Prank Calls

Hooters is a hotspot for prank callers.  This is likely because it has a funny name and pretty girls.  It also probably has a lot to do with the fact that most prank callers are twelve.  What better way to spend a sleepover or school half-day than calling Hooters and asking about boobies?  Yay!

Now usually, these calls are easily handled by doing a variation of the following:

You can't trust those tricky refrigerators.  CREDIT.

Sauce:  "It's a Hooterific day at Hooters Missoula!  This is Sauce.  How can I help you?!"  (Yes, I actually answer the phone like that.  Even worse, they don't make me do it that way.  I made it up.)

Little Shit:  "Are boobies on the menu?"

Sauce:  "Well they are if you count chickens."

Little Shit:  laughing

Sauce:  "So is your mom home?"

Little Shit:  "No way.  I'm twenty.  No mom here."

Sauce:  "Uh huh.  Well I see here on my caller ID that your number is (123) 555-5555.  I'll just check back with her later."

Little Shit:  "Um oh.  I'm really, really sorry.  Don't tell my mom."

I never tell any moms.  It's certainly amazing how reading back a phone number will scare the crap out of a prepubescent boy.  But sometimes your callers aren't little boys.  Sometimes - though far less often thankfully - prank callers are legitimate, 100% creeps.  These are harder to deal with because they know how to do things like block their numbers.  Which is beyond creepy to begin with.

On Sunday we had one of our worst adult callers ever.  Yes, in two and half years of being a Hooters Girl I have never experienced anything so disturbing from a caller.  It began with a phone call picked up by our female manager.  Unfortunately, I don't know the exact nature of this call because apparently it was so vulgar that she wouldn't tell us any of the specifics beyond it being the most inappropriate thing she'd ever heard.

Naturally, my manager promptly hung up and thought the whole thing over with.  Just another creep doing what creeps do.  But it wasn't the end.  Nearly immediately after being hung up on, our creeper called back.  This time, Ariel - who was bartending - answered the phone and was greeted by the sounds of a man pleasuring himself.  She hung up the phone nearly as quickly as she'd picked up.  He called back just as quickly.

Sauce:  "It's a Hooterific day at Hooters Missoula!  This is Sauce.  How can I help you?!"

I was greeted by the same sounds and immediately noted that this didn't seem like a joke.  This man was either the best actor ever or he really was jerking off on the other end of the line.  I said the only thing that immediately came to mind.

What am I wearing?  Well pearls of course!

Sauce:  "You know, I think they may be able to better handle you if you call a strip club."

Sorry to all you strip clubs out there.  I know you probably don't want his calls either, but it was all I could think of with  al that breathing and grunting going on in my ear.  But what I said didn't dissuade him.  He kept calling.  And calling.  And calling.

So we took the phone off the hook, but then he'd simply be kicked over to the other line.  We just let it ring, but it would just keep ringing for minutes at a time.  Even one of our male regulars answered the phone.

Regular:  "Did you know you're getting off to a guy right now?  You're a sick f@#*!.  You'd better stop calling here."

Nothing would work.  He literally called for nearly an hour and all we could do was pick the phone up out of the cradle and set it right back down again.  Finally, we just called the police.  Naturally they took their sweet time getting there and when they finally showed up the creep had handled his shit and stopped calling.

Not that they could do anything with a "Private" number anyway.  Except subpoena our phone company for his number.  Which will happen if he calls back.  Which I have a feeling he will.  I'll be working on my witty remarks for when that happens.  Creep.

Snow Day!

Happy Holidays from Hooters Montana!  Oh wait, Christmas and all that shit is over.  Well happy snow.

Whatever.

And no, I'm not in this.  I was the only one good enough with the camera to actually capture jumping.

NASCAR Almost Got Me Fired

Once upon a time in the infancy of my Hooters career, I actually thought I was going to get fired.  Yes, the amazing Sauce left her job one fatefully day nearly crapping her pants that her next shift would bring nothing more than a pink slip of doom.  I really was that scared that I'd messed up.  I think I even might have cried.

Did I drop a plate of nachos on someone?  Did I scream at a guest?  Did I just all around suck at my job?  No, I did something much worse.  Something nearly unthinkable in its awfulness.  I changed the channel off NASCAR.  Yeah, you read that right.  I thought I was going to be fired for changing NASCAR to some other sporting event I can't even recall.  That's probably a cardinal sin.

After seating a family at a round high table, they nicely asked for me to change the channel.  It might have been to football or basketball or curling, but they definitely wanted anything other than the NASCAR on the screen above them.  I cordially said I would, running to grab the remote after I noted that no one seemed to be watching the current channel.

No sooner had the TV flickered from one channel to another than I heard a grumbling behind me.  It didn't take long for that low grumble to grow into full-fledged yelling from a table of men a few feet away.  I nearly immediately registered that all the screaming had to do with me changing the channel.  So, as I figured the dude yelling at me laid claim to the TV first, I kindly explained to the family that I'd have to change the channel back.

Of course this wasn't good enough.  The twenty or so seconds the TV had been off NASCAR were apparently the end of the world and even though the cars were once again zipping around the track the yelling didn't stop.  And then I heard it.

"I can't WAIT to tell (owner's name) about how awful it's been at Hooters today."

I whipped around quickly and the yeller immediately registered the pang of worry strike my face.

"That's right, I know (owner's name) really well and he'll be hearing all about this.  I'm sure he won't be happy."

I was almost instantly afraid.  While getting fired over something so ridiculous seemed insane, I was new.  And no one really cares that much about a new girl.  As the rant continued to grow more angry and more specific, my fear turned into shear panic.  I was sure I was going to be fired right then and there.  It suddenly seemed a certainty.

But of course I wasn't fired.  Or even talked to.  Turns out it didn't matter at all.  And my guitar probably saved me from - at least - a write up.  Yes, I'd brought my guitar that day and, even though I was upset and worried, I had promised to play.  So I played and that's right about when the crazy yeller fell in love.  Seriously.  In.  Love.

So not only did my guitar save my ass, it created my biggest Hooters fan.  Yes, it's time to be introduced to a new character.  He shall be called Talladega and though we didn't start well AT ALL I totally love him.  Funny how that happens.

Talladega is now one of my favorite regulars.  He's fun, nice, down to earth and head over heels in love with his wife in the cutest way ever.  He's the only customer who has a CD of my music and I hear he's worn it out.  He's more than forgiven me for changing the channel.  I'm good like that.

The Great Tip Dilemma

As a waitress it can be really hard to go out to eat.  While it's nice to be on the other side of the table for a while, a server being served can be incredibly hypersensitive.  This could now progress into a post about how consistently horrible the service at our local Red Robin is, but instead I'll skip all that.  This post is about how much it sucks going out to eat with crappy tippers.

Recently I was with a small group of people at Hooters.  Yes, you read that right.  I work at Hooters and I went there to eat.  Of my own accord.  I actually went to my place of employment when I wasn't forced to be there by the scheduling manager.  This probably makes me insane.  Or at least a glutton for punishment.  Or more probably an insane glutton for punishment.  Yeah, that sounds about right.

So there I was at Hooters indulging in beer and fried delicacies like everyone I serve day in and day out.  After several pitchers and plates of wings and marginally entertaining conversation, it was that time when you figure out how a big group of people is going to pay.  Of course I made this easy by letting our Hooters Girl know beforehand who would be paying and how to split the ticket.  I'm just considerate like that. 

Carefully split tickets were handed out and cards and cash were placed on the table.  Payments were quickly run.  My bill - paid with credit card - was just under $50 and I wrote in a ten-dollar tip with little deliberation.  Twenty percent.  Done and done.  It was then that I slowly beginning noticing the tipping that was going around me.  By tipping I mean people being totally cheapasses.  I sat in disbelief as not one person left a tip greater than ten percent.

Our service had been impeccable, but the tips all said, "YOU SUCK."  So I was left with a dilemma.  Do I say something?  Normally the answer would be yes, but on this particular evening I was surrounded not by friendly tightwads, but tightwads I hardly knew.  Yes, I was with my boyfriend's friends.  And I didn't know what to say.

I ended up leaving more tip in a vain attempt to make up for the snub; I didn't feel it was my place to say things to people I didn't really know.  I'm talking "couldn't even tell you one of their names" barely knew.  But looking back I probably should have said something regardless of my relationship to everyone at the table.  Even if they thought I was a total bitch.  At least I'd be a total bitch who stood up to people and brought the knowledge of proper tipping to the world.  I totally missed my chance to be a modern day Robin Hood.

So what are your thoughts on sitting with a table of bad tippers?  Do you say something?  Do you make up for their inadequacies?  Do you ignore it and pretend you can't perform simple math functions? 

Hooters of America Belongs to Someone Else Now

Hooters of America was sold yesterday for $19 bagillion.  That sum approximately equates to "the cost of sale wasn't released."  Chanticleer Holdings Inc. now owns a controlling interest in Hooters after purchasing Hooters of America which held 120 corporately owned stores.  Because owning things is fun, Chanticleer also purchased Hooters largest franchisee, Texas Wings.  This means they own nearly half of all domestic Hooters.  Clearly this is a sign that they have decided to take over the world.


So what does this mean for Sauce?  Evidentially nothing I am told.  But with buying not just HOA but also Texas Wings, I have a feeling Chanticleer plans on trying to buy more people out so they can own a most epic Hooters empire.  Then they'll put a Hooters in space.


But that's just my thoughts.

"No Social Media"

A few weeks ago I got an email from a fellow Hooters Girl.  She began by saying that she had come across my blog while looking for tips on applying at Hooters.  Evidentially, I am a most superior job coach because she went in knowing to expect and got the job.  I'm currently accepting more clients if you're interested.  Anyway, after letting me know I'm pretty much amazing, the Hooters Girl went on to say that she is currently a first year law student at University of Oklahoma.  I was immediately intrigued.

"When I decided to go to law school, everyone had advice on how to take tests, which supplements to read, but no one reminded me to always stay true to myself and be proud of who I am. I took and still take a lot of heat from classmates because not everyone appreciates that I enjoy getting dressed up for class and that I'm not ashamed of my side job. But I am proud of it and have learned how important it is to hold my head high!"

Guest post!  Guest post!  GUEST POST!!!  Epic, sweet content opportunity!  So I did what any good blogger would do and invited her to write a guest post about her experiences as a law school student and a Hooters Girl.  And then I got this:

"I apologize that it took me so long to reply, but I really have been thinking about the opportunity you suggested. The problem is that the store I work at has a pretty strict "NO SOCIAL MEDIA" policy. I also think that if someone I went to school with ever somehow found it, it would make my life at school more awful then it currently is."

Apparently it's a no social media
social media strategy...

The school part I totally understand, but I was actually a lot more interested in the "NO SOCIAL MEDIA" part.  It is fairly common in a lot of restaurants (and pretty much any type of business) to have similar policies that restrict employees’ use of social media.  Out here in the vicious wilderness that is the Internet you never know what anyone is really saying about you.  Of course that's only until some major media outlet or Tosh.0 gets a hold of it.  Then the whole world knows whether what you're saying is flattering or not.

And that the real reason for these types of rules; employers are worried about the negative things they imagine their workers would say about them if they were given the chance.  What better place to get your word out about how much your boss sucks than the Internet?  Here everyone will listen to you and ruin your asshat boss's sorry little life.  Of course it's rarely really like that.

What all these "no social media" people don't realize is that while anyone can say those things, not everyone is going to read them.  But of course they could - isn't that effing scary.  Let's be honest though, when your neighbor is complaining yet again about his awful job at your barbeque you're probably drowning him out.  So why is the Internet any different?  I suppose the only difference is that said boss can finally find out about everything you're saying.  And isn't that just embarrassing.

But lets put all that aside and look at the bigger picture.  Social media IS one of the best ways to reach your customers.  And even better than the vast reach is the fact that social media is free.  So why all those employers are worried about Bobby call them a "stupid douche," they're actually missing out on one of their best opportunities to connect with their client base. 

This very blog is a prime example of social media.  Yeah, I've said a few negative things, but overall this is hardly the tone of my blog.  I responsibly write about my experiences and what's it like to actually live the life that I live and amazingly people appreciate it.  People read it and respond.  They write comments and send emails.  And guess what, they even get off the couch, drive to Hooters and spend their money there.  Yes, Hooters makes money because I decided to write this blog.  And they don't have to pay a dime for it.

That's the thing, social media works.  It makes people money and it does so because it's personal and dynamic and timely.  It's a message that comes from real people, having real experiences, in real time rather than something glossy and perfect from the screen of a TV or the pages of a magazine.  Social media isn't advertising, it's real life, word of mouth.  And if all those marketing classes taught me one thing it's that word of mouth is the best form of advertising there is.  The fact is, people believe other people and social media is an amazing way of making that connection happen.

Obviously, I don't believe in "no social media" policies.  While I understand that idea is to protect business, I firmly believe that it hurts it much more.  Yes, if you leave people to say what they want you will encounter negative comments.  But what about all the good things?  In fearing the negative you are also forced to forgo the vast positive.  And if we're really going to get down it, if you have a positive environment and treat your employees well aren't they going to be saying good things anyway?

I firmly believe in social media.  I believe that it's where every business should be if they really want to make an immediate mark on their customers.  After all you, dear reader, found your way here.  Isn't social media beautiful?

Happy Birthday, Ariel

It's my darling Ariel's birthday today.  She's turning 24, and as any girl does, she's being marginally depressed about her age.  This fit of depression has lead her to not request her birthday off and as such we are both scheduled to open the store this morning.  So I did what any good friend would do and hauled my ass out of bed at the crack of dawn to decorate her bar today.  It turned out something like this, only way more awesome because life isn't taken by a shitty cellphone camera.

Streamers, balloons, cliche happy birthday sign, party blowers.  I have successfully achieved birthday overload.  It's sort of like when people used to decorate your locker in junior high.  Only now I get to decorate a whole freaking bar that involves alcohol.  This must be what being a grown up is like.  Two thumbs up.

Oh and to WalMart, your birthday selection seriously BLOWS.  This is why I'm now waiting for Target to open so I can get a sash, crown, birthday card that doesn't suck and random other shit I chance accross at the best store in the world.  I love you, Target.

Sure I'll Split Your Ticket

I've made it clear before, that I am very opinionated on the subject of split tickets.  Now it might seem stupid to be worried about a little thing like people needing separate tabs but they never make the process convenient.  In fact, they prefer to make the process as close to mimicking Chinese water torture as humanly possible.  I'm not really sure why this is, but people seem to have this innate need to make my life a living hell.   They prefer to do this at extremely convenient times.  Like lunch rushes.

It's never a good sign when a table of nine comes in and six of them are middle-aged woman who clearly don't want to be lunching at Hooters.  This is made readily apparent by all six women being entirely nonresponsive as I cordially greet them at the door.  It is also made apparently by their looks of general disdain for my overall existence.  When they precede to order water and salad or water and soup or water and more water I decide it's in my best interest to place each person on their own seat so that the inevitable splitting of tickets will be a (relative) breeze later.  This was a good decision.

I split the tickets - as I assumed I would have to - quickly because each person's order was separated by seat.  And then I saw it.  Nine stacks of cash.  Why in the world do you need split tickets when everyone is paying cash?  Split tickets make absolutely NO sense when everyone has a wad of bills of various denomination at their disposal.  What, you say you don't have the appropriate change?  Give me that damn twenty and I'll gladly give you a couple fives and some ones.  Then freaking round.  What, you don't know the exact cost of what you ordered?  You ordered soup and water.  I'm sure you can calculate the cost of one thing.  It's written in the goddamn menu after all.  Or, if you ordered *gasp* two things get out that cellphone and add it up.  Or exercise that mental math you clearly no longer use.

Why must you torture me by making me count change ten times?  I don't carry endless amounts of money in the stupid little pouch.  This means I have to take all your cash to the bar and get change.  After I change your money out I have to count out the correct change nine separate times.  Not only does it make me want to gouge my eyes out, it takes an awful lot of time.  An awful lot of time that makes you pissed off because you have a business meeting to get to so you can discuss topics of importance.  Can anyone think of an easy way to remedy this time consuming and annoying situation?  Oh yeah, you can be a normal person and all "throw in" on one tab.

Instead, you have to wait while your impatience grows.  Naturally, this waiting is my fault and though I've given you impeccable service for the last forty-five minutes I am suddenly horrible at my job.  This obviously gives you the right to leave me a dollar.  Or less.

And for the record, table 16, I can technically refuse to split a ticket for a party larger than eight.  My menu says so.  I can also add an 18% gratuity.  In case you were wondering nine is bigger than eight.  But we all know math isn't your thing. You're welcome for the favor.