Twin Tower and the UFC

Working UFC is totally hit or miss.  Since you only get a section of about five tables with little to no turnover, a great night or a shitty night depends entirely on what sort of people are sat in your section initially.  Because of this, I used my seniority to avoid UFC nights altogether long ago.  While I'm sure I've missed out on some big tip nights, in the end my steady Saturday day shifts have probably been better in the long run.  And they've definitely been better on the stress level - which is a huge win in my opinion.

One UFC upon a time, Twin Tower had a pretty nice section; a few of her tables were turning over ensuring at least decent tips.  Of course even with those few tables, there had to be one demanding table.  The type of table that is blind, stupid, or just rude enough to not realize the restaurant is standing room only.  This is UFC, Hooters is always standing room only.  Usually people are nice enough to realize that shit is going to take longer because not only does everyone else need something too, but once you've got that something it takes an eternity to weave around the crowd to get to your tables.  Patience during UFC is crucial and this table didn't have that.

Really it wasn't that the entire table was impatient, it was that one lady - who had been taking excellent advantage of our margarita special - was being impatient enough for everyone.  She was running Twin Tower's ass off but none of the effort was appreciated.  It became evident fairly quickly that Twin could have brought a blender to the table and pumped out margaritas right into this lady's mouth and it still wouldn't be fast enough.

Eventually, the fights came to an end and Twin Tower began the process of handing out receipts to her tables.  And then the worst thing happened.  Of all the people at the table to pick up the check, it had to be that lady.  This has a way of happening; you have an awesome table where everything went right, but one unhappy, depressed with life, oblivious asshole ruins it.  And even though everyone else is happy with the way the meal went, that miserable person is not and inevitable decides to pay.  Where anyone else at the table would have left 15-20% this douche will of course leave ten or less.  Great.

And that, my friends, is exactly what happened.  The lady paid and left one of those awesome 0% tips on a rather large tab.  All that work - on one of the busiest nights - was for nothing.  Her biggest table had stiffed her.

Months and months later, Twin Tower had pretty much all but forgotten about the incident.  UFC fights had come and gone and new stories of assholery had replaced the old.  Six months had passed when a man walked into Hooters one day and refused a table when Twin Tower just happened to try and seat him.  This happened instead:

Twin Tower:  "One today?  Come on over!"

Man:  "Actually, I'm not looking for a table, but I was looking for you."

It was right about then that she noticed a receipt in his hand and his eyes on her nametag.  She was unsure what to say.

Man:  "I was in here about six months ago for UFC and realized after getting home that my wife didn't tip you appropriately.  I'm sorry I didn't notice at the time."

Tower began to say something but was interrupted.

Man:  "I just came back to make it right since I was in town."

He then handed her forty dollars.

Man:  "That seems about right with a little interest."

Twin Tower was totally and utterly floored and barely had time to deliver a thank you before the man was out the door and on his way.   Karma was probably smiling.

See, sometimes I DO have good tipping stories.

To Working Doubles

We don't do doubles.  It has long been a rule that at Hooters of Missoula that a girl will only work one shift a day.  I'm not really sure why this is, but I think it might have something to do with the fact that most girls can't be truly hooterrific for more than five to six hours at a time.  Just think about being that peppy and happy and nice for ten or more hours while drunks and entitled bitches harass the shit right out of you.  Yeah, that doesn't sound too fun does it?

Of course sometimes - like tomorrow - college homecoming and UFC decide to happen on the same day.  This means two things:

1)  Every collegiate bitch at Hooters will request the day off to get wasted and pretend to give two shits about football.  I understand.  I've been there.  The difference is I legitimately do care about football and actually understand the rules.  But whatever, I had my college experience.  Knock 'em dead, ladies.

2)  Girls not taking the day off to be wasted - which is most - will avoid UFC like the plague.  This is because UFC means you will either make a shitload of money or no money at all - the latter being all too common.  This will depend on your section, which are always small on UFC nights, and who sits in said section.  If you get one or more tables of teenagers in your five to six table section you are totally screwed.  They will all order waters and ten boneless wings for twelve people to split.  It pretty much rocks.

So what happens when a gillion people request the day off?  It means that you might end up working an elusive double.  And by might end up, I really mean that out of the entire staff of Hooters Girls I am the only one working a double.  I think this might be because I am most excellent at always being happy.  And I totally rock my job.

Yup, I'll be at Hooters from 10 a.m. until midnight or maybe even later.  I'm hoping it will give me lots to write about.  I'm also hoping that I will be swimming in money just like Uncle McScrooge.  You know, McSrooge from "DuckTales" only without the funny accent and live-in nephews.  That's a nice visual.

Creeps and the UFC

UFC nights at Hooters have a particular way of bringing out the creeps.  Add copious amounts of alcohol and lots of televised ass beating and Hooters creeps suddenly think they are the baddest mofos ever.  Last night, yet another UFC fight night, the creeps came out of their holes, drank, made merry, and let their assholeness truly shine through.

One man in particular was an extra special gem and wholeheartedly proved why our owners bring in bouncers for UFC events.  This middle-aged man, who I'll call Golf Jacket, was in one of those states of inebriation when he walked in the door that makes one think they are coolest guy in the room (I've got a news flash for you you, Walter Cronkite, you aren't).  Well Golf Jacket is all over the poor people sitting next to him at the bar, leaning treacherously from left to right, and cheering with drunken fervor at even the slightest action on the flatscreen in front him.  As the fights go on, he gets markedly louder and starts remarking about his apparent awesomeness.

"I bet $9,000 on this fight."

Two seconds later, "Did you know that I got $13,000 on this fight?"

Closely followed by, "This fight is gonna win me like $20,000."

Then, he started talking about his 9mm to the man beside him and apparently he says he's "got his piece" on him.  Now I'm not sure if you're familiar with gun laws, but in the state of Montana one is allowed to carry a concealed weapon with proper certification.  However, one is not allowed to carry a concealed weapon into an establishment that serves alcohol.  So the bouncer, a very large man with a cliche mohawk, comes to have a little chat with Golf Jacket.

Bouncer: "You got a gun on you?"

Golf Jacket: "What, I don't have a gun? Who told you I have a gun?  I'm gonna kick some asses!"

Bouncer: "Sir, you said you had a gun on you just now."

Golf Jacket: "I have my gun on me?!"

Bouncer: "OK, I'm going to have to pat you down now."

So the bouncer begins patting Golf Jacket down, checking his pockets, when suddenly Golf Jacket envelops the bouncer in a bear hug of epic proportions.

Golf Jacket: "I just appreciate you so much."

Bouncer: "Um, thanks I guess."

Golf Jacket: "Seriously, lets hang."

Bouncer: "I don't think so, but I think it might be a good idea for you to leave."

Golf Jacket: "Sweet where we going? Oh did I tell you I won the World Series of Poker Once?  I bet $15,000 on this fight."

Sure thing, Golf Jacket.  And I'm sure the bouncer would like to thank you for attempting to come back into the restaurant five different times to give him one more appreciative hug.  I love UFC nights.