Secret Pants

Those Hooters Girls' smiles actually mean, "check out that effin'
mess we have to clean up later."  CREDIT.

I’ve always had a soft spot for kids.  In fact, when I originally started college I was pretty sure I wanted to be a geography teacher.  While that may have changed, my adoration for little ones hasn’t.  Except for when they’re coloring all over the seats of my booths of course.

One of the things that I’ve come to appreciate about children is their total lack of censorship.  I love that kids will think a thought and then just let that thought come stumbling out of their mouths with reckless abandon.  Frankly that shit is amusing.

Take, for example, a gentleman of probably no more than five sitting with the rest of his family for dinner.  Handing out crayons and coloring sheets as I introduced myself, the boy stared at me intently rather than ripping excitedly into the crayon box like his siblings.  As I moved from introductions to drink orders, the boy finally broke his silence.

“So what are we gonna have for dri…”

“You’re not wearing any pants.”

He said it loud and without hesitation.  His mother instantly turned red as his dad shot him an I-can’t-believe-that-came-out-of-your-mouth look.  Meanwhile I was quickly formulating a response.  That’s the thing with kids; you have to be able fire back just as swiftly as they do.

“Well actually I’m just wearing really short pants.  See I think my dryer might be broken because when I put them in they were really much longer.  But I had to wear something!”

And while he seemed totally satisfied with this response I continued, “So to make up for it I did this instead.  Check it out!”

With that I reached down, pulled on my nylons and stretched them a little from my leg.

“See?  I decided to wear secret pants today!”

His eyes lit up like I had just told him that he’d won a free year of candy.  And a pony.  A pony made of candy.

So next time you’re at Hooters, don’t think of those horrible tan things as Nylons.  Think of them as secret pants.  They’re WAY more fun that way.

Father Figure?

When you work at Hooters, you can expect a few creepers.  Luckily, our Hooters has been relatively creep free.  While every now and again you may run into a less than couth guest, for the most part people at our restaurant are actually pretty cool.  This makes me more than happy.  I'd go so far as to say that it makes me ecstatic.  I mean way back a gillion (two) years ago when I started working at Hooters I was worried about two things.  First, I was worried about working with a staff of potentially bitchy, gossipy, annoying girls; luckily this has been avoided.   Second, I was worried about creepy dudes.  This I have only mostly avoided.

On Friday, I had one of those mornings that made me a less than happy person.  Actually, I had one of those nights that make a person have a less than stellar morning.  No, I wasn't drunk, rather I was locked out and slept on my front porch in the rain.  Yeah, my Thursday night was grand.  Don't worry; I'll fill you in on that little gem later.  For now, all you need to know is that I was not exactly in my most perfect Hooteriffic form on Friday morning.  But I put on my best little happy, awake act, grabbed a heavily caffeinated beverage and headed to work.

After setting up the restaurant, I was ready for my first customer of the day as a family made their way toward the door.  It is important to note at this point that it was a family with teenage kids - two girls and a boy.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  No toddlers.  No college kids.  No creepy construction workers.  I was prepared for it to be breeze as I smiled and held open the door.  Of course I was wrong. 

Dad:  "See, son," addressed to his twelve year old.  "That's the kind of rack you need to look for on a girl.  She's got a darn good set."

My smile fell from my face almost as quickly as Dad's eyes focused on my breasts and son's face turned 128 shades of red.  As all this was happening I had already decided to pull the seniority card and dump Dad and his family on the other girl on the floor.  It's not so much that I didn't want to take them, but given my two hours of sleep, on edge body I probably would be less likely to put up with his shit and more likely to scream at him.  I figured pawning the family off would not only be in my best interest, but theirs as well.  That's just good service on part for not taking them.  That's how good I am.

I promised to make it up to her and my coworker most graciously took the table.  I owe you.  Seriously.  The poor girl dealt with more lewd comments than I have perhaps heard in ALL my time at Hooters.  Yes, he was that bad.  And he was with his kids.  Two of which were teenage girls.  Classy.

Prepare to be amazed by a selection of Dad's most eloquent quotes!

Dad:  "Look at the size of the knockers on that one!"

Dad:  "Why aren't you smiling?  Shouldn't you be happy to be around me?"

Dad:  "Get that butt in gear so I can watch it walk away from me."

And perhaps my personal favorite:  "Can you step back a little and do some jumping jacks for me?  I wanna see how things go."

This was followed most effortlessly by:  "Oh I'm sorry, it's a little too early for me to be doing strenuous exercise."

That of course was followed by a swift turn and ample eye rolling.  I'd like to take this time to commend my fellow Hooters Girl for not only putting up with Ass Dad, but also delivering the most perfect comeback.  Kudos.

But as much as he said, what I couldn't understand is why he would let his mouth run not only in front of his wife but also in front of his two young daughters.  So is that how you expect men to talk to your girls?  Is that how you courted your wife?  Did it all start with a casually dropped, innuendo filled pick-up line?  I can only guess that it did since ladies love nothing more than a pig in men's clothing.  Sexy.

Dad capped off his Hooters adventure buy leaving his Hooters Girl a hefty $5.00 tip on a $120-something bill.  Clearly his ample compliments were meant to be payment enough.  Our self-esteem, self-worth and self-loathing can't thank you enough!

Oh and I can't wait for your oldest daughter to come in and apply when she's eighteen next year!  Yay!!

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.

It's All in the Family

Please don't sit in my section; please don't sit in my section.

Of course they sat in my section. A family with four kids between the ages of two and ten had selected my center booth. As they sat down youngest screaming, oldest laughing and mom trying to keep everyone under control, dread immediately took hold. As a person I adore children, but as a server I despise them. Children mean kids cups, balloons, crayons, extra hula hooping and noise - all of which lead to messes that I am expected to clean up. In addition to tables of spilt drinks and floors covered in curly fries, families often mean tips that don't reflect the work of keeping two distinct generations happy.

Despite my usual apprehension, I put on my best smile as I distributed beverage napkins and coloring sheets. Preparing for the worst, I continued smiling as drinks were spilled and crayons were ground into the booth seats. When the two oldest boys decided they'd like their own table I made a game of retaking their orders and drawing up their very own check. I drew a different character on five different balloons. I hula hooped until the kids could hula hoop no more.

As the meal was winding down and I was wiping down the wait station, Ariel came over with a stack of plates and whispered, "I bet they give you the crappiest tip."

"Yeah, I hate to say it, but that's usually the way it goes."

Dropping of their $59 ticket I was prepared for a five dollar tip, maybe seven if I was lucky. I thanked them for coming in and they likewise thanked me for my service as I grabbed the American Express card off the table. Then as I was helping a table nearby, the family of six left as loudly as they came.

Returning to the table I was struck by the mess. Food littered the table creating a trail to the floor, spills of ranch intermingled with blobs of ketchup and crushed crayons added a rainbow dash of color to the entire scene. Downheartedly I began clearing the table. Coming across the credit card receipt my heart sank as I read "CASH" in the tip area. I was just waiting to find the five dollar bill that would amount to a less than ten percent tip.

Then, behind a cup at the back of the table, I came across a note:

"You were the best server we've ever had. Thanks for making each of our kids feel special and letting us enjoy a meal. It was really appreciated."

Underneath the note was a twenty dollar bill.

I was pleasantly surprised yet simultaneously ashamed that'd I'd been so quick to judge. Apparently that whole thing about no judging a book by its cover is true.