Ear Splitting Sharpies

If you’re been to a Hooters in the last – oh – forever, you’re probably familiar with the practice of your Hooters Girl writing her name on a napkin as she’s introducing herself to your table.  Not only is this congruent with the informal, personal feel of Hooters, but it also is a sign to us as servers that the table has been taken care of; it’s a perfectly simple solution.

Yesterday, I was introducing myself as normal and uncapped my Sharpie to jot down my name.  It was business as usual.  No sooner had I put marker to napkin was I suddenly being told to stop.  Yes, a customer was asking me to stop writing my name down.  Actually, to be more accurate I was being yelled at.

Well that explains it.  CREDIT.

“OH MY GOD, DO NOT DO THAT,” he bellowed as he swiftly covered his ears.  This was not a normal reaction.  It stopped me cold.  There I was staring at a middle-aged man forcibly covered his ears.  Surprised doesn’t begin to cover it.

And that’s about the way we stood for a good thirty seconds, because he also had his eyes closed.  There he was doing the “hear no evil, see no evil” as I awkwardly stood there unsure what the eff to do about it.  I was beyond confused.

“Are you done doing that yet?”

I had been done for nearly a minute with half my name scrawled across the napkin as he cautiously opened his eyes.  As he realized I’d stopped long before, I did the only thing I could think of and asked what he’d care to drink as if I hadn’t gotten screamed at for writing my name.  While I took the order I casually grabbed the napkin and crumpled it in my hands hoping that hiding the evidence might lessen my embarrassment.  I was just going to pretend it never happened.

As I poured his beer, my manager came over to ask what happened to cause such uproar.  It was pretty obvious by her blank reaction that the whole thing really was as ridiculous as it sounded.  We both agreed I was probably one of the few people in the world who have been screamed at for writing on a napkin.  I call that talent.

Beer and food were dropped off and consumed, and while the rest of the meal went fine, I was marginally relieved to cash the gentleman out.  It was as I was doing so that he took the time to casually apologize and rattle of some excuse about the sound reminding him of sand.  Yes, sand. 

Naturally this led me to test the combination of Sharpie and napkin and my findings produced little to no noise that you could hear across a table – and most certainly no sound that had anything to do with sand.  Don’t worry; I was as confused as you probably are.

Hey, at least he apologized!

Napkins, Names and Crazy B*#@$es

Today I had a request to keep the napkin.  By this I mean the napkin that I am forced to sign at every table I serve.  First off, the request was fairly normal - at first at least.  But before I get to all that, why do I have to sign that damn napkin in the first place?  Hooters makes a point of having each and every one of their Hooters Girls mark their tables in this way.  It's requirement number one when you head to a table.

It's mine, bitch! CREDIT.

Now I could say that this is so you can actually call me by name, but of course that rarely is the way the napkin is used.  Usually it's ignored, used as a coaster, or meets an untimely demise brought by a sauce covered hand.  But I still have to sign that napkin even though you'll still call me baby, honey, or ignore the idea of me having a name all together.  It's just part of the ritual of being a Hooters Girl.

In the end though, as much as that napkin doesn't mean shit to most customers, it means a whole lot to us.  In a restaurant that is hostess free 95% of the time, a signed napkin on a table means that they've been helped and not entirely ignored.  Consider it a Hooters Girl version of territory marking only without the urine and animalistic rubbing.  Really it's just a sure sign that you're taken care of.  It's a simple, but helpful tactic to keep the whole restaurant running smoothly.

And then of course there are those customers that generally appreciate your name sitting there on the table.   Some people actually pay attention.  Some people actually use my name.  Some people are just cool as shit.  And then sometimes they even like me so much that take that napkin home where I can only imagine they show all their friends and hang it on the fridge.  Or something.

That is what happened today.  Today, a very nice man asked to keep the napkin and I kindly obliged.  In fact I even went above and beyond and - per his request - got all the girls on shift of sign it as well.  It was only after all this work that I found out why he really wanted it.

As it turns out, this nice guy's ex-girlfriend was a less than nice girl.  She was the type of girl who didn't trust this nice guy and in fact didn't trust him so much that she freaked out when he went to Hooters.  Now my first reaction to this is that she's a freaking crazy idiot. 

Side note: crazy bitches, I - or my coworkers - am not here to steal your man.  I already have one boyfriend to deal with; I don't need yours.  This is my job, not some fancy conspiracy to breakup relationships.  Get over it.

Back to what I was saying, my first reaction was that she was a crazy idiot.  My second was that my shitty relationship experience led me to believe her mistrust was probably due to her being a cheating, backstabbing, untrustworthy-herself bitch.  Apparently that assumption was right on the money.  And that was whom the napkin was for.

This rather seemingly nice man was sending that napkin which said, "I love Hooters" and had all those names on it to his ex.  I surmise that it was not a clean breakup. 

Now I don't necessarily condone being rude to exes, but part of me finds this seriously awesome.  The other part of me is mildly freaked out that my name will be in the hands of a possibly jealous psycho.  Isn't life exciting?!

Call Me Sometime

Every good Hooters Girl knows the importance of her name on a napkin. This is how your Hooters Girl greets you. With a smile and a, "How 'bout a Bud Light Big Daddy today?" she will drop a beverage napkin with her name scrawled across it in colorful Sharpie. Of course this will be adorably embellished with a heart or two and probably an "xoxo". If you're in a decent Hooters, girls will come from all corners of the restaurant to add their mark to your napkin and you will feel all sorts of special.

This story, however, is not about you and your sense of accomplishment at having three or more hot chicks say hi to you. This is story is about the napkin. Once upon a time I, as is my duty, wrote my name on a napkin and placed it in the middle of booth occupied by three teenage girls. They were fun girls and as I love to bullshit with my tables I talked to them quite a bit throughout their stay. We talked about them being excited to be seniors next year and about boys and all that high school girl stuff that seems beyond important when you're seventeen.

After enjoying a healthy dinner of wings, curly fries, and fried pickles that I insisted were God's gift to fried food, they left a nice tip and I began busing their table as they walked out the door. I stacked the cups and grabbed the plates and as I did so I noticed something under one of the plates I'd picked up. There it was, the napkin. Neatly folded, I could see the pink Sharpie of my name bleeding through the napkin as it lay there on the table. As I went to grab it, I noticed not only was my name written upon it but there in blue pen something else was scrawled.

"I don't know if you're into girls, but if you are you should call me."

And there it was, a name and a number. I stared at it in shock. Now I've had plenty of numbers left for me on napkins, receipts, wet naps, and once even on a plate written in ketchup while being employed at Hooters, but never have I had a girl leave me her number.

I literally laughed out loud. I am in no way attracted to girls in a sexual manner. Yeah, girls are hot and I can appreciate a gorgeous girl but I love boys and, as ugly as they are, I love penises (yes I admit it and I do so ever so proudly). I mean it's very flattering that you think I'm hot enough to scissor (sick, I can't believe I just said that) but ladies just really aren't my thing personally. And, even if I was attracted to girls you can bet I'd be going for girls over 18. Sorry, honey, lets keep it legal here.

So boys next time you decide to leave me your number not only will I probably not be calling you but realize you've got some major competition. She's seventeen and is apparently one assertive chick. Don't worry though, I won't be calling her either.