Ode to a Tool

One of my ex boyfriends, we'll call him "Small Town Boy", is a total tool. Now Small Town Boy (STB) is not just a regular tool, but a tool of such epic proportions that I would go so far as to call him a tool bag; for those of you not in the know this is similar to "biggie sizing" your value meal.

To better describe STB, I decided to look up the word tool on the ever handy Urbandictionary.com:

Intellectual pursuits are not of any interest to a tool, and people who are interested in them are "stuck-up" or "faggy". A tool just likes to have a few beers, watch and talk about sports constantly, and refer to women as "sluts" and themselves "players". Tools are usually borderline retarded, but hide it well because they have the uncanny ability to conform almost perfectly to social norms.

If a movie, or song becomes popular in society, the tool will quickly adapt said movie or song as one of their favorites (see Lil' Jon, Souljah Boy, Boondock Saints). Their "social commentary" is often crudely taken from the last episode of South Park.

A tool can usually be spotted wearing a backwards baseball cap and athletic attire, playing beer pong at any large, obnoxious party where loud mainstream rap music is played.

Thanks Urban Dictionary, you have effortlessly captured STB in all his toolish glory; I couldn't have put it better myself! I shit you not, that is literally an exact description of the college dropout, ultimate mooch, beer pong table in the living room, Boondock Saints loving cliche that is STB. I mean the guy dumped me while drunk in the middle of a camping trip of twenty people - tool for sure.

Recently though, STB raised his level of tool bag to a height of such epic proportions that I'm not even sure there is a word for it. STB jumped on the ol' bandwagon and got a tattoo that he has advertised incessantly on facebook (a classic tool move). Now I have several tattoos so I'm not judging him on the act of simply getting inked. The thing is that my tattoos all have a definite and dramatic connection to my life, for example I have Mercury wings on both feet. This is because I not only ran track for 15+ years of my life but my parents met at a track meet - basically my life is one big track meet.

Now STB's tattoo, on the other hand, has nothing to do his life on any sort of meaningful level. First I'll give you a little background. STB and his current sugar momma just took a trip to Hawaii after a month of relationship bliss. And basically that's it, STB has been to Hawaii once and there stretching from elbow to wrist is a map of Hawaii (please also note that it is every tool's favorite tattoo color, black, and the toolish arm in the air). WHAT?! OK, I've seen some shitty tattoos, but why on Earth would a white boy from Montana get a tattoo of Hawaii after visiting the place once? I've been to Minnesota for a layover, maybe I should get a tramp stamp of the land of 10,000 lakes.

I can see it now, "Daddy, what are those blobs on your arms?!" (please note that this is dramtization, heaven help us all of STB procriates)

"That's Hawaii, Timmy." Then enevitably STB will have to tell Timmy all about it and it will come up that the trip wasn't with Mommy but with the current flavor of the week. Poor, poor Timmy.

Thank you STB for reminding of yet another reason why I am glad we are no longer dating, as if your unemployment and constant inebriation weren't enough. I hope that you and Haiwaii are very happy together.

A Guide to Tipping at Hooters

Recently I received an email inquiring about tipping at Hooters. How does one tip at Hooters? Does a patron tip as they would in a normal restaurant or are there different expectations?

Tipping at Hooters depends on several factors and – in my opinion – has major differences that separate it from general restaurant tipping. Following, you find a few guidelines that I believe should be considered when deciding what to tip your Hooters Girl. Please note that this is not what Hooters Girls expect to be tipped, as tipping is based on individual preferences, but simply one way of looking at the Hooters tipping debate and how I would personally tip at Hooters.

1. First and foremost a tip at Hooters, or elsewhere, should be dependent on food service. While Hooters is known for a specific brand of entertainment it is most importantly a restaurant. As such, your initial tip should be strictly based on service, as it would be anytime you dine. Were you seated promptly? Were your drinks and entrée orders taken efficiently and delivered how you ordered them? Were your needs anticipated and met before you had to ask? Etc.

What you tip based on service is largely up to each individual. Generally a restaurant tip is between 15-20%, varying according to service. So basically for the initial tip, tip like you would at Applebee’s, Red Robin, or wherever.

2. After your service-based tip, you should note the other elements that make Hooters, Hooters to supplement your tip. Specifically, I am refereeing to the entertainment each and every Hooters Girl should provide her guests. Did your Hooters Girl play a game with you? Did she dance or sing? Did she hula hoop and pour your beer? Did she provide you with signature service? Basically, what did your Hooters Girl do to go beyond basic restaurant service to give you Hooters service?

Once again, the amount of this supplemental tip is based on individual preferences. As the food service is primary, this shouldn’t be expected to be as large as the first part of the tip (unless you deem it appropriate). I would personally suggest between 5-15%.

3. There are several other things to take into account when tipping at any restaurant. First, does your state pay servers minimum wage or do they have a special restaurant pay rate? In states in which servers make, say, $2.14 your tip will be supplementing their wage and this should be acknowledged. Also, most servers will be required to “tip out” other employees within the restaurant. For example, I personally tip out at least three people every shift: hostess, bartender, and dishwasher. Our system requires I tip them at least 1% of my sales each but on busier nights I typically will personally tip them more. Remember, you’re not just tipping your server, but many varied employees.

As stated originally, these are not strict guidelines, but one way of tipping at Hooters. Most important to note is that a tip should never be expected but is rather earned. Feel confident tipping an amount you deem appropriate as long as it reflects the level of service you received.


Have your own Hooters question? Email Sauce at girlandguitar@live.com and your question and answer may appear right here on Girl and Guitar.

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.

Tales of a Late Bloomer

In high school I could be easily described as shy. Actually, debilitating would be a perfect word to describe the level of my shyness. Now, after having one utterly hellacious three year relationship that served as one major kick in the figurative pants, I am effortlessly outgoing. In fact any of my current friends who didn’t know me as an awkward teenager (awkward is putting it mildly for a girl just shy of 5’11 who looked like an anorexic boy, can you say late bloomer?) never believe me when I tell them I was shy or that I was never asked to a dance or wasn’t kissed until I was nearly seventeen.

What is really funny though, are the reactions of those that knew “high school Sauce” when they find out my current place of employment.

“Wait, like Sauce, tall Sauce works at Hooters?”

“You mean that sorta awkward girl who ran track, Sauce, works at Hooters?”

“Don’t you have to talk to people to work at Hooters?”

“Um, Sauce can’t work at Hooters, she didn’t even have boobs”

and my personal favorite…
“I went to school with someone named Sauce?”

Yes, this is that Sauce and yes I work at Hooters. Lets just say that the gods of sexy hotness blessed me with curves a little late, but when the curves came they were decidedly Hooters worthy. So for all you poor, awkward, self-hating teenage girls, don’t get too down on yourselves. You never know what might pop up when you turn 20 – it could be C cups bathed in sexy confidence.

Dear Bikini Girl...You Got Your Shit Rocked

So I'm one of those nerdy type people that watches American Idol. It's an addiction that can only be cured by bi-weekly helpings of showstopping renditions of sweet 80s tunes and Michael Jackson tribute nights. Well for those of you that live under a rock, last night was the season finale of American Idol Season 8 and let me tell you it was pure epic amazingness. I mean where else can you see performances by Queen Latifah, Black Eyed Peas, Keith Urban, Rod Stewart, Jason Mraz, Kiss, and the remaining members of Queen - just to name a few - all in one night?! That sort of random can only occure on American Idol.

But for me the highlight of the evening (well besides the really cute underdog winning) was when an ex-Hooters Girl dubbed "Bikini Girl" got her world uterlly rocked by judge Kara DioGuardi. Basically, Bikini Girl thought her shit didn't stink and that she was the "songbird of our generation" - trust me she is no combination of "Fergie and Jesus".

Breaking out into a truly painful version of "Vision of Love", Bikini Girl was taken by surprise by DioGuardi who proved once and forall that Bikini Girl is a talentless hack. The best part was that the stupid girl kept trying to sing over Kara who would have none of her crappy runs and off key crooning and just got louder and more awesome until some smart stage hand muted poor Bikini Girl's mic. Then in a moment of awesome I will never again expereince DioGuardi ripped open her dress proving that not only did she sing better but her stomach was a lot hotter too. Bikini Girl, you suck, get over it, rely on your other talents and no boobs don't count as talents.


And speaking of boobs I, along with Ryan Seacrest, noticed yours have grown quite considerably, Bikini Girl. This is an amazing feat of nature. Of course by nature I mean some sugar daddy that forked over some cash for new tits. Lucky you!

The Uniform of a Hooters Girl

The uniform of a Hooters Girl is an interesting thing. Instantly identifiable, the uniform evokes thoughts of sex, breasts, and wings in millions of people the world over. Now when I, and countless other Hooters Girls, see the uniform sex and hot wings are probably the farthest thing from mind. Sorry to ruin the illusion that Hooters Girls are constantly thinking of enumerable ways to stroke your ego, but really we’re often worrying about how much our asses hang out or if we look fat today – this is the woe of the orange shorts.

Following is a head-to-toe rundown of the Hooters Girl uniform from the eyes of a Hooters Girl.

Tank Top: The Hooters Girl tank top is, obviously, made of Lycra. As it is super stretchy the tank top is only available in super small sizes like XS and XXS and occasionally S. But don’t let the sizes fool you; even if you’d regularly wear a medium you’ll squeeze into a top that looks like it’s made for a child – trust me, it’ll fit. Getting the oh so small top perfectly tucked into the shorts is a considerable feat that involves rolling and folding and careful placement in an effort to avoid awkward lines interrupting the awesomeness that is the orange shorts.

Shorts: Hooters distinctive orange shorts are a gift to nylon as a fabric and bring the 80s running short to a new high in the fashion world. The shorts are also available in sizes ranging from XXS to S. Now according to the Hooters Manual my butt is never to hang out of my shorts, but it will and it does pretty much constantly just as every other girl in the restaurant (you’re welcome, guys, you’re welcome). The shorts will simultaneously leave you with what I call the “mom jean ass” creating a beautiful contradiction of sexy and frightening. The mom jean ass is a direct result of having to pull the shorts up just right so you create the “smile”. A Hooters must, the smile means making your shorts higher to the sides yet lower in front – making your shorts appear to be smiling. The smile allows me to hang my ass out, have the longest looking butt ever and hide the muffin top that the uniform creates on even the thinnest of girls. And finally, of course there is the camel toe but I have a major defense against that one…

Pouch: The Hooters pouch is the ultimate camel toe defense as it conveniently hides all the embarrassing front bits. The pouch comes in both brown to be worn with the generic uniform and black for Fridays and special occasions on which we wear the all black uniform (something every Hooters Girl loves and wishes she could wear everyday). Having several pockets, the pouch will be your own portable cash register and pen/Sharpie holder. It is important to note that the pouch is to be worn to the top of the shorts with no orange showing above the band.

Nylons: If you read my blog since way back when you will know that I loathe the Hooters nylons. The nylons come in letter sizes with D being the biggest (meant for tall freaks like myself). In addition to being horribly tan, they are slightly thicker than the average nylons causing them to be fairly opaque. The nylons are also atypical in that they are footless. Now a constant debate among the Hooters Girls I know is if the nylons should be worn with or without underwear. Personally, I find it more comfortable to forgo underwear however this is personal preference. So take additional pleasure in knowing your Hooters Girl may be commando.

Socks: Any good 80s style uniform is not complete without scrunched socks. The socks are one size fits all and when not pushed down go to the knee. The scrunching of the socks is a true science as they must be even and end at the bottom of the calf. This is done to draw attention to the shape of the leg.

Shoes: Every Hooters Girl wears the same (or a variation on the same) white Sketchers. Not only do Sketchers have the right “look” but also add height with the addition of a relatively thick sole. The shoes must stay white at all times.

So basically the uniform of the Hooters Girl that you’ve all come to know and love is one big pain in the ass. Yeah, there is something to be said about being the personification of an iconic American image, but it’s not always so glamorous. It takes work to looks good and I do it like it’s my job – oh wait, it is.

The Hooters Truths: Volume II

As it's Friday, I though what better way to end the week than with another addition of Hooters Truths. The Hooters Truths are an ever growing collection of little things that most Hooters Girls simply have to live with. They can be annoying, exasperating, tiring, and funny but whatever feeling they may evoke they are ever present and ever unavoidable.

Feel free to enjoy the original fifteen Hooters Truths here in Volume I.

As a Hooters Girl you WILL:
1. Find any and every way to incorporate hearts into your name.
2. Realize that bleach pens and Tide-to-Go are quite possibly the best inventions ever.
3. Become wildly overprotective of your pens.
4. Develop the perfect “Hooters voice” for saying, “Hi! Welcome to Hooters!” This will sound nothing like your actual voice.
5. Become an expert, though often reluctant, wing deboner.
6. Come to find that guys are horribly unoriginal when it comes to pickup lines.
7. Make teenage boys uncomfortable on a daily basis.
8. Learn all sorts of stupid things to write on T-shirts such as “Hugs & Jugs”, “Hoots & Kisses”, or “Breast Wishes” (or my personal favorite, “Roses are red, violets are blue, the shorter the shorts, the better the view”).
9. Know that clear nail polish or hair spray are essential tools in preventing little nylon runs from becoming big ones.
10. Put off using the bathroom as long as possible so you can avoid the annoyance of removing your pouch and pulling down your nylons and shorts just to spend five minutes getting them all in the “just right” spot again.

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.