23 October 2012
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From my tender years, I’ve always felt that there was something fishy about the Hooters establishment. Something about those scantily clad servers and hostesses has never sat well with me.
This is for me at 16, an idiot, foolishly scribbling my number on my receipt because I naïvely thought the slightly older and more cunning waitress was into me. Fooled me once, shame on you. Now, you’re going to get this work. I hope it zips utter umbrage through the under wires of your boulder holders while I’m laughing last. Let’s have it, shall we?
I’ve been to restaurants where waiters and waitresses have served damn near all my life, but Hooters girls don’t seem to make the active roster for more than 5 football seasons.
How does a girl become a career employee at Hooters? Do they just begin to phase her shifts out when she hits the precursor of facial sagging and menopause at like 25 or will she end up in a ‘Milton from Office Space’ situation and eventually just staple old receipts together in the basement?
I wonder if old, rich guys get brochures in the mail from Hooters that read, “For only one designer purse a month, you can be the sponsor of a Hooters girl struggling to pay for her tuition. Stop in anytime to see your Hooters girl and receive weekly, under-the-table knee squeezes and Facebook status updates on her life.”
That’s GOTTA be where all the 25 year old ex-Hooters girls that never progressed past the orange shorts go: married to those rich, old dudes that come in at noon on a Wednesday to watch golf and titties.
Being a Hooters girl is to the realm of stripping, porn and escort services as marijuana is a gateway drug to using cocaine, heroin and meth. This isn’t that much of a stretch as it is a hyperbole. The shit can and has been a slippery slope to full fledged flooziness. How do I know, you ask yourself?
Without doing too much delving into detail, let’s just say it’s tough to order wings with a straight face from a waitress who you’ve seen fiddle with the box in front of an HD camera on the Internet. Yeah, that’s happened.
Hooters and Craigslist might be the top two places to look up an escort, too. I’m serious.
You know how many times I’ve seen one of you clock out of your shift and get picked up by a strange older man that’s definitely not your father? There’s no way I’m buying that every time I’m in that restaurant, one of you broads has “car trouble” or some other bullshit. You might as well fly yourself to Vegas and get your body Photoshopped to a business card with your name, number and your rates to “hang out” on it.
And if I had a dollar for every time I heard about an area girl letting loose on Amateur Night at the nearest shake shack, 1. I wouldn’t be tipping it (pause), and 2. By now, I could be close to investing in my very own Hooters franchise.
Oh you got a gift from a “regular” at work? You know what other occupation receives similar tokens of appreciation? Strippers.
“Strippers and waitresses even have similar job complaints. They both complain about getting put on bad shifts and making little to no tips.” – @LorenzoMcD, bosom connoisseur.
I’m not writing this to question or poke fun at
you HOES’ quirky ambition; I’m questioning your decision making. Let’s look back at these megapixel box fiddlers. Yeah, you took your $600 or so for your “video shoot” and probably blew through that in one weekend of “retail therapy” trying to make yourself feel better.
Now, KNOWING that you’re more than likely going to be a
single mom someday and that the Internet is going to be around much longer than you, wouldn’t you think $600 (or less, perhaps — I don’t know what the going rate is for that business) is a BIT more than a marginal markdown for your dignity or potentially saving your future teenage son from a world of embarrassment? Would you like a minute to think about that or are you ready to agree? Shit.
You know, maybe, just MAYBE, if the first aid kits didn’t have pregnancy tests in them, I’d take your occupation a bit more seriously. Check please.
I’m out, though. Be great, stay safe.
P.S. Fake breasts only look good in clothes. (Update: they actually do, I’m just talking shit)
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