Sibling Rivalry

With the return of the Hooters calendar, Hooters Girls everywhere find themselves looking through the glossy pages and commenting on the many faces looking up at them.  We comment on swimming suits, smiles, eyes and attitudes.  To be blunt, we judge.  As a company full of women that distributes a calendar full of more women, judging is going to happen.  It can be positive and it can most certainly be negative, but it's judgment either way.

This year, however, at my Hooters the comments went beyond "she looks like a stripper" and "I so want that swimming suit" because the 2010 calendar featured several girls photographed together.  Some of these girls looked like - just maybe - they could be sisters.  Probably doesn't seem like a big deal to have a few sets of (maybe) sisters in the calendar.  Yeah, it's a hot fantasy perhaps, but still not a big deal.  What makes it a big deal is that our Hooters is a Hooters of sisters.  Currently, on a payroll of less than 40 girls we have two sets of sisters.  Two sets, whatever, right?  Well two is actually quite low for us.  At the height of our sibling awesomeness we in fact had four sets of sisters.  Yes, ten percent of our waitstaff were sisters (not to each other mind you).

Now, with so many sisters working together I want you to take a moment and appreciate the dynamics of such a situation.  If the sisters are happy, they can make quite a team.  They can play off each other at tables and pickup one another's shifts in a heartbeat.  Now lets hold hands and be oh so happy!  Unfortunately, sisters don't always get along so well.  Sometimes, or always, sisters can be complete and utter bitches to each other.  Add a restaurant centered on how hot you are and simple sibling rivalry can escalate into WWIII.  Yay for cat fights!  Imagine two sisters, wings in hand, trying to fight without making a scene of epic proportions in the middle of a restaurant.  If you are having trouble envisioning such a moment picture two hot girls that look alike glaring at each other and "whisper" fighting all while wearing hot shorts.  Probably hot to you, horrible to work with for me.

All I can say is thank goodness my sister is not a Hooters Girl.  You'd probably be reading my obituary instead of my blog.

Dear High School Students,

I realize that you have no job and your parents support you.  Hell, your parents may even give you an allowance still.   I understand that they may throw money at you to go to the mall or to a movie or even to eat at Hooters.  I get that money is just paper to you and that mommy and daddy have lots and lots of it in their wallets.  Rent, car payments and bills are a world unknown to you.

One day, however, this will all change.  One day you too will have to find yourself a job, cut the financial ties and handle your own shit.  That's right oh young ones, one day your parents will no longer pay for your sorry ass.  On that day you will find a job.  It probably won't be glamorous and probably won't leave you with scores of discretionary income.  Most likely, you will find some job that pays the bills, but leaves little left over for much else.  You will bust your ass in retail or you may even become a server.

Yes, you may become a server just like me.  You will work your ass off waiting on people hand and foot.  You will clean up messes like the ones you left for me.  You will have days that you hate your job, but you will still go to work everyday because you have bills to pay.  Of course your bills won't be paid by the less than mediocre hourly wage you receive but by the tips your guests leave you.  Some will tip twenty percent, some fifteen and some will tip like you do.  Yes, some will leave you a super awesome nine cent tip.  You will wait on them hand and food and split their tickets and teach them the bar stool rodeo.  Yes, the six of them could easily all leave you just one dollar apiece - but they won't.  Instead they will leave you nine fucking cents.  You will resent the shit of them.

So perhaps - as a simple suggestion - you could at least leave your server a measly ten percent because I'm sure one day you'd really appreciate the same consideration.

Sincerely,
Your POed Server

Of Fields and Guitar Strings

It's a Montana fall.  The type of fall that slips into winter before the leaves even find the time to change colors.  The type of fall that leaves summer behind in one effortless motion.  It's the type of fall the doesn't melt the seasons into one another - its motion is far more extreme.  This is a Montana fall.

So in this cold, a recent snowfall struggling to melt, I stand in a field.  It's just me, my guitar and the mountains closing in behind me.  My guitar is my life.  My Montana is my soul.

Oh Hey!

Sorry dear friends.  Once again I have left you hanging.  Please don't worry, I only had an epic work schedule with little excitement.  Oh, and I got the Swine Flu (H1N1 if you want to be all correct).  That was really no big deal though, only a little annoyance that left me achy and really bitchy.  Basically, it was an epically good time.  I highly suggest it if you enjoy being quarantined and drinking codine cough syrup like it's your job.  Don't worry though, I'm all better and I have some shit to say...so pay attention!

Why I Love My Job

It's notes like this that make me realize why I LOVE working at Hooters.

The Girl On the Menu

About a million times a day I get asked the following question.  Ok, so it's really more like a few times a week, but whatever.  Here goes:

"Are you the girl on the front of this menu?"

Sorry to disappoint, but no, I am not the amazingly beautiful girl on the front of every single book, on every single table, at every single Hooters.  I wish I was, but alas I am not.  Thank you for thinking I am though, because you thinking that I look like her is a compliment I will most graciously accept.  Let's face it, she's sexy and I am glad that you find me close enough to her sexiness to mistake me for her.  I bask in her sexy that you place upon me.

Here's the thing though.  Just because I am brunette and blue eyed does not make me this girl.  I, in fact, think I look nothing like this girl.  You see my eyes, though they are blue, are much, much darker than hers.  My hair is also shorter and my nose is not even close to that "button" looking.  I am most definitely not this girl.  Sorry to ruin the illusion.

Perhaps I should just start saying, "Damn right that's me.  Thanks for noticing!"

I just cut my hair, got a nose job and started wearing really dark blue contacts...

Please Donate

"There's a guy up front who'd like to speak with you," a said to GM as I motioned toward the door.

As GM was walking toward the door I watched expectantly.  The man had that look about him that shouted, "I'm asking for money."  Ready with his business card, the man had the glitter of sponsorship in his eye.  Being that we're in a college town with enumerable sporting organizations, class projects, nonprofit organizations and countless other entities needing money, this is a very common occurrence at Hooters.

Also common at Hooters is the type of things GM donates money to.  While I realize GM could never donate to each and every cause, he has a certain way of deciding what to donate to.  Of course, GM donates to big things - like Griz Football - and things that interest him like funny car racing.  He didn't donate to the Red Hat Ladies (who don't come in anymore) or the Girl Scouts.  He didn't even put up a poster for the volleyball team, but he was all about the cheerleaders.  Needless to say he is a finicky philanthropist.

So as the man turned and exited the building I wasn't surprised.  He obviously didn't represent something big or sexy enough for GM to offer his support.

"You'll never believe what that guy wanted me to donate to," GM scoffed in disbelief.  "Some coach or something for the track team.  I mean the guy seriously thought I'd donate money to the track team?  Really?!"

I stared at him blankly.

Obviously expecting a response signaling my agreement, GM continued, "Well you get it, right? I mean you played a college sport didn't you?  Track isn't even a sport if you ask me.  It's just running.  Definitely not a sport."

I continued to stare.

"What sport did you play again?  Basketball or something?"

"I ran track."

A New Take on Nylons

The first thing I noticed was that he was wearing suspenders - and a belt.  Apparently, he was the sort of man that was very interested in keeping his pants in the right place.  Or he liked contrast of the suspender, belt combo over his red flannel shirt, either way.  Needless to say, I was hardly surprised when he told me he was in town for a model train sale.  After all, what is more cliché for a toy train collector than flannel and suspenders?  The belt must have been for good measure.

After taking in his outfit, I noticed the size of his teeth.  They were the sort of teeth that might be dentures, but you're not really sure.  Suddenly you find yourself staring awkwardly at a middle-aged man's mouth unable to deflect your eyes.  Luckily, beyond being a snappy dresser, my guest was also a stunning conversationalist.  Of course by conversation I mean him talking and me feigning interest with a quick nod and smile here and there.

"I notice you're wearing nylons," he said pointing at my pantyhose clad legs without any warning.

"Oh yeah, it's a Hooters staple.  There have been Hooters Girls since 1983 and we're probably wearing the same nylons they did," I replied with a forced laugh.

"I do love nylons."  Expecting him to begin regaling me about his nylon fetish I braced for the worst.  Nothing could have prepared me for what came next.

"Did you know they have nylons for men?  My nylons look as good on me as yours look on you.  They do wonders for the legs."  Um what?!

Suddenly, I found myself being initiated into the unknown world of male active legwear.  Whereas I have developed a deep disdain for all things relating to nylons, my wing-eating guest raved about their comfort under jeans, khakis and all manner of pants.  Naturally, after hearing a rather lengthy review of male nylons, I made the assumption that my new friend must be gay, or a transvestite.  Luckily, at this moment of discovery, he proved me otherwise.

"You know, male legwear is really best at the strip club," he casually offered as I came crashing back to reality.  "I prefer spandex leggings when I'm at my favorite club.  You see with spandex the girls can really slide around.  They'll get stuck on jeans and they really hate that.  My favorite girl was telling me that just the other day.  Yes, they really don't like the jeans."

I stared blankly as I tried to process all the information I'd just heard and somehow managed to say, "I see."

"Oh, and speaking of my favorite girl reminds me that I really should get her a shirt.  Do you have something white?  I think that would show up in the backlights really nicely.  Oh and did I tell you she looks like Marilyn Monroe?  Yes, she'd look great in something white."

"I'll go grab you a few options to look at.  We'll find her just the right thing."

Bringing back an assortment of tanks and t-shirts, he settled on a classic Hooters tank top in a crisp white.  I bagged the shirt, handed him his check and brought him the correct change.  As I was counting out the appropriate coins and bills he pulled out his wallet.  Rather than simply taking the change, he reached into his wallet and pulled out a business card.

"You know you should really look up these male nylons," he said handing me the card.  "Great people over in Ohio.  I mean just dynamite people."

"Oh, yeah, I'll check that out for sure.  Sounds pretty interesting."

"Oh it really is, just amazing stuff.  One day all men will wear them.  I'm just sure of it.  And remember, if you're ever at the strip club look for the man in spandex!"

I cautiously smiled.  I'll be sure to do that, sir.

Check out ComfiLon's Activ Skin at www.comfilon.com.  Prepare to be amazed.