Friday, December 25, 2009

Douche bag of the Week

I stumbled upon this gem in a completely irrelevant Google search:

"In my now famous rant, Hooters sucks, I explain why the Hooters restaurant here in New York City blows ass. A Hooters Girl saw my rant and took the time to email me the scattered words in her head that she calls thoughts.

Here is her (cleaned up) email to me... (It was littered with punctuation and spelling errors and rambling "sentences.")

"Dr. HogWild",

I have been a Hooters girl for 4 years... and counting. I work at one of the original 3 in Orlando and LOVE every minute of it. I came across your article and I would like to comment back... I understand, yes, guys EXPECT to get a girl with big boobs. It's Hooters, I get it... But they do not only hire on boobs...

It's nice when we actually find girls with personalities also. I mean considering most guys that come in are coming in for entertainment and someone to talk to... lonely guys that most likely have no social skills. So I sincerely think that most of the guys coming are not looking for a huge rack but some attention that they will lack anywhere else.

And WHY do we do it? Because we get paid to be nice... We get paid to act fake... We get paid to come across interested in your pathetic life.

To critique all of Hooters saying the "talent" was awful... is going a little too far. At the many Hooters restaurants I have worked at I never have seen horrible talent. We sing, dance, hula hoop, even barstool rodeo.

You say that the food sucks... No sh!t we are not a 5 star restaurant and never has Hooters tried to be... if you're looking for amazing food with a robot as a server then go to somewhere else. We serve wings, burgers and salads. Do you honestly think we can f*** that up? Maybe you just have become too picky in your time and your expectations are beyond what we serve. Besides that you want to see big t!ts... you really have no clue on what Hooters is about.

- your fellow Hooters Girl

I wrote her back:

Hey Hooters Girl!

First of all, I appreciate you taking the time to write me! Who said Hooters Girls can’t write!

All I can say is this... Come to the NYC Hooters and you will see what I mean. The girls on a Monday night were ugly and out of shape. Now, I had been to this Hooters before on a Friday night and I went out with some of the girls after they got off their shift. Those particular girls were very pretty, in great shape, very friendly, and they even bought me drinks at the bar.

But management must have let those girls go because they were replaced with ugly girls and a g@y dude.
AND... I went on a date with a girl who used to work at Hooters. She worked there to make money WHILE IN COLLEGE.

HINT: College is where you go to get an education. It’s like Wikipedia but with professors.

And... Guess what? That former Hooters girl... She had big Hooters!

I don’t care what YOU think Hooters is about. Hooters is about what the CUSTOMER thinks it’s about. Hooters is supposed to be a relaxed atmosphere restaurant where you get good chicken wings, sports on the TV, and waitresses with big boobies.
At least this Hooters had the sports on the TV.

Calling a restaurant Hooters and then not supplying Hooters is false advertising. The only false thing in Hooters should be the fake boobies in the girls' shirts.
The food is incredibly overpriced in the NYC location and it sucks.

I don’t expect 5 star dining at Hooters. I expect good food and hot girls. Not bad food and waitresses who look like they’ve been taking too much advantage of the employee discount.

As for you being “a Hooters girl for 4 years and counting...” Is this your proud achievement? If you aimed any lower, you’d shoot yourself in your aging, sagging breasts.
Look, I’m not saying I’m hot but I don’t work in a restaurant called Studs. If a girl works at Hooters she should have nice Hooters.

It’s sad that most of your customers are “lonely guys with no social skills.” I’m sure Hooters would love to have that as their slogan, “Welcome to Hooters! Safe Haven for Losers!” Maybe this is why my local Hooters has employed sub-par women, because they know their most loyal customers can’t do any better.

When I used to go to Hooters it was with a fun-loving group of guys to watch a sporting event while enjoying beer and wings. But apparently “our type” is not welcome at Hooters any more since you only cater to dorks who want to “get to know” the waitresses.

I said, “the food sucks” you said, “No sh!t...” Well, that sums it up. No, I don’t expect amazing food. I expect good food. After all, you may not realize this, but you work at a RESTAURANT.

HOOTERS NEW SLOGAN: “Our Food Sucks, Our Waitresses are Ugly, and the Customers are Losers!”

You also misunderstood something I wrote in the article. When I said there was no “talent” amongst the waitresses, “talent” is slang for hot girls. No guy cares that you sing, dance, and can use a hula hoop. (Although the girls I saw that night would have got stuck inside the hula hoop.) If you are a Hooters Waitress, your talent is your looks. The end.
I have friends who are hot girls and they are waitresses and bartenders. But they have a big enough brain to know that they were hired for their looks. And they are working hard, making money, and saving up to go to school or to pursue their dreams.

Apparently, you have no dreams.

You said, “We serve wings, burgers and salads, do you honestly think we can f*** that up?” Surprisingly, yes. My favorite part of your poorly written rant is this...

“We get paid to be come across interested in your pathetic life.”

HA HA HA! A girl whose highest ambition is to successfully deliver a plate of food without dropping it is calling OTHER people’s lives pathetic! HA HA HA!
Here is what I suggest for you: Accept that you are doing the best you can for a girl whose IQ is lower than a parking lot speed limit.
I respect people who work hard and are doing the best they can. But you strike me as a girl who is underachieving and lazy.

Because you actually probably DO have a brain in your head. And you probably COULD do better for yourself but you have limited yourself to working a crappy restaurant for the rest of your life. After 4 years of cleaning up barbecue chicken parts and waddling around in bright orange shorts you have probably risen up in the ranks to become Assistant Manager in charge of Wonderbras. And that’s great. But ask yourself...

“Can I do better? Do I want to be a Hooters girl living in Orlando when I am 42?” If not for yourself, do it for your 6 or 7 children who are on food stam


- Your fellow Hogsta who loves intelligent, hard working women"

My thoughts and hopefully yours as well:

Not only is this guy a completely douche, but he's a complete douche who thinks he's intelligent. The reality for this poor sucker is that he's at the exact same caliber as the waitress he's squabbling with. The post entitled "I pissed off a hooters waitress" screams for praise like a kid managing to take a shit in the big kid toilet for the first time. While his first post [] was slightly more coherent than his unfortunately un-witty response, his actual reasoning that Hooters must have been "much better" back in the day is solely resting on his dad possessing a Hooters V.I.P. card "back in the day".

(V.I.P. cards are given out free of charge regularly. Contrary to popular belief, Hooters is a restaurant, NOT a strip club, and these V.I.P. cards do nothing more than save you a couple bucks here or get you a free appetizer there if you make Hooters your regular go to joint. Anyone can obtain one. Most people just lose them.)

He also suggested that, because on a previous Friday evening the women were much more attractive than on a more recent Monday visit, management must have "let those girls go and were replaced with ugly girls." Hooters doesn't hire "ugly girls." They hire all different kinds of girls because, well shucks, different guys are attracted to different things. However, some girls are obviously more conventionally attractive than others, so it makes sense that management would schedule the "prettier" waitresses on a busier evening as opposed to a slower one. I also found it slightly entertaining that the d-bag felt it was necessary to explain that he went out with the "hot" waitresses after their shift. Along with later mentioning that he personally knows other hot Hooters waitresses. I can only assume this is another pathetic attempt to add to his credibility and make him feel more superior than the Hooters Girl he's addressing, but fellas, that kind of talk only raises suspicions . Unfortunately, some of the girls will go to GREAT lengths to get a good tip, and it's relatively easy to get a table free drinks.

(although a good Hooters waitress shouldn't, especially when she knows corporate cameras are on her at all times.)

I also find it remorseful that experience has led me to believe that he is most likely fabricating a large portion of his story. It would be much more plausible that he waited until the ladies he fancied were off the clock, and followed


them to their after-work-chill-out bar of choice. Hey, it's happened.

(and will continue to happen.)

Because I too am a Hooters girl, I feel it is my duty to stand up for the poor girl he's chosen to make himself look like a complete idiot in reply to. Look man. Most Universities take about four years to graduate from. Hence the FOUR years she's been employed at Hooters. Don't begin assuming that she actually enjoys serving neanderthals like you for a living, with no plans of self-improvement.

(that's a real trip huh)

Finally, to address the apparent confusion of our brand name, I feel that I must point out that there is no fine print located anywhere around the sign. Nowhere does it say "BIG Hooters" anywhere on our store front. It's just plain Hooters, and all chicks have them. Calm down. Get a hobby. And yes, please PLEASE go/stay at Hawaiin Tropic.

Anything. Just don't come back.

That is all.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Where the Wild Roses Grow

Things have been... difficult lately. I feel like I'm standing in the eye of a storm, watching my thoughts and dreams lifted by the ferocious wind to encircle me. I almost have no time to think before I can reach out and grab just one. And I'm not sure if even that is good enough. Not anymore. I've never really found my place in Southern California. I mean, I love it and it's beautiful and everything. There is just something missing. It's when I'm on the road that I'm the most alive. Europe is just six months away, but I know that isn't permanent. The memories will be, but is that enough?

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

I open my eyes suddenly and experience a fleeting moment of confusion that sometimes accompanies an awakening. I roll over on my side and my face presses comfortably into my pillow.

Why am I awake? What woke me up so suddenly?

As I reach for my phone, it vibrates again. A text message? What time is it even? I unlock it and squint down into the bright screen. 4 A.M. Becoming more irritated by the second, I open my text messages to see that my disturbance is an unknown number.

"What the hell..." I start.

"Do you have 10k or more in credit card debit?" It began. "Our debt relief program CUTS your payment and total debt by over HALF. No upfront fees. May we contact you?"


Monday, October 26, 2009

It's love

"I need to feed my hubby so I'm bringing some wings home." I joked with a manager.
"What did you call him?" He had stopped what he was doing just to be able to look at me while he asked this question.
"...Hubby?" I responded. I'll admit, I was a little worried I had said something wrong.
"Does he know you call him that?" He asked.
"Um, I don't think so. I've only really called him that a few times, and usually just when I'm talking to my girlfriends. Why?" I still didn't understand where he was going.
"Good." He said as he turned back to the computer.
"What do you mean; 'good?'"
"I just wouldn't say that around him if I were you."
"He's actually not that kind of guy."
"Well, for his sake, don't say it in front of his friends."

I love my managers, and I love that we're all involved in each other's lives, but sometimes I hate how narrow minded everyone can sometimes be. Most of the people I work with at Hooters are jaded, and with good reason. The male managers are constantly surrounded by whiney, self-absorbed girls; watching them run though boyfriends like they run through pantyhose. Gender stereotyping runs wild in this environment, which is why I sometimes feel like I stick out like a sore thumb.

"Hey, the computer didn't print out my meal time start check." I once said to my manager after they revamped our system.
"It doesn't do that anymore. We're saving paper. I thought you of all people would appreciate that."
"What's that supposed to mean."
"Well... er... you know... you're all.... natural."
"... Thanks."

Or my favorite... after a little chat with one of my mangers:
"I know what you are. You're... eclectic." He said, looking very pleased with his vocabulary word. Which was the first word somebody had ever used in the place of the more common adjective that is associated with me... 'weird'. Well, once in high school, a guy I had a crush on said "You're totally different from the way you look like you'd be."

But either way, I've learned to take these as compliments.

Getting back to my main point... the managers are usually jaded, and the girls are usually about as deep as a paper plate. As I left the restaurant, lugging the 20 wings... naked... daytona of course... I dialed my boyfriend's number.

"Hey babe!" Said the cheerful voice on the other line.
"Hi hunni!" and the normal pleasantries ensued.
"Something kind of funny happened today." I began.
"Like what?"
"Well, I called you my hubby when I was talking to my manager and he told me never to tell you that I used that word to describe you."
"Awwwww you called me your hubby!"

That was his reaction. And it was pure glee.

When I arrived at his place of work, wings in hand, his coworker called out, "Hey Kevin! Your wifey is here!"


Friday, October 23, 2009


Los ángeles. The city of Angels.
A stale, yellow smog oozes up from the filth, shrouding the once picturesque mountains. The boulevard of broken dreams drowns in it's broken stars while the derelict crawl to you on their broken knees, begging for the change that feeds their demons. I think about this as I sweat on the hot leather seats. The tint isn't enough to shield my skin from the burn and there is no escaping the sun in this traffic. I can only hope we creep along faster than the semi just ahead, and I can doze in its shade.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Memory Lane

Do you ever have those moments, where something in your environment sets off this chain reaction, throwing you into this mental course that brings you to a screeching halt somewhere down memory lane? And where ever it takes you, you become filled with some vaguely familiar emotion that has such an effect on you, your mind is consumed. Information is so readily available in this present world. I almost wanted to open up my lap top and google this feeling, so I could surround myself with it. Pictures, articles, music, anything. But you can't. Not with memories. You'll have to find everything out the old fashioned way.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Gooooo TEAM!

I have never felt like I belonged to such a tight knit group before. I can now honestly say that Hooters has changed my life. Are you shy? Do you have a hard time making friends? Do you need motivation to stay in shape and take care of yourself? If you answered yes to any of those questions, apply at Hooters. I'm sure each location is different. While reading fellow Hooters Bloggers (see side bar under "coworkers") I've learned that some locations have car washes while we don't. I've learned that it is easy to become a bartender, while at my location there is a waiting list. But every Hooters seems to have that same spirit.

I've never really been a "girl's" girl. I've never had that baby-sitter club group. Girl scouts was on and off for me. Instead of playing a sport for school or cheerleading, I grabbed a surf board, wake board, or snowboard and spend time with nature. My dad was very strict and I had an 8:00pm curfew on school nights and a 9:00pm curfew on weekends until I graduated high school. So I spent a lot of time drawing, reading, or playing musical instruments. While I always had friends, a best friend, and a boyfriend, I didn't have that "circle" everybody seems to have on tv. Hooters changed this. While I'm not "bff status" with any of the girls, I feel like I belong. We put up invites in the break room for parties; everyone is invited. We'll go out for breakfast before putting up with the football rush. Closers go out for drinks after work. Sunday day girls go out for happy hour down the street. Last Sunday was a baby shower and "we" have another one coming up next month. Friday I'm taking two girls surfing in the morning, and then in the afternoon, we're heading over to another girl's pad for a pumpkin carving party. BYOP. Girliness has never been so much fun before :o)

Sunday, October 18, 2009

How serving ruined my dining experience

Occasionally I read a post that feels like it was pulled straight from my own head. You probably know what I'm talking about. It's that little moment you have where you feel like somebody can finally understand your pain and torment. So here's a little tasty treat from one of my favorite bloggers... Take it away, Bitchy Waiter!

"Occasionally, The Bitchy Waiter gets to go to a restaurant and have someone fuck up his order for a change. After nearly a score of waiting tables, (as in four score and seven years ago...), the dining experience for me is almost always uncomfortable. I want to help the server; I stack my plates, I never complain, I over tip and God forbid I go out with a large group of people who want to push tables together and all be on separate checks. When I eat out, I spend the whole time overcompensating. Waiting tables has ruined the experience for me. But I went out to dinner a few nights ago.

There was a craving for Chinese food in the homestead so I Googled, Zagated, and CitySearched until I found a place that was highly recommended. The reviews for Hunan Park were good and the price was right, read cheap. It was little bit out of the way but I was feeling adventurous. Why not? Off to the Upper West Side I shall go! With address in hand and salivating for some good orange chicken, my dining partner (none of your beeswax, busy bodies) head to Columbus Avenue and 70th Street. When we get there, we go back and forth on the supposed block and see nothing that serves egg rolls. Every other ethnic restaurant is on that block but not one fucking Chinese place. We look up the address and realize we are standing in front of it, but it is now some lame ass deli that I applied for a job at about three weeks ago. What the fuck? Did Hunan Park up and leave? Never fear, there is another location on 91st Street, only twenty blocks up. We trudged ahead. At 91st street, nuthin'. A grocery store, a post office and a homeless lady who may or may not have been Chinese. We call the mysterious Hunan Park and they say "No! No! Ninety-fifth Street. Five Five!" Four more blocks and we finally behold the wonder that is Hunan Park; the magical mystical Far East heaven that has made me travel all the way from Queens to a neighborhood I didn't even know the name of. Hunan Park was a dump.

"Well, Zagat gave it a 9 for decor but a 19 for food. It must be good. There's no one here though, that's weird." As we ignored every red flag that was waving before us, we stepped into a place that may as well have been next door to me in Queens. Zagat can not lead us astray, could they? There was an old man sitting at a table with headphones on and a pile of food in front of him. He looked like he could be a close personal friend to the homeless lady at 91st Street. The only other people eating were employees on this fine Friday night. We sat "anywhere" and a waitress threw some water glasses and some chips with duck sauce at us. She looked like she was in a real hurry, like she must have been in the middle of giving a manicure to someone else at the same time. She came back about ten seconds later and said "you ready?" We politely asked for more time so she moved about two feet away from us and stood there staring at us. No pressure or anything, Fawn Lawn Young. It was only 9:30 and they didn't close until 11:00 so I don't know what her fucking hurry was. Maybe it was Chinese New Year or something and she needed to go build a dragon mask. We ordered an egg roll (greasy and possibly frozen) and vegetable dumplings (I didn't try them because they were green and I don't like green food) for our appetizers. I then ordered pineapple chicken because they didn't have orange chicken. It came out as some doughy fried chicken with about six cubes of canned pineapple next to it. And a huge bowl of sauce that may as well have been called High Fructose Corn Syrup with MSG. Across from me, my dining companion had a plate of Moo Shoo Chicken that was said to taste like dish soap. Again, I didn't taste it because I don't like food that tastes like dish soap. The only decent thing we had were the two bottles of Tsing Tao beer. Perfectly prepared, they were.

The check came along with an orange slice (fancy!) and fortune cookies. I wrapped up my chicken because even though it was horrible, gummy, disgusting and I thought it tasted like shit, a homeless person might want it. We put down $43 dollars and left. No one else came in the whole time we were there except for a group of three who walked in, looked around and left. And another couple who picked up some food to go. Zagat was wrong. They lied to me and owe me $43. How long will it be before I am ready to again venture to the other side of the menu? Days? Weeks? Hunan Park and Zagat just made this bitchy waiter a little bit bitchier."

Friday, October 16, 2009

Merch Queen

With the economy continuing to sag and business dropping, the fearless leaders (managers and possibly corporate) have decided to step in and boost sales with merch.. i mean "souvenirs." Unfortunately, I suck at it. I can't even sell a Hooters brand lighter for peat's sake. I'm just not a sales person. I feel bad trying to get families that can barely tip me to splurge on shirts for the whole crew. I can't help it. I just feel silly doing it. So now, to motivate us, management has decided that our schedules will reflect our merch... i mean "souvenir" sales. One of my buddies who happens to be one of the "merch queens" told me she actually brings the shirts up to the table during her pitch. Evil, but genius. Does anybody have any advice for me? I like my sweet set of hours that coincides perfectly with school, and I don't want to lose them.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

words can't bring me down

I wash my hands and clean my nails, pulling any dirt out from under them.


The oily make up remover melts off the mascara and the cleanser polishes. A little stream of blue toner disappears into the cotton ball and I can feel my skin tighten just slightly. Next comes the anti-aging moisturizer and the night-time eye cream.

Because you’re never too young to start.

My skin is soft and pretty. The freckles are barely visible but they’re there. My naked lips are the perfect pink and my cheeks are bronzed from the sun. My hair is pulled back into a tight pony tail and the baby hairs framing my face are pale and delicate. My green eyes smile back at me. The aqua and yellow flecks are brought out by the deep blue ringing my irises. I smile back and the creases in my cheeks look happy.

I’m happy.

And I love myself. And I think I’m beautiful, just the way I am in my naked skin.

For the first time in my life.

Friday, October 9, 2009


The one on the left is eight, the two in the middle are seven, and the two sharing the mic on the right are six.

This makes me happy.

Oh my fickle friend

Everybody has them. They're the friends that see you as a stepping stool; a kind of emotional lift, if you will. They're the friends that call you to ask how your weekend was only to interject halfway through your first sentence in a pathetic attempt at bragging of their own, rather mundane, existence. They're the friends that will use you as their own personal sounding board, and you'll sit there a silent agreement as they pour their sad and "unfixable" stories upon you. But god-forbid you should propose the sticking idea that they just may be the root of the problem. Still, they feel no reason to hold back regarding your feelings. Hmm. Why do you keep those friends...

Sometimes it sucks being a nice person.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

My totally awkward tuesday

I'm walking from the food window to my tables, plates of wings in hand. Right now, I am at my most vulnerable. It is the dinner rush, the music volume is at it's loudest, and I have both hands completely filled. It is important to state that my mobility is greatly impaired, meaning it is difficult to suddenly stop or swerve. This is why I must again preach my 5th commandment: THOU SHALT NOT BLOCK THY HOOTERS GIRL. Because I failed to include running into, bumping, or tripping your hooters girl, I was punished for it.

The table was in sight and I could see that another friend had joined them. As I approached the table and was beginning to think to myself that I needed to ask her what she would like to drink, the tallest man in the party decided to jump OUT of the booth and into the isle way, which was, unfortunately, exactly where I was standing.

The wings, once again, became airborne. Flying in all directions, the majority of them landed on my other tables, and on a man wearing primarily white. When I heard the last, sickening thud, I froze. What does one do in this type of situation? Laugh? Apologize? Cry?

I closed my eyes for a few seconds and then pulled out my tide pen, handing it to the girlfriend of the poor sauce-covered, white-wearing man. After apologizing profusely, I grabbed my manager.

The assaulting table never went above a giggling apology as I brought them their new plates of wings. They also proceeded to chase me around the restaurant, battling over who was able to treat the others to dinner.

So please accept this amendment to my 5th commandment.

Monday, October 5, 2009

I can take it

A brief summary of a day in the life of the average young woman.

10:45AM "Niiiice boots." said one of the bros in a group of five young adults on my way to my Physiology lecture. "Smokinnnnn" I can hear them stop walking and turn in my direction.

12:15PM A group of three athletes become over-joyed when they spy a tennis ball on the ground and pick it up as I walk towards them on the way to my tennis class. One apologizes for stealing a ball that could have potentially been mine. They begin singing a song: "Ohh tennis girrrrrl..."

12:25PM Walking to the tennis courts, I am forced to pass very closely by two different male athletes and the heckling begins. "Heyyy tennis. Mmmm! Tennis, hey!"

12:45PM My normal tennis partner is absent and I am propositioned by two different men to be their tennis partner. I actively avoid a third who has already tracked me down on facebook and asked for my number.

1:30PM I'm walking to the office where my best friend works, carrying a huge bouquet of roses and star gazers that I am surprising her with for her 22nd birthday. "Baby, I'll get you more than roses." Begins the man as I hurredly pass by.

1:50PM On my way to a discounted medical supply store, I try to pull my shorts down as the man in the truck next to me tries to smoothly lean his head out to peak down at me through my un-tinted windows. I remind myself again to put down "Tint Windows" on my checklist.

2:00PM At the medical supply store, the over-friendly staff guy walks me around half the building looking for what I need, only to "discover" that everything had actually been in one place near the entrance. He then proceeds to ask me about my life story. As he begins to gush over the television show "The Office", I curse myself wearing my Dunder Mifflin shirt. Fifteen minutes later we're finally at the check out station, and I slowly inch my way to the door, smiling and nodding, waiting for him to take a breath so I can grab my plastic grocery bag and run.

2:30PM At the local grocery store buying necessities. An older woman politely compliments my Dunder Mifflin shirt. I smile and thank her.

2:45PM Outside at the local pumpkin patch picking up a few for the house. My total is $18.75. I give him $20 and tell him to keep the change. He carries all of my pumpkins to my car and puts them in the car for me. A little odd, seeing as he didn't for the two he checked out ahead of me, but greatly appreciated. Although it was probably a little inconvenient for the man in line behind me.

3:00PM And I'm home. My shift at Hooters starts in two hours and fifteen minutes. At least I'll be getting paid for it.

Friday, October 2, 2009

Hooters Wisdom

Brit, what's five plus forty-seven plus five?

So... forty-seven plus ten... that'll be fifty-seven.

What? I said five plus forty-seven plus five.

That's fifty-seven.

But where did you get the ten?


Thursday, October 1, 2009


I am all too swamped in life at the moment. I wish I had more to write.

Saturday, September 19, 2009


Talk like a pirate day is always more fun when there are male co-workers around, which unfortunately isn't the case at Hooters.

Friday, September 18, 2009

A tale of two servers

He works downtown. I work at Hooters.

We make about the same in tips.

He thinks my job is cake. I think his is.

The truth is, neither are.

Depending on the state of my hair, I'll spend anywhere between 20 minutes to an hour getting ready for work. Depending on where I am, it will take me 10 to 20 minutes to drive to work and park. I'm always at least 15 minutes early, but I usually get there around thirty minutes before my shift starts. Just so I can, you know, make sure my make-up looks ok in the restaurant lighting, locate a locker for my purse and change of clothes, and sort of mentally pump myself up for the impending shift.

No matter the state of his hair, he'll spend about 5 minutes getting ready for work. This includes the facial hair check and making sure there isn't anything sticking out of his teeth or nose. Depending where he is, it will take him anywhere from 15 to 25 minutes to get to work, depending on traffic. Then, he searches for parking. He allows himself 30 minutes. If it's a good day, he arrives to work 20 minutes early and has a smoke with some work buddies. If it's a bad day, he walks into work with 5 minutes to spare.

During my shift, I have anywhere between 4 and 6 tables before head wait starts sending girls home. I receive a 30 minute, unpaid break in the break room. I'm not allowed to leave at night without a walk out because it's a liability. I dance corporate-approved dances and bring up guests for birthday humiliations and bachelor/ette celebrations a few times every hour, depending on the rush(es). I follow a loose 16 steps that I know secret shoppers are looking for. I must greet a table in 30 seconds, bring their drinks in 3 minutes, etc. I sit down with every one of my tables and even if I'm not, I make it look like I'm interested and having a good time. We are not allowed to carry trays because more girls are needed to carry more food, so the more people there are at a table, the more girls are needed to bring the food and drinks. I am required to smile at and greet every guest within a 5 ft radius of me. This is sometimes more difficult than it sounds if the man is drunk enough. All of my time is given to the guests. I walk around to all of the other tables, making small talk and making sure they have everything they need. If they don't, I will get it for them. Usually, there are a table or two that are high maintenance. If I'm closing, I follow a strict checklist. After I clock out, I am walked to my car.

During his shift, he has anywhere between 5 and 8 tables before it slows down and servers are cut. He receives a 30 minute, unpaid break. He usually leaves and frequents a nearby cafe. He must greet a table in one minute, and bring their drinks in 4. He is polite and courteous to the guests, but not casual. He takes their orders and make sure that they go out when they need to. He carries all the food out on one large tray. He only waits on his section, although a table might call out to him for assistance as he's passing. When his section is completely taken care of, he finds himself with a few extra minutes to step out and have a cigarette. This experience is purely about the food, and so it must be perfect. He has more side work than I do, and closing takes a longer amount of time. After he clocks out, he walks with some friends to their cars.

We are exhausted. I am more emotionally drained than he is. He is more physically drained than I am.

Which would be more difficult for you?

Tips for the dining-impaired.

All of this should be common sense but, unfortunately, through waitressing I've learned it's not. I'll start from the beginning.


1. Honor thy hostess. Reservations. Some restaurants take them and some don't. The Hooters I work for happens to NOT take reservations. Getting cranky with the hostess will not help your situation. It is, however, helpful to call ahead to let us know that 40 of your closest friends are coming in. We'll TRY to keep some tables together open, but we wont make any promises. Why? Because nine times out of ten, less than HALF of the people will end up showing up, and most of them hang out for just fifteen minutes. This isn't your private pool house, and we end up losing money while your friends take up tables that could have been sat by people actually want to eat dinner and tip well.

2. Thou shalt not seat thyself. Hostesses seat you at a table for a reason, but we understand if you'd prefer to sit elsewhere. However, let the HOSTESS know before you're sat. You should also understand that, because of this slight disturbance to the restaurant's flow, it might take a few minutes longer for the waitress to get to your table. It's because she has other tables she needs to take care of. (I'm saying she because only shes' are waitresses at Hooters.) Another no-no is asking to move to a different table after you've been sitting at yours for some time. If you must, understand that you will most likely receive a different waitress, unless you move to another table in her section. We have sections because it's easier to keep tabs on tables that are all in the same area. It's a real pain in the ass to have to run to the other side of the restaurant to check on that table that "needed" to move because a booth opened up halfway through their meal.

3. Thou shall drink at the bar. We have a perfectly good bar, and it drives me crazy when a group of two or three strolls in during a rush and sits in my booth that holds 6 comfortably only to ask for two glasses of water and a bud light or two. I don't care if you're just hanging out before a concert or a football game. I don't care that you already ate. You're going to sit there for an hour, racking up your $6.75 tab, while there is a line out the door. Then, for my trouble, you'll leave me $7. I'm losing money. I have to tip out buss boys and the restaurant takes out a percentage of my sales to tip out the hostesses, breakers, bartenders, and kitchen staff. That is what the bar or even the patio is for. You may be low maintenance, but I'd take a high-maintenance high-tipper any day.

4. Thou shalt not monopolize thy Hooters Girl. I have other tables, and while I love a good conversation, I'm here to do my job. Fit in what ever you can into a minute or two, but when I have a full section, that is about all I can spare. It's rude to keep me there, and I'll have to seem rude to leave and tend to my other tables. It's also rude to complain about the amount of time I spend at other tables. I'll be honest with you. They're actually ordering food and drinks, which usually ends in a better tip.

5. Thou shalt not block thy Hooters Girl. Some people need help with basic navigating through the restaurant. Your Hooters Girl always has the right of way. Always. (ok, maybe not always, but if she's headed straight for you with 2 plates of 50 wings each, it's your funeral.) Hooters girls aren't waitresses. They're Hooters Girls. If we were waitresses, we would be allowed to give you only the basic service. (Normal service.) So when you see me walking towards you with two pitchers of beer in one hand and five ice cold glasses in the other, MOVE! Step aside. I don't care if you're a chick either. I have a million other things to do, dances to dance, kids to entertain, and beer to pour. I have the right of way because I'm at work, and you're here because you have nothing better to do. (Thanks for coming in by the way!)
*Note: Because of the informality of the Hooters Restaurants Guests are literally EVERYWHERE. At my location, during any type of game or event, it can be like trying to move through the mosh pit at Warped Tour. Not fun when you're, as I said before, carting around platters of wings and pitchers of beer.

6. Thou shalt not whine. Up-selling. I have to do this. It's part of the "16-steps" I've had memorized from day one. Also, the more you spend, the more I can potentially make. I know that makes me sound like a gold-digging hussy, but this is a business, and that is how we make our money. Did you really think we had "hooters girl" at the top of our "What I want to be when I grow up" lists? I didn't, so shut up and smile while I tell you how good our chocolate mousse cake is or about our awesome t-shirt deal going on. If you really don't give a damn, tell me straight up: "I am not a secret shopper. I do not intend to purchase anything other than what I will ask for." I will still make sure you receive good service because I am a good karma-fearing waitress.

7. Thou shalt not refuse to pay for a meal after it's been eaten. That makes sense, right? I don't need to explain this one, do I? If you don't like your food, for god sakes, tell me! I am required to check on you after "2-bites or 2-minutes!" and gosh darn it, I do it! Why? Because I should, and because it is something the secret shopper looks for. So, it is definitely not the time to whine to me about an entree, after dessert and coffee, when I drop off the check. That window of opportunity closed when I asked if everything was ok thirty minutes ago and you said YES.

8. Thou shalt not ask for separate checks after the meal. Need I say more? I always ask if I need to split checks if I'm serving a party of five or more. It's annoying and some people do look offended, but it's something I've learned I need to do. Occasionally I'll forget. So please, if you are not intelligent enough to add numbers and factor in tax, let me know that you'll need separate checks BEFORE you order. Things will flow much easier. (at hooters, we can put ANY amount you ask for on your card, and THEN we'll give you your receipt where you can add in the tip! You have 5 friends and 4 are paying with cards and 1 with cash? Perfect! Tell me how much to put on each card and if your friend is expecting change! Easy peasy!)

9. Thou shall keep a respectable distance between thyself and thy Hooters Girl. I cannot stress this one enough. I've been picked up, hugged, name it. And that's fine. But this issue is about the message it sends to other, much more intoxicated guests. It is also the reason why the boyfriend does not receive a kiss (which would be unprofessional anyway) or anything more than a friendship hug when he comes to visit me. And he only gets a hug when he's near the door and out of sight. There is a reason why we ask you to put your hands in your pockets during our delightfully tacky Hooters Hokey Pokey.

10. Thou shall tip at least 15% That's a given, right? I hope so. After all we do for your care and amusement. Coupons? Bring em!! But please realize that the tip should be calculated before the discount. We did serve you the food. The kitchen did prepare it. The bus boy does have more mess to clean because of it. Common sense people.

And that's it for today. I don't mean to sound like I have to wait on complete idiots all the time. Many of my guests are wonderful and entertaining themselves. They're a pleasure to wait on. But I have seen my fair share of the dining-impaired, so pass this indispensable knowledge on to your friends and loved ones. Please, on behalf of your Hooters Girls and Servers.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Sunday, September 6, 2009


I am lucky enough to be able to live within walking distance of a (man made) lake where I may run the 6 mile course around it, picnic beside it, canoe through it, or visit one of the many softball/baseball games going on at the ball fields next to it. As a college student, I've learned that every penny counts (for example, that caramel frap at the bux is worth 30 minutes of my hourly wage), so in place of a trendy gym I prefer to make use of the many outdoor "playgrounds" San Diego has to offer. Elle and I used to frequent the lake a few years ago, waking up before my classes to get in a little morning cardio. Unfortunately, directly adjacent to the lake is a golf course. I say "unfortunately" because golfers are some of the worse people I've ever met. I use the term "met" very loosely, and I'm sure they're not all like that, but every morning we were cat-called and harassed by these golfers. It got to the point where we'd rather endure the scorching heat in sweats and long tees just to avoid feeling horribly objectified for that mile we were forced to be within their range of vision. Normally, I don't prefer to run with an Ipod when I have a running buddy, but that too became a necessity. Eventually we stopped running the lake in the morning and took to the nearby mountain trails instead. (They're much more invigorating anyways.)

I walked into work today for my "early" morning shift, poured myself some coffee, and sat through "jump start," ready for what every may lay ahead. Or so I thought. The manager finished his spiel and we wiped down our tables just as guests began trickling in the door.

I walked over to greet my first table of the day.

"Hey guys! How are you this morning?"
"Hey sugar, bring us a couple of beers! We just spent this whole morning golfin!"


Friday, August 28, 2009


I am so glad I have such an amazing support system at work. They have no idea how much I appreciate them.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009


"So what do you do."
I stare at him. Dumbfounded. Does this man not understand that I am carrying my body weight in dirty dishes? Is he trying to start small talk? And what kind of a vague, half-assed question is that?
"Well, I'm going to school to become an RN."
For fun, I also wait on inconsiderate pricks not intelligent enough to realize that I am at my place of employment.
"Why on earth would you choose that career." It was a statement. Clearly not a question. His friends stifled their laughter.
"It's easy." I replied, with a sarcasm he wasn't mentally advanced enough to catch on to.
"I know dozens of nurses that would shoot you for that one."
"Do you." I replied. It was a statement. Clearly not a question. I began to walk away, still weighted down with my spoils from the other tables that were beginning to look around the restaurant because they obviously needed me to, you know, continue to serve them.
"You know, I hire nurses based on how hot they are."
"I better hope I don't get sick then."
"Guys feel better when a hot nurse is looking after them."
"Does that mean I get a hot doctor."
"Am I hot."
"Scorching. Can I get you gentlemen anything." Clearly not a question.
I pause, waiting.
"How about your number. You can write it on the back of the check. You can let me know when you want that job."
That's when I started laughing.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

My latest crush

Tyler Shields. Check him out via YouTube. Some of his vids can be a little hipster, and I mean that in all the worst ways, but there is something raw about them that I love.

Monday, August 24, 2009

The Level

When it comes to waiting on restaurant patrons, I think you either come to the table with it (no pun intended) or you begin to reach it after some time. It's this invisible line that, unless you have the patience of a kindergarten teacher, you eventually will cross over. It's the level. You no longer show up to every table, starry-eyed and smiling cheek to cheek. You understand that waiting tables isn't your career and that if this restaurant doesn't work out, you can walk right out and right back into the one next door. Your heart begins to harden as child after child drops crushed cheerios and squishes mayo packets onto the floor, into carpets, and in between bench seat cushions. Your faith in humanity falters as matured adults show less class than their cheerio crushing, mayo packed smushing offspring. A little crack appears your outer shell, threatening to splinter, and your eyes no longer retain their spark.
Ladies and gentlemen, I have reached this level.

Friday, August 21, 2009


This is why september is one of my favorite months. I love the warm rain and the low growls and purrs of the thunder. The dry, dusty air smells clean and moist. It's my new year. It's my birthday month, starting a new year at school, and looking forward to the looming holidays.

It's after 2 pm and I'm still in bed. Thunderstorms justify this.

i do realize it's still august :p
september is just arriving a little early in terms of weather.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

"I'm deleting my myspace!"

cry the alone and insignificant.

drama Pictures, Images and Photos

A wise manager once said to me, "Everything is what you make it." I believe that whole-heartedly. Sure, I have one, and although I rarely use that irritating social network, it does keep me in contact with those that are more difficult to keep in touch with. Then are they worth it? You might ask. I think so. I'm a busy person. I'm spontaneous. I've been known to cancel a plan or two for a sudden change of heart. You might call that flakey. I just call it life. And so I can relate.

Nothing peeves me more than to sign on with the intention of checking emails or visiting blogs and bulletins, only to be forced to scroll through the "trash," trying to sift out the obvious shouts for attention. Like the selfish toddler, there is little that can keep them quiet. Amused for a time, perhaps, but never silenced.

"Yeah, so this thing is bringing me, like, way too much drama. So I'm thinking of deleting it. SO if you want to talk to me do it now."

If that doesn't scream loneliness and desperation I don't know what does.

With the intention of checking out my best friend's recent trip to Las Vegas, I again pass over another post by the desperado.

"I'm deleting my myspace in 24 hours."

Of course, this time constraint is part of the protocol. The dramatic love the ticking time bomb scenario. Irritated with my speed reading skills I am forced to realize that those post titles were written over a week ago. So much for commitment these days.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

I am wasted right now

I just wanted you all to know that. I love your comments and emails. I'm trying to hit every spot in San Francisco that you mentioned. I am so proud of myself for typing this entire paragraph sans typos. Success.

Last night in San Francisco. Making it worth while. Quick! Tell me what I absolutely have to do before I leave tomorrow afternoon!!

Monday, August 17, 2009

I love my boyfriend, and San Francisco

I forgot my pay stub. The first time I ever take it out of my purse in an effort to "de-clutter" and I realize too late that we are staying at a hotel minutes away from a Hooters in a major city. So much for getting my San Francisco uniform top. I am very disappointed.

Summer vacation. The big getaway. It's what you look forward to when Christmas is over. The first half was ruined when my dad's girlfriend realized he was cheating on her after the first day at our beach house. That's fine. I told myself. We're only weeks away from THE LAKE HOUSE. The Lake House. It was the second part of our summer getaway and I had been looking forward to this for years. My aunt's husband recently inherited a mansion on a very popular lake north of San Francisco, complete with speed boats and jet skis, and finally after being unable to attend many an invite, we were going. Every day I'd ask my dad, the fifteenth right? In confirmation of our plans. My boyfriend and I had requested the necessary five days off that the trip required. Five lazy, sunny, beautiful days. It was just around the corner now, and I could hardly contain myself.

It was the fourteenth of August and I was packing. Excitement ran through my veins. As I walked downstairs I ran into my father.
"What time do you want to leave tomorrow?" I asked him, while an involuntary smile broke across my face.
"Yeah, about that.." he began.

We weren't going. Something came up. My dad had never actually confirmed the dates with them. I was pissed.

"But we'll make it work." He said.
I sat him down, and went over a brief itinerary.
"San Francisco it is."
The boyfriend had never been to San Francisco. Actually, he had never been to any major city outside of San Diego before, and seeing as we're going backpacking across Europe next summer, I figured this would be the perfect destination to whet his cultural appetite.

And so here we are. Hence my lack of posting recently. We had originally planned to head up to see some friends in Rescue, California to do some white water rafting but apparently my little sister has an aversion to anything that includes the words "water" and "rafting." No big deal really. We can do that near home anyways. That only means we have an additional day in San Francisco. And we plan to make the most out of it.

Cutsey barf alert!!! I am slightly jazzed to be able to state that San Francisco is where the boyfriend and I have booked our first Hotel room together.

I hope everyone is having an amazing summer! I know it can be difficult this time of the year, but don't forget to update your posts! And I love getting your comments and emails! I'll write back soon!
your brit

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Nice To Meet You, Mr. GM

It was all you can eat wing night and I was breaker. My favorite blog reader came in to visit me again, but unfortunately was unable to sit in my section since I didn't have one, and I didn't get to break her section before she and her bunch of friends she brought in left. D: Maybe next Tuesday!

But do you remember how my boyfriend doesn't exactly jump for joy at the idea of me waitressing at Hooters...? Well I felt that maaaaybe if I actually had him come in and see me more often, he may have a change of heart, seeing as he had only really been in twice before and he was with his buddies. So, I sent him a text, telling him that I would probably be off around 10-10:30 if he wanted to come in and get dinner with me after my shift. Well, he ended up having a wonderful time. I set him up with all you can eat wings and we sat in my friend's section. My General Manager actually came over and introduced himself to the boyfriend, telling him that it was awesome to meet him and that he should come in more often.

We stayed until closing and the restaurant was almost empty. We watched as my GM pulled all of the girls together to tell them how well our restaurant was doing, and that if we boosted our sales just a little bit more, we'd be almost at the top. The way they sat together reminded me of a family, and the girls cheered when they heard the good news. It was sweet to watch the closeness and I could tell my boyfriend noticed. After wards, my boyfriend walked me out to my car and we passed my general manager who was just walking back from escorting another girl to hers. "It was really great to meet you!" He said again to my boyfriend. "Come back soon! And thanks for making sure our brit got to her car safely. It's great to have you back brit."
Needless to say, the boyfriend's opinions of Hooters have risen considerably.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Family Night

Is occurring as I write this. Yes. I still have family night every Sunday night starting at six. The kids are grown up now so it's hard for my dad to see us all. We always seemed to be off work and not as busy with school Sunday evenings, and so family night was born. Occasionally it swells to include extended members of family, boyfriends, and girlfriends. With good reason. Tonight's movie is DEAD SNOW. This English dubbed treasure takes place high up in the mountains. The young protagonists must walk miles from their cars to reach the isolated cabin. You know where this is going. Only there is a twist. Zombies. But were you expecting them to be a zombie army of deceased Nazis?? I didn't think so.

P.S. My family is awesome.

Friday, August 7, 2009

Would you like some cheese with that wine?

Is it asking too much when a person feels that they deserve someone that can understand and appreciate them? Like, really understand. And not push me when I'm down at my lowest. Why do I feel like I'm slipping, like I'm becoming a dull and lifeless being? When it's good it's great. Don't get me wrong. When things are good it can be such a great feeling. But is it worth it when the bad is so miserable? Or should I listen and believe that it's my fault that I feel this way, as if I have some sort of disorder. That I'm dramatic. So, expressing myself is dramatic. Explaining that I'm upset is dramatic. I've never been one for scenes. I'll wait until I'm home to cry. I'll wait for a private setting to argue. I've never thrown a heavy object at a male. Or any object for that matter without intending them to catch it. I've never screamed, yelled, or been physically abusive. Since when did expressing feelings in an adult manner become dramatic? I'm honestly curious at this point. I don't even want to begin on the double standards that occur weekly. Maybe I'll go back to the Apple store.

Funny thing. I'm painfully optimistic the majority of the time. I put my phone down and sat on my bed. Feeling incredibly alone. And then my phone rang. I looked at it, hopeful, but immediately disappointed when an unknown number stared up at me. I continued to stare back. Should I pick it up? What do I have to lose?

I answered.

"Hello, Brittany?" A man with a British accent said to me.
"Erm.. hi?" I stammered.
"It's Robert Pattinson... I'm back in town and I know I've been meaning to call. I'm terrible at it aren't I?"
Ok I'm kidding with the Robert Pattinson part. But it WAS actually an old high school buddy of mine whom I befriended when he was newly in from the British Isles. He had found me on facebook months earlier and we exchanged numbers.
"Will!" I nearly shrieked into the phone. "How ARE you??"
"I'm well! I just wanted to let you know that I'm in town and I'm having a party tomorrow night. Sort of a mixture of celebrations."
"Well my brother was just signed to *record company* and it's a friend's birthday and I'm back, so we're going to invite every one we know! Are you in?"
"Definitely." I smiled.

Ding Ding Ding Ding!

Less than 45 Hooters Waitresses at my location! Everybody is graduating college and going back home. An all time low since I've been hired. Strangely, while looking at this week's schedule, I realized we have approximately 25 Hostesses. Either our new Hostesses are very VERY slow with obtaining their proper paperwork needed for training, or they're very VERY slow in other areas if you know what I mean. Both are common at least 50% of the time. Hostesses can be the absolute worst. As opposed to the much more modestly behaved waitresses, the new hostess is EXCITED about her new job! Her ego is inflated day after day, watching hundreds of hopefuls come into the restaurant to apply every week, never to be heard from again. Because everyone in the restaurant must walk by her or be seated by her, she is constantly flirted with, inflating her ego further. Then one day a waitress will snap at her, for dropping off yet another party onto a dirty table and walking off, leaving a family of six looking around disgusted. The hostess doesn't understand. But I GAVE her a table! She whines to herself and to the other hostesses. And I'm so pretty and cute! All of the guys think so! She's just jealous! She will try and convince herself. Another waitress has a little chat with her after being triple sat for the third time that evening. I'm having such a bad day! Thinks the hostess. Folding shirts at Abercombie is so much less stressful! She thinks to herself nostalgically. The next day her friend will call and inform her of a swinging party last minute. But I have a shift tonight! She laments. As she weighs the pros and cons of each, she remembers her bad day yesterday and goes to the party instead. Heck, she doesn't even call to tell them she wont be coming in. Who's got the time for that when you're young and beautiful! The hostess is promptly fired. And I wonder why we only have 45 waitresses.