of a thin layer of plastic.  Dentures easily fall in this category.

Once I’d finally worked up the courage to get the dentures on a plate and safely to the office, I had time to truly appreciate what an incredibly feat gumming a half-pound burger is.  That takes some serious skill.  This woman didn’t even go in with a knife and fork.  She picked that bad boy up and managed to decimate it without a full set of teeth.  And I didn’t even notice until I was left to pick her dentures up from the table.  Kudos, old lady.

The next time someone complains about our burgers being too big, I will suppress the urge to compare them to a toothless old woman who knows how to get shit done.  I will similarly suppress the urge to laugh at them and tell them that they – and their teeth – are not as awesome as they think they are.  Unfortunately, regaling my guests with a story involving picking up someone else’s dentures is not exactly appropriate mealtime conversation – no matter how incredible that story is.  This will just have to be an inside joke between you and me.

And don’t worry; she came back for her teeth.

Is Hooters Exploiting the Hooters Girl?

About 17,000 years ago – because that’s exactly how long the Internet has existed according to ancient pictographs – someone asked me the following question on my Formspring account:

An SAT word for sure.

Do you think Hooters exploits women? What do you think of the word exploit? It seems to be used all the time whenever a woman is showing skin.

At the time I decided not to answer it because it had all the makings of a great post topic.  Of course good intentions don’t always turn into good actions.  In some cases good intentions actually turn into you being lazy as shit and not doing anything at all.  That, my friendies, is what happened to this poor question.  So it sat there and felt all lonely as other questions were promptly replied to with all sorts of wonderful answers.  And now 17,000 years later this little question is finally get its chance to shine.  Cinderella is going to the ball, bitches.

First off, lets go ahead and look up the definition of exploit according to my totally intelligent MacBook:


exploit
verb |ikˈsploit| [ trans. ]
make full use of and derive benefit from (a resource) : 500 companies sprang up to exploit this new technology.
use (a situation or person) in an unfair or selfish way : the company was exploiting a legal loophole | accusations that he exploited a wealthy patient.
benefit unfairly from the work of (someone), typically by overworking or underpaying them : making money does not always mean exploiting others.

There you have it.  Does Hooters make use of and derive benefit from me?  Yup, they sure as shit do.  But then again pretty much every restaurant and profit-seeking business does that.  That’s called being an employee.  You work, and they make money.  Capitalism is fun!

Moving on from there however, I’m forced to consider if Hooters uses me in an unfair or selfish way; in this case I have to say no.  While some probably won’t agree, I cannot see Hooters employment of me (or thousands of other women) as a Hooters Girl as selfish or unfair.  Yes, they make money because of certain traits I may have, but they also pay me for those same traits.  In my opinion as long as I’m being paid for a job that I willingly accepted there is nothing even the least bit unfair about it.  And as the last definition further points out, I have to be overworked or underpaid for it to be true exploitation.  I work three to four days a week and make enough to support myself while getting a graduate degree.  Seems pretty fair to me.

Besides, if Hooters exploits me to make money then whom am I exploiting to make my own?  It could be argued that in all reality I – as the Hooters Girl – am exploiting the countless people who come in and sit at my tables.  After all so many people, falsely, think Hooters Girl are all simply skanky flirts who practically rape people for tips.  If that were the case the real exploitation would be directed at the customers, not the staff.

Lets be honest, does Hooters use sexuality to its advantage?  The very clear answer is most certainly yes.  But this is hardly a phenomenon limited to Hooters.  A casual stroll in your local mall will easily prove my point.  In fact if you don’t believe me, I dare you to stop in front of an Abercrombie where a half naked, poster-sized man or woman will great you in dramatic black and white before you even step inside the store.

Sex sells, it’s a simple fact that countless companies and individuals have taken advantage of for a very, very long time.  Does that mean that someone is exploited in doing so?  Certainly not.  Exploitation by its very definition involves someone doing an awful lot and getting no return.  In most cases, including Hooters, all parties are willing participants who know what they’re getting into and know what they are expected to give and receive.  You eat, you pay, I work, I make money, Hooters gives me a wage and I in turn help Hooters make a profit.  That’s just business 101. 

So what do you think?  Is Hooters exploiting me?

Why Yes, I Am Skinnier Now

It's not like this for serious. CREDIT.

In becoming more fit again, I’ve realized that it’s something people are very uneasy addressing.  What I mean is that though people notice the change and want to offer some compliment, they have no idea how to do so.  I’ve noticed this the most at work where my required uniform is especially form fitting, making it pretty obvious that I’ve slimmed down.  It’s nearly impossible not to notice in form-fitting Lycra and spandex.  And this makes people uneasy.

Usually this happens most with regular customers.  I’ll be working at the bar, mixing drinks like a true master of all things alcoholic and a customer will clear their throat in a way that quite obviously means “I have something to say with absolutely no idea how to say it.”  After acknowledging the dramatic throat clear, I’ll find myself in the middle of a stammering, uncomfortable conversation that boils down to asking if I’ve lost weight.

“Um, I don’t really know how to say this, but have you…um…maybe lost a little weight?”

“You know, you look different.  I guess I’m not sure, but maybe you’ve been at the gym a bit lately?”

“I think, well maybe I don’t know, that perhaps you’ve toned up some.  I’m not really sure.  I don’t come here that much.”

Actually, you’re here twice a week, but whose counting anyway?  No matter the delivery, it’s pretty obvious that people have no idea how to address the change in my body.  Of course I totally understand.  We live in a society that has – rightfully – taught us it’s disrespectful to make inquires regarding a woman’s weight.  Hell, it’s rude to make inquires about anyone’s weight.  But sometimes, regardless of the situation, it’s nice to hear a compliment.

And that, my friends, is the difference.  If it’s apparent that someone has had a positive body change odds are they’d probably love a positive response to that change.  I’ve literally worked my ass off of my body after months of very hard work.  I’ve sweated.  I’ve sustained myself on boiled chicken.  I’ve consumed more protein in liquid form than some people probably eat in a year.  And most of it has totally sucked.  It was hard and it’s nice knowing that all of it really did make a noticeable difference.  Yes, I can look in the mirror everyday like a vain little twit and spew affirmations, but nothing is better than someone else taking notice and saying something nice.

If you notice a change in someone, go ahead and say something.  If they’re anything like me, they’ll really appreciate the compliment.  After all, a girl cannot live on protein and complex carbs alone; those don’t feed the soul.

So go ahead and sit at my bar and confidentially ask if I’m a personal trainer (yes, that actually happened).  Point out that I may have lost weight.  Because guess what?  I have.

If I can generalize, remember the importance of complimenting people.  Yes, it can occasionally feel awkward to do so, but it can really make a person’s day.  It’s just nice to be noticed and – even more so – appreciated.  I’ve made it my new personal goal to compliment someone everyday because the world could use a little love.  Let’s spread love people!

Oh, and thanks for letting me know how much you like my “guns.”

And, because I like votes and I'm a shameless self-promoter, don't forget to vote daily in the Hooters Halloween Costume Contest on Facebook.  Once again I made my costume from scratch this year.  I'm hoping - with your help - to break into the top three and win some money to support my student ass.  Please help me buy Ramen liquid egg whites.

VOTE HERE!

Then feel free to LIKE ME ON FACEBOOK!  It's where the magic happens.

Some People Just Can't Handle Hooters

There's WOMEN in there, George!  We're Leaving!
CREDIT.

I will never understand people who walk into Hooters just to turn around and walk back out.  Usually the culprits are a couple between 50 and 60 (couples 60+ seem to adore Hooters - go figure).  They'll come in the door, maybe get as far as sitting in a booth - always a booth - and then leave with minimal acknowledgement such as a nod or a murmured "no."  And just like that they're gone to dine somewhere more their style, like Ihop or maybe Fuddruckers if they're feeling adventures.  Or better yet, the Cracker Barrel.  Yeah that's about right.

While I understand why people don't want to come to Hooters in the first place, I don't get why people would ever do this.  How on Earth could you not know what to expect from Hooters well before you walk in?  I mean Hooters is everywhere in pop culture and has been for over twenty years.  Do you really not what to expect?  Are you really that surprised to see girls in short shorts and tank tops?  Did the noise in a restaurant known for being fun and boisterous catch you unawares?  So sorry we frightened you.  I can only imagine that's a rather common occurrence when you leave the comfort of the rock you've apparently been living under.

But seriously, do you not know what Hooters is?  That is completely and utterly mind boggling to me.  Not only is Hooters everywhere, it's freaking called HOOTERS.  If that doesn't give you a clue I don't know what would sort of a logo of nothing but tits.

Let me give you the benefit of the doubt for about three seconds and consider that you did know what Hooters was.  Obviously at this point you thought you were those hip sort of people that can handle Hooters.  You come in and sit down and  EGADS!  Through your monocle you observe shorts which expose those horrid things called knees.  Shorts were expected, but knees are simply unacceptable.  That's all it takes to falter the delicate sensibilities of such an upstanding couple.

Seriously, it's Hooters.  Get over it.  If you can't seem to accomplish that, do yourself a favor and don't pretend you're comfortable here.  It's weird for everyone - including yourself - when you come in and leave a few minutes later.  I'm not saying you should like Hooters; I just don't want you to make yourself uneasy while you're trying to enjoy a nice dinner out.  Do us all a favor and stick to Applebees.

Look at What She's Wearing

Perhaps more than anything at Hooters, I hate bitches that come in just to make fun of us.  I say bitches because this is primarily a pastime of young girls from the age of about sixteen to twenty-five with evil laughs and a plethora of cutting comments.  Generally they come in and spend their lunch or dinner making snide remarks and vicious little observations when they think you're not listening.  Of course everything is said just loud enough to make sure that you hear just enough of it to totally hate them.

OMG. LOL. LMFO.  Look at her fat head! CREDIT.

This happened the other day at a table of two girls and two boys - presumably their boyfriends - who stopped in for lunch.  At first it appeared they were trying to be the "cool girlfriend" who takes their guy to Hooters, but it became apparent pretty quickly that this was simply a ruse.  Before I even got to the table I heard, "look at what she's wearing!"  No shit, Sherlock.  This is Hooters.  I'm pretty sure you had a fairly good idea of what we would be wearing long before you got here.

And that's how it all started.  They went on to say all sorts of nice things insulting the body or intelligence of any girl that had the misfortune of passing their table.  They stared and laughed and made it a generally unpleasant experience to wait on them.  These two girls were just bringing everyone down including their dining partners who sat stone faced during the entire bashfest that was happening across from them.  Those poor boys just wanted some freaking wings.  No one was having any fun except for Bitch One and her friend Bitch Two.

Here's the thing about girls like that, when it comes down to it their really just insecure.  Perhaps people make fun of them at school or work or their simply hard on themselves.  Whatever the cause, these girls find their way to Hooters and turn all that anger on women who can't defend themselves.  They attempt to bring themselves up by bringing others down.  I get it.  I understand what's going on, but just because you're not happy with you, doesn't mean you have free reign to take that out on others.

I get that Hooters Girls seems like an easy target.  I know the stereotypes and I know that those are easy to make fun of.  You assume we're unintelligent skanks who are out to steal your pubescent boyfriends.  For the record, I'm a twenty-six year old graduate student with my own awesome boyfriend.  I don't need yours.  I've also NEVER slept with anyone I've met at Hooters.  Thanks for assuming that I have.

Please don't come to my restaurant if you're planning on being an uber bitch the whole time.  It's not fun for anyone but yourself - and I'd guess it's really not that fun for you either.  It not only makes you look insecure, but makes you look entirely immature as well.  Why don't you spend that time improving yourself instead?

Next time imagine me coming to your job or classroom making fun of how stupid you are whenever you speak or how chubby look in blue.  Now I'd never actually do those things, but you obviously would.  Grow up, dude.

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.

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.

What Happens in the Bathroom Doesn't Always Stay There

Last night was one of those infamous sorts of evenings that can only be provided for by a UFC fight.  The type of evening that brings out all the drunks and douches and high school students.  Of course last night was made even more interesting at work by the fact that our local college football team - the Montana Grizzlies - lost to their most hated rivals, Montana State.  For those of you not up on your FCS football, the Griz are pretty much notoriously awesome.  Rather than continue being the number one team in the nation though, the Griz decided to throw everyone for a loop and totally suck a big one this year.  It's been a real treat.  Anyway, the Griz loss to the Montana State Bobcats brought in tons of MSU fans that decided to be most epic douches.  So we had UFC douches and MSU douches.  The douche level was dangerously high.

Amidst all this doucheittude, a 20-something couple at table 91 decided, after what I can only imagine to be copious amounts of alcohol, to celebrate their love.  How does one celebrate their love at Hooters you may ask?  Naturally, they passionately make love in the ladies' room.  Yes, you did indeed read that correctly.  That really happened at Hooters last night.  But lets start at the beginning shall we?

With all this talk of the night shift, I actually worked during the day yesterday.  It was busy and crowded and after getting out of there, naturally the first thing I wanted to do was go home, change and come back just so I could spend my evening at Hooters.  There I was, after a long day of work hanging out there.  It wasn't my ideal evening, but Dreamy and his roommate decided to be UFC nerds.  So there I was at the bar, glad for the double, spicy bloody mary's Ariel kept handing me.  I was also glad, that Dreamy's roommate had brought along a lady (not girlfriend) to keep my company amidst the testosterone.  It was shaping up to be a lovely night.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, my lady friend told me she had seen a man enter the restroom while she was washing her hands.  She, as well as I, assumed that he was slightly to entirely intoxicated and had entered the bathroom by mistake.  Quickly though she related, that she knew it wasn't a mistake when he started loudly whispering, "Michelle."  Michelle answered with a pounced, "shhhh!"  It still all seemed rather harmless.  This was until a bit minutes later when Twin Tower walked over with a look on her face that screamed of juicy Hooters gossip.

Twin Tower:  "So did you hear what happened over at my table?"

Sauce:  "Um, I guess not."

Twin Tower:  "Manager just caught two people getting it on in the ladies' room."

Quickly the story unfolded.  It seems the casino attendant went into the bathroom after hearing some rather strange noises - which I can only imagine means primal, animalistic moaning - quietly entered the bathroom.  After doing some careful spy work that consisted of peering under the stall doors, she saw two pairs of legs in the second stall.  With their pants down.  It was evident immediately what was going on and it certainly wasn't number one or number two.  Manager was quickly notified.

Manager then proceeded to enter the bathroom on a mission and pound on the stall door with authority and ask them to leave the bathroom.  Given the state of undress within the stall, the couple couldn't come out right away and rather took their time leaving.  This is about the time that Manager threatened to call the police.  This sped up the process exponentially.

After leaving the bathroom the couple didn't leave, as most would ashamedly do, but rather decided to rack up a sweet little $150 tab with two friends over at table 91.  Of course they paid ever so gernously for their rendezvous by leaving Twin Tower a sweet ten-dollar tip - if you're doing the math that's a cool seven percent.  Apparently, their burning love is worth a whole lot to them.

Note to all men out there:  As a woman, I will let you know that doing me in the bathroom at Hooters isn't exactly the quickest way to a lady's heart.  I mean you could at least shell out $100 for a room at the Come On Inn.  They have Jacuzzis and shit there.  Yup, I'm going to go ahead and add Hooters' bathrooms to the list of place I don't ever want to have sex.  Even if I am wasted beyond belief.

People Who Make Me Hooters Happy

After showing that the world can be home to sucky people, I thought it might be nice to talk about some awesome people who I actually like to spend my time waiting on.  Really I'd say 98% of the people I encounter at work are a joy to serve.  Unfortunately, it's so much easier to write about the negative.  Maybe this is because it feels better to vent about horrible things.  Maybe it's because it's just that they are exceptions - making them more noteworthy in some fashion.  Maybe I just like to bitch.

Either way, this post is dedicated to some of my most favorite customers because not everyone sucks.  I now introduce you to some of the people who brighten my day.  And if any of you are reading this feel free to drop a comment and say hi!

Mak
Mak is a pretty cool dude who stops in at least once a week.  What makes him cool is that he is generally interested in my life.  This has really made him more of a friend than just a customer.  He is also a collector of my finest receipt arts and forces me to expand my repertoire by always requesting an original (he reads this blog so he knows if I am recycling).  Also, he doesn't mind if I occasionally steal a fry.  And the sharing of fried food really is the way to my heart.

Bill, Art and the Rest Home Gang
About a year ago, one of those handicap busses pulled up to Hooters and out rolled six very hip elderly people and their most amazing caregiver.  They had wanted to try Hooters and had finally been given the green light by the powers that be at their assisted living facility.  Once they came in that first day, they couldn't be kept away and made it a bi-weekly ritual to hit up Hooters for lunch.

Bill always ordered the same thing, "I'll have a mushroom burger and a Cotton-Eyed Joe."  And Bill always got both.  He'd have his burger and then we'd gather around and dance the Cotton-Eyed Joe to the delight of the table, especially Bill.  He'd would never let me get his order wrong, not that I ever would.

Art is quieter than Bill was.  Art opens his mouth to order his usual Buffalo Shrimp and not to say much else.  But Art is a thinker.  One day I opened to his to-go box to add a few more of his favorite pickles and noticed four sets of silverware atop his curly fries.  Art just smiled.  I let him keep one fork and knife.  I'm nice like that.  He's been trying to get his hands on a whole table caddy ever since.

Bill passed away in January and visits have been less frequent since then.  I hear it makes them miss him too much to stop in.  I certainly miss them.

Fast, Real Fast
Team Fast, Real Fast is made up of two motocross riders who play trivia on Wednesday nights.  They are just generally awesome guys who like to have a good time.  They also work for the local Coca-Cola bottler driving trucks full of bubbly goodness.  What is better than bringing sugar and caffeine to the good people of the world?

Bos
Bos actually lives in Kansas.  He makes his way up to Montana twice a year to go hunting.  It's a very Montana thing to do.  Bos will only sit with me because I "made him feel like a regular" after being rather ignored the day before.  This is cool with me because he is just a generally awesome person to talk to and I appreciate generally awesome people.  He'll be back in town in early November. 

The Ladies
I love the Ladies, because they are not afraid to come to Hooters and have a good time; too many women avoid Hooters for silly, unfounded reasons.  The Ladies have discovered the joy of Hooters as well as the joy of $1.50 margaritas.  And there is probably nothing more joyful than cheap tequila.  I love to laugh with this group of secure, fun, outgoing women.  I hope I grow up to be them one day.

Now hasn't this post just made you feel better about the state of the world after Bitchy Bitcherson came alone and ruined my weekend?  Yeah, I feel better too.  Thanks for making my day, you little bundles of wonderful.

Hooters Fall Football Menu

Because nothing goes better with football season than deliciousness, Hooters has kicked off their football themed fall seasonal menu.  Being a very dedicated and hungry employee, I made it my mission to try each of the four items available for a limited time only.  The things I do for my job.

Luckily, stuffing my face means that you get a play-by-play of all the menu awesomeness.  I present to you my totally unbiased, honest opinions of Hooters' fall offerings.  I am not responsible for any drooling on your computer.

Speedway Sandwich
The Speedway Sandwich is grilled chicken breast smothered in Hooters signature Daytona wing sauce.  If you haven't tried Daytona on your wings, first off you should and I generally describe it as a "spicy yet sweet sauce with a decent kick."  It's also caramelized on the grill after being applied to your favorite fried or grilled item.  This makes it amazing.  Try it now. 

Back to the sandwich.  Like I said, the Speedway features a chicken breast grilled and tossed in Daytona sauce.  It is then topped with melty cheddar cheese, bacon, tomatoes and green onions all on a ciabatta roll.  The sandwich is served with a side of baked beans.

Sounds amazing right?  Yeah, I thought so too.  Sadly, this offering disappointed me and several customers I've served it too.  For having all that good shit on it the Speedway seemed surprising bland to me.  Not that is wasn't good it just wasn't incredibly memorable.  There was no, "oh shit this sandwich blew my effing mind!"  It's still a decent sandwich, but definitely not my favorite item on the menu.  Also, I get the whole Daytona/Speedway thing they have going with the name, but this is a football menu.  Nascar?  Football?  Step it up, people.

Baja Burger
The Baja burger is a Southwestern style burger.  It features a half-pound all-beef burger covered in provolone cheese, pico de gallo, jalapeños and a delicious ancho chipotle sauce.  Served with a side of baked beans.

You need to go to the nearest Hooters right now and put this burger in your mouth.  I don't care if the closest Hooters is ten hours away or on Mars or whatever; you need this burger now.  It's seriously that good.  Hands down my favorite thing currently on the Hooters menu.  I have dreams about this burger.  Delicious, amazing, wonderful dreams.  I dread the day it leaves the menu.

BBQ Sandwich
The BBQ Sandwich features Hooters barbeque pork topped with coleslaw and onion tanglers (we do onion rings) on a ciabatta roll.  It also is the only special item that doesn't come with stupid beans.  It comes with sweet potato fries.  This makes it infinitely more awesome.

This is my second favorite of the featured items.  Of course by second favorite I actually mean that it wishes it could be half as good as the Baja Burger.  But I'm clearly Baja biased.  All things considered it's a darn scrumptious sandwich.  I even liked the sweet potato fries and those sorts of things generally aren't my style.  So I suppose that means they are pretty delish too.

Nacho Ordinary Cheeseburger
Just like the Baja Burger, the Nacho Ordinary Cheeseburger starts with Hooters half-pound burger.  It's then finished off with a bit of chili, cheddar cheese, lettuce, tomato and sour cream.  It is also served with baked beans.

Yeah, this burger is good but I'm not really a fan of chili on my burger.  It's a burger, is more meat really necessary?  Not for this little lady.  This is clearly a manly-man burger meant for someone with chest hair and muscles and rough hands.  This burger is for a man that doesn't mind getting dirty.  This is a burger meant for the man of my dreams.

I suggest you hop on over to Hooters and try all these little delights for yourself.  Or just the Baja Burger.  Mmmm, Baja Burger.

My Hooters Twin

He was intently staring at the picture on the wall.  Very intently.  Then he'd turn, look at me and move his eyes back to the picture in front of him.  This is Hooters, there are lots of pictures on the wall.  It's just one of those restaurants that likes to have a lot of random crap around.  We have old magazine covers, pictures of celebrities, local sports memorabilia and lot of other crap no really takes the time to notice.  But this guy, he noticed.  And he couldn't stop noticing it seemed.

The picture he was staring at ever so absorbedly was taken after our swimsuit contest in April and it featured two bikini clad brunettes, skin glistening with Pam Cooking Spray (that's no joke).  And one of those oily brunettes just so happens to be yours truly.  Most people never notice the picture, but those that do will generally come up to me and give me some type of compliment that I awkwardly accept because really I don't much like the picture.  Yeah, I look pretty good but there is something about having my bikini bod up there that I don't really like.  Weird for a girl that works at Hooters, I know.

After looking at the picture for a minute or so the man finally started towards me.  I was ready for a comment about how nice I looked or a question about how I got such a shine to my skin.  I was prepared for this moment.

Dude:  "Did you know that that girl in the picture over there looks just like you?!"

Wait, what?  That's not the usual response.  I decide to roll with it.

Sauce:  "Oh my gosh, I get that ALL the time.  So funny."

Dude:  "You clearly have a Hooters twin.  It's the only answer."

Sauce:  "Yeah, that's probably it.  Small world isn't it?"

This guy generally did not get that I was the girl in the picture.  Winner.

Dude:  "Well I hope you get the chance to meet her one day.  Then they can put a picture of both of you up!"

It took everything I had to not laugh my ass off.  Everything.  I.  Had.

I'm currently looking for my Hooters twin.  I have a feeling it's a lost cause.

Father Figure?

When you work at Hooters, you can expect a few creepers.  Luckily, our Hooters has been relatively creep free.  While every now and again you may run into a less than couth guest, for the most part people at our restaurant are actually pretty cool.  This makes me more than happy.  I'd go so far as to say that it makes me ecstatic.  I mean way back a gillion (two) years ago when I started working at Hooters I was worried about two things.  First, I was worried about working with a staff of potentially bitchy, gossipy, annoying girls; luckily this has been avoided.   Second, I was worried about creepy dudes.  This I have only mostly avoided.

On Friday, I had one of those mornings that made me a less than happy person.  Actually, I had one of those nights that make a person have a less than stellar morning.  No, I wasn't drunk, rather I was locked out and slept on my front porch in the rain.  Yeah, my Thursday night was grand.  Don't worry; I'll fill you in on that little gem later.  For now, all you need to know is that I was not exactly in my most perfect Hooteriffic form on Friday morning.  But I put on my best little happy, awake act, grabbed a heavily caffeinated beverage and headed to work.

After setting up the restaurant, I was ready for my first customer of the day as a family made their way toward the door.  It is important to note at this point that it was a family with teenage kids - two girls and a boy.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  No toddlers.  No college kids.  No creepy construction workers.  I was prepared for it to be breeze as I smiled and held open the door.  Of course I was wrong. 

Dad:  "See, son," addressed to his twelve year old.  "That's the kind of rack you need to look for on a girl.  She's got a darn good set."

My smile fell from my face almost as quickly as Dad's eyes focused on my breasts and son's face turned 128 shades of red.  As all this was happening I had already decided to pull the seniority card and dump Dad and his family on the other girl on the floor.  It's not so much that I didn't want to take them, but given my two hours of sleep, on edge body I probably would be less likely to put up with his shit and more likely to scream at him.  I figured pawning the family off would not only be in my best interest, but theirs as well.  That's just good service on part for not taking them.  That's how good I am.

I promised to make it up to her and my coworker most graciously took the table.  I owe you.  Seriously.  The poor girl dealt with more lewd comments than I have perhaps heard in ALL my time at Hooters.  Yes, he was that bad.  And he was with his kids.  Two of which were teenage girls.  Classy.

Prepare to be amazed by a selection of Dad's most eloquent quotes!

Dad:  "Look at the size of the knockers on that one!"

Dad:  "Why aren't you smiling?  Shouldn't you be happy to be around me?"

Dad:  "Get that butt in gear so I can watch it walk away from me."

And perhaps my personal favorite:  "Can you step back a little and do some jumping jacks for me?  I wanna see how things go."

This was followed most effortlessly by:  "Oh I'm sorry, it's a little too early for me to be doing strenuous exercise."

That of course was followed by a swift turn and ample eye rolling.  I'd like to take this time to commend my fellow Hooters Girl for not only putting up with Ass Dad, but also delivering the most perfect comeback.  Kudos.

But as much as he said, what I couldn't understand is why he would let his mouth run not only in front of his wife but also in front of his two young daughters.  So is that how you expect men to talk to your girls?  Is that how you courted your wife?  Did it all start with a casually dropped, innuendo filled pick-up line?  I can only guess that it did since ladies love nothing more than a pig in men's clothing.  Sexy.

Dad capped off his Hooters adventure buy leaving his Hooters Girl a hefty $5.00 tip on a $120-something bill.  Clearly his ample compliments were meant to be payment enough.  Our self-esteem, self-worth and self-loathing can't thank you enough!

Oh and I can't wait for your oldest daughter to come in and apply when she's eighteen next year!  Yay!!

Being a Hooters Overachiever Pays Off

On Wednesday I was asked to be a part time manager at Hooters.  Apparently all that overachieving and generally being awesome got noticed after almost two years of hard work.  I start training next week with two days in the kitchen.  I'll officially be a Hooters Girl/bartender/trainer/manager.  I must be some kind of multitasking queen.  It will be interesting to see the restaurant from the other side of the uniform a couple days a week, but I'm not ready to leave the shorts behind quite yet.  It seems I've developed quite an attachment.

And corporate, if you're out there, I'm working my way up here!  Feel free to take about ten to twelve more looks at my resume if you have any openings in your marketing department because I'm pretty sure I'm turning into a Hooters lifer.  And I like it.

I'm a Hooters Overachiever

If my receipt art hasn't told you already, I like to go above and beyond at work.  Hooters makes a point of having us interact and deliver a unique experience to each and every customer.  Now, they don't really tell you how to do this.  Well they do, but they're not necessarily very specific.  At a minimum they want you to sit down with your customers, talk to them, seem generally interested.  But beyond that you can pretty much do whatever.  You can hula hoop with people or make them bibs or whatever.  You can even draw on receipts.  You get the idea.

I do a lot of little things that are my own way creating one-of-a-kind Hooters service.  One of these is how I deliver silverware to my table.  Yes, silverware seems quite unexciting.  That's because it is.  But I get more compliments on how I bring out silverware than you would even believe.  Yes, I said compliments.  On silverware.  Either I'm awesome or people are really easily impressed.

Here is how most Hooters Girls deliver their silverware to their tables.

They take a plate, fold a paper towel and set some silverware on it.  If there are more people, there is simply more silverware on said paper towel on said plate.  As you imagine this can get a little cluttered on that plate if you have more than two people at your table.  I don't believe in this method.  But that's probably because I have too much time on my hands.  If you don't believe me, look at how I do my silverware settings.

I bring a paper towel and silverware to the table.  One paper towel and set of silverware per guest.

I then fold over the bottom of the paper towel.

Then I flip the whole situation over and fold over the side just a smidge.  See it there on the left.  Yup, you see it.

I then continue to fold, pulling the left side over the right and creasing.  This - as you can see - makes a little pocket.  How cute.

Then I place the silverware into the little pocket I made.  I do this at the table for each and ever person.

And people love the effing shit out of it.  They eat it up and comment on my origami skills and say that I don't need to do so much for them.  Oh, but I do.  It's my thing.  It's my way as Hooters Girl.  I like going above and beyond.  It makes me standout, it makes me different AND it makes me more money.  Certainly not a thing to complain about.

So I'll keep folding my little napkin sleeping bags and putting a fork and knife to rest in each and every one of them.  I'll keep joking about showing off our fine flatware and linens.  I'll keep being an overachiever.  It's what I do.

Hooters Saves the World - With Nylons

If you think about Hooters a few things come to mind.  Boobs are up there I'm sure.  And wings, probably that too.  And perhaps one of the things you'd think about are nylons.  Shinny, tan nylons.  While Hooters may remind you of nylons and vice versa, nylons probably won't make you think about saving the environment.  I certainly never thought of them that way.  Well not until recently.

In the beginning of June we were told to start keeping our used, ripped, torn and otherwise well-loved nylons.  This probably sounds weird.  Or like the idea of some nylon fetishist.  In reality, Hooters is using all those nylons to do their part to clean up that big, oily mess in the Gulf.  You know, the one caused by all that oil? 

Jokes aside, Hooters really is collecting the nylons from 380 domestic restaurants through the organization Matter of Trust.  Being collected for the entire month of June, the used nylons will be filled with hair, fur, feathers and other materials creating booms that will soak up the oil.  Hooters goal is to collect 100,000 pairs of nylons that would be used to create 15 miles of booms with the potential to soak up one million gallons of oil.

It seems to me like a pretty natural progression.  If you need a lot of nylons Hooters seems like a pretty good place to get them.  And while it won't stop the oil, it certainly will aid in cleaning up some of it.  Which at this point is really all that can be done.  Besides watching it continue to leak.

So if you chance by Hooters before the end of June, realize those nylons on your Hooters Girl could very well be soaking up lots of oil in the very near future.  And you thought they just made our legs shinny.

Not So Smart Girl and the Wedgie

When I began my journey at Hooters I figured I'd spend a fair amount of my time defending my job.  Perhaps not even so much as defending my job, but rather defending my own intelligence and substance.  Defending myself as an individual.  And it turns out that yes; I have had to do my fair share of proving myself in a way.  I've had to show people that I am not some stereotype and that - perhaps more importantly - that stereotype doesn't really exist.  But you know all this. 

What I wasn't really prepared for when I began at Hooters was the fact that my family would also have to defend my job.  This leap is understandable, but it's not something that really crossed my mind until the first time I watched my Mom defend me in front of a particularly nosey and outspoken neighbor.  You know the type; we all have one in neighborhood.  It was then that I realized my family had to escape the Hooters stigma too. 

My sister has perhaps done the most in defending my job.  When at a party, she encountered a girl speaking about one of her classmates.  I'm not sure of the full content of the conversation, but I know it was punctuated by "and get this, she freaking works at Hooters" and other such negative things.  The girl she happened to be talking about was Ariel and my sister just so happens to adore her.

Sister:  "Oh you know Ariel?  She is so perfect and gorgeous and smart.  Did you know she's a philosophy major?  And on top of being pretty and smart she's generally awesome too."

Score, sister, score.  But that altercation is not the most heinous thing my dear sister has encountered.  The most awful thing happened in class.  In a university meant to be a bastion of higher learning.  You know, a place where people are supposed to smart.  Apparently admission standards have really gone downhill.  Anyway, there she was one day in class discussing something or other that was generally educationally when this happened.

Not So Smart Girl:  "Well Hooters has the highest fecal matter of any restaurant because the girls there are always having to pick their wedgies.  That's why I'd never eat there."

Naturally, my outspoken, opinionated, awesome sister went on to shut this girl down because she is - as I mentioned - awesome.  And actually has a brain.  That's important to note as well.  I love you, dear sister, thanks for further illustrating the splendid thing that is our gene pool. 

So, Not So Smart Girl, lets break this down shall we.  First off, I don't pick my wedgies at work.  Believe it or not, nylons are rather taut and as such I don't get many wedgies.  I have to say, the whole not having wedgies thing is a pretty nice feeling.  Second, if I did pick a wedgie at work I'd likely follow said wedgie picking with hand washing.  Mainly this is because I'd probably be picking my wedgie in the privacy of a bathroom.  As hot as picking nylons and shorts out of my crack on the floor would be I don't think my customers would really appreciate it.  Finally, why on earth would there be fecal matter involved at all.  I'm pretty sure the best way to pick a wedgie is from the outside, not the inside, of the situation.  Why on earth would I randomly have my hand down the inside of my nylons in my butt crack?  That's right, I wouldn't.  So this leaves me with the idea that you somehow think that I have poop all over the outside of my shorts.  How the hell did that get there?!  That's just awkward.

Don't worry, Not So Smart Girl, my hand did not go from my crack to your Daytona wings.  I'm pretty sure I know about basic hygiene.  Or at least I know a lot more about it than you know about basic logic.   

On Being the Blogging Hooters Girl

This recent increase in traffic to Girl and Guitar has caused me to reflect on why I'm a Hooters Girl and perhaps more specifically why I write this blog.  It has become obvious through comments and emails that the Hooters stigma is far more prevalent than I perhaps realized.  It seems that in many ways Hooters is some mysterious curiosity centered on the Hooters Girl.  While many people love and adore Hooters, there are some that view it harshly.  Often this negative view is not so much that people dislike Hooters, but they really don't understand it often because they haven't experienced it.  People listen to rumors and hearsay - as is human nature - and develop an opinion that is often totally unfounded.

In a way, this is why I started this blog and began detailing my life as Hooters Girl.  While initially based as a way for me to journal for personal reasons, it rather quickly grew into a memoir into the life of a Hooters Girl as I become more cognizant of the Hooters Girl mystique.  In going to work and explaining my job and writing this blog it became apparent that my job stereotyped me.  My job placed me into a certain mold that really didn't reflect the dynamic person I am.  My job sometimes made me look like someone I'm not.  This is not so much because a Hooters Girl is a certain thing or a certain type of woman, but rather because people have the wrong understanding of what a Hooters Girl is.  For some reason the Hooters Girl is often viewed as vapid, shallow and vain.  She is viewed as unintelligent.  She is viewed incorrectly.  I suppose to simplify, I saw the blog as a way to show the real girl behind the Hooters Girl. 

So what I am behind the Hooters Girl?  I am a college graduate with a B.S. in Marketing.  I am a former collegiate athlete who nearly high jumped her height.  I want to go to law school.  I am waitlisted to get into the law school of my choice and worried about it.  I love buying shoes.  I use running as my emotional outlet.  I love to read classics, but secretly indulge in chick-lit.  I consider my guitar my most prized possession.  I have to sleep on my left side.  I love sports of all kinds.  I got stood up on my first date in months last Thursday.  I love writing papers, especially those that analyze literary symbolism.  I love ESPN.  I still have a teddy bear.  I eat string cheese every day.  I love hiking.  I love Montana.  I am a Dutch citizen and an American citizen.  Chili is my favorite thing to cook.  I like to draw portraits.  And a million other things that don't involve orange shorts and chicken wings.

When I tell people what I do, most don't believe me.  Honestly, if you had told me three years ago I wouldn't have believed it either.  I too had a misconception of what a Hooters Girl was.  I thought that girl wasn't the girl I am.  For some reason I judged a Hooters Girl as a girl without substance.  But when the job fell in lap, I realized very quickly that while a Hooters Girl is an American icon it is still just a job.  Being a Hooters Girl is not a definition.  It might be part of a definition, but it is certainly not a whole.

I work with forty beautiful, fun, amazing woman.  Most are in college, some of us have even graduated.  We have cheerleaders and athletes and nerds.  We are different, but share the commonality of being Hooters Girls.  For some reason however, the fact that we wear the same uniform seems to create the idea that we are the same person.  That's the thing about Hooters Girls, while we all wear the same orange shorts and scrunched socks we are hardly the same.  We are all gorgeous individuals with varying interests and personalities who happen to have the same job.

And honestly, it's a job that I totally love.  When I started did I think I'd love it?  No, I thought I would feel objectified and underappreciated and unchallenged.  There are certainly times I feel that way, but this is not most of the time.  Most of the time I love going to work.  I get to be goofy and show my personality and talk sports and play my guitar at work and even have intellectual conversations now and again.  I get to be myself.  It just so happens that this involves lots of spandex and Lycra.  And you know what, I'm ok with that.

I know that one little blog in the vast expanse that is the Internet is not going to singlehandedly change opinions, but I don't expect it to.  I suppose what I do expect is that a few people may chance by it and see a different side of something.  Perhaps this will enlighten them in someway.  Perhaps it will shed some light.  Perhaps it will change an opinion here or there.  But that is not up to me.  All I can do is continue to write.  I'm just one Hooters Girl writing one blog.  I couldn't be happier.