So, I went to Calumet City to visit a friend from high school, and she suggested that we go to Hooters for some Red Sangria.
Before I go on, I must explain something, and then offer a disclaimer. I’ve lived in Wisconsin for the last ten years, so things operate a little differently than they do down in Chicago. So naturally, certain things stand out to me now that may have seemed normal back in the day. Now for the disclaimer: I am not now, nor have I ever been, ashamed of my people, except in certain extenuating circumstances. This is one of them.
Anyway, we’re in Hooters, and I notice the stark contrast between WI Hooter Girls and C.C. Hooter Girls. In WI, they’re (mostly) slim Caucasian girls with friendly dispositions, neat, clean uniforms, and too much blond coloring to possibly be natural. The store is neat, well-kept, and spacious.
The good qualities about the C.C. Hooters? The waitresses encompassed the color spectrum, which was good, because I’d never seen a woman of color working at Hooters and I was beginning to worry. The good feelings pretty much stopped there.
This store was chock-full of people, and it was only about as big as Wendy’s. They actually had a wait list for people coming in: a 25-30 minute wait. Right in the entry, there is a huge orange bucket catching water from the leaky roof. And the rainbow waitresses? Well…there was a young girl who looked like she was about three months pregnant, another who looked well into her second trimester, and one whose uniform looked like it had not been through the washing machine in weeks. The African American waitresses needed to go on strike, in my opinion, because their stockings made their legs look ashy instead of tan. My waitress had on entirely too much Hello Kitty jewelry.
Even all of that was forgivable, what was absolutely NOT was the two (yes, TWO) parties that tried to leave the restaurant without paying their tab. We were wondering why Hooters needed an armed security guard…this, apparently, is the reason. (NOTE– This portion is only for the eyes of the dumb-ass children who thought that this was a good idea. All others can please skip to the next paragraph: What the fuck is wrong with you? Were you slapped repeatedly as a baby? Do you have some sort of mental defect that possibly surfaced at the wrong time convincing you that this was the right thing to do? Hell naw, you don’t, you sticky-fingered assholes. You’re a disgrace to our people. You’re the reason why prison construction is based on third-grade test scores!!!)
And while I thoroughly enjoyed the intellectual conversation the three of us had, I believe that waiting for an hour for a check is entirely too long, especially if there is a line of at least 20 people waiting to be seated.
I admit it. Sue me! But I have not forgotten about my blog!
