The Phone Number

This morning I was wondering why my posts had been receiving no comments lately.  It seems somehow my shit wasn't actually posting.  Apparently the Internet was mad at me.  Sorry for the absence and be expecting some posts and double posts.  We have some effing catching up to do.

Pimps.  CREDIT.

There comes a time in the life a young man when girls suddenly aren’t icky anymore.   Fear of cooties is replaced by a curiosity for kissing and holding hands.  Generally this happens between the ages of ten and thirteen.  Before ten girls are to be avoided and after thirteen girls are the subject of fantasies that involve a lot less innocence and a lot more nudity.  But during that golden period in between, girls are a mystery that are loved and feared all at once.

Boys of this age come into Hooters and spend most of their meal staring into their root beers and boneless wings.  While they have a curiosity that makes them eager to experience Hooters, they also have enough embarrassment that any and all young bravado stays in the car.

Recently a table of boys came in between the ages of ten and thirteen – the golden age.  Cheeks burned red as the table was addressed and whispered giggles echoed in the background as Hooters Girls hurried past with arms full of wings.  It was all standard procedure.

Meanwhile, I was tending bar serving beers to Talladega who happened to know the party of boys and their chaperone.  Next to Talladega sat Ariel.  And in case you forgot, Ariel is a complete and total badass

As the boys’ meal came to an end, Talladega, jokingly said that we should give our numbers to one of the boys.  While I was already shaking the idea off with a laugh, Ariel had that look in her eye.  It was a version of the look that makes me drink vodka on a Tuesday.

With little to no further prompting, I grabbed a napkin and scrawled Hooters’ number across it in green permanent marker.  I added a heart for good measure.  No sooner had I capped my marker and Ariel was out the door dropping off the folded napkin on her way.

I looked over just in time to catch the boy opening the napkin and his eyes lighting up.  He’d achieved the unachievable and all his friends were noticeably envious.  He was the coolest ten-year-old ever.

Flash-forward a few hours and the phone rang.  I picked it up with my usual greeting and an apprehensive voice muttered, “Um, you left a number for me to call?”

I knew immediately who it was.

Sauce:  “Oh, actually Ariel left her number for you, but unfortunately she left a bit a go.  But I’d love to take a message for her.  How does that sound?”

Boy:  “Yeah, that sounds pretty good.”

Then there was a long pause.

Sauce:  “Well what would you like me to tell her for you?”

Boy:  “Well tell her I say hi and that’s she really pretty.”

After some background whispering and another pause.

Boy:  “And thank you for leaving the number.”

Sauce:  “Ok, I’ll let her know all of that and I took down your number too, just in case!”

Boy:  “Thanks.  Oh and you’re pretty too.”

And with that, I’d had the most wonderful phone conversation I’d ever had at Hooters.  As much as we’d made his day, he’d made mine too.  Sometimes it’s the little things I guess.

FOLLOWUP:  Ariel invited the boy back anytime for a milkshake on the house.  We’ve yet to see him, but I’m pretty sure his whole school knows by now.  I also assume he recently began dating between three and five girlfriends.

Recreational Drug Use

A few months back Skrillex came to town.  This probably means nothing to a lot of you.  Let me explain, Skrillex is a band of the dubstep variety.  Now if this continues to mean nothing to you I’ll just say it’s the type of music that pretty much requires glow sticks, neon and designer club drugs with the price of a ticket; it’s for the cool kids.  Allow me to enlighten you!

Yup, that’s Skrillex.  If you didn’t have the urge to ingest something illegal, you probably had the urge to pierce your ears with something sharp.  Dubstep is somewhat of an acquired taste.

Anyhooters, the night of the Skrillex concert, Hooters was infiltrated by brightly adorned groups of concertgoers.  After all, nothing is a better precursor to a hazed concert experience than fried foods and orange shorts.  It screams America.

A particularly large group of teenage dubsteppers ended up in Ariel’s section.  The girls wore face paint, flashy neon tutus and enough glitter to make a fairy ill – it all screamed wannabes.  They looked more like “lets go clubin’ Barbie” than serious sceners.  Ah to be a teenager again hopelessly trying to fit in to any group you can.

Ariel, being a Portlander and appreciator of all things outside the mainstream, handled the table with ease.  She knows her dubstep and showed those kids a thing or two or twelve.  They were in awe of her awesome musical knowledge.  Ariel is good like that.

As the meal ended, the girls at the table deemed it necessary to photograph their pre-concert meal.  First were pictures with Ariel.  Then pictures of couples.  And finally Ariel offered to take a picture of the whole, boisterous table.  Ariel situated herself at the head of the table and began directing the group into the perfect pose – no faces obscured, hair looking its best.  She snapped the perfect picture and went to hand the camera back.

But something went wrong.  You know how it is when you’re using an unfamiliar piece of camera equipment.  You hit a wrong button and suddenly you end up in some strange menu or turn the flash off or just generally eff things up somehow.  Well Ariel hit something.  Only she didn’t end up changing settings, she ended up scrolling through the camera’s contents only to land on a picture of one of the young girls in front of her snorting what appeared to be a white substance commonly known as cocaine.  Or as Ariel put it, “dude I just saw a photo of one of those girls doing the fattiest fatty line of coke.”

At this point Ariel froze, locking eyes with the sixteen year-old, tutu clad, drug experimenter in question.  It was one of those awkward “I know, that you know, that I know” moments.  She almost threw the camera back as she continued to look at the degeneration of our nation’s youth.

“Well go ahead and add that to the top of the list of ‘awkward Hooters moments,” quipped Ariel.  “I mean I have nothing against that stuff if you’re into it, but she was twelve and her mom probably wouldn’t be too flattered that her allowance is being spent on sweet nose candy.”

I miss you, Ariel.

Ariel's Adventures: Mr Bush

Recently as Ariel was telling me yet another of her amazing work stories, I decided I would star sharing some of them with you.  These will be called Ariel's Adventures and this is hopefully the first of many.

Ariel is a free spirit - hardly your typical Hooters Girl.  Well unless you count the fact that she is tall, thin, gorgeous and bubbly as can be.  Then she is the perfect Hooters Girl.  But beyond being stunning, she's a philosophy major because she wanted to be "an educated and enlightened human being."  That, not so Hooters typical.  This is why I love her.  The aspiring law student and philosophy student at Hooters, hilarity ensues.

Recently, Ariel had a table of men in their late twenties.  Naturally, they wanted beer.  Big beer.  Lots of big beer.  Naturally, Ariel asked for IDs.  Hooters has a policy of IDing anyone who appears thirty-five or under.  Way to follow the rules, Ariel.  Gold star.  As she's checking IDs, she stops at one.  Observing the last name, Ariel cannot help but say something.  This is classic Ariel.

Ariel:  "Bush?  Like the president?"

Bush:  "Yup, just like 'em"

Let me pause here.  The fact that Bush said both "yup" and "'em" in one sentence should have caused Ariel to refrain from making her next comment.  Or the fact that she was in Montana.  But Ariel is a philosophy major.  And from Portland, Oregon.  She couldn't stop.  This is why I love her.

Ariel:  "So are you closed minded like him too?"

Bush:  "EXCUSE ME?!"

Before he even managed to spit something out about being a Republican, Ariel was calmly making her exit from the table.  This is just her style.  Don't worry, because she is (as afore mentioned) tall, thin, gorgeous and bubbly she managed to salvage the situation and play it off like she wasn't a liberal goddess from Oregon and rather just a comedic genius with effortless humor.  She is amazing like this.  I blame it on Socrates.