Come see me at Hooters

Finally, another Hooters story. I know how long you have all waited for this one.





As a Hooters Girl, I was constantly involved in promoting both the brand and our local Hooters restaurant. We went to rib cook offs and all types of sporting events, bikini contests, concerts and any other place where we could find people to give them Free Wing coupons. At any of these events, we were expected to wear either our Hooters Uniform or the $120.00 Hooters Track suit that was fabricated from some highly flammable material along with a white Hooters tank underneath.





One weekend, I was roped into working a golf show at the IX Center. The building itself was used during WWII to manufacture B-29s and again during the Korean War to make army tanks. The building was used in various operations over the years but was finally remodeled and opened as the IX Center in the mid 80's and has been used to host various shows since then. The monstrosity is a staggering 300,000 square feet and during the annual Golf Show in March, the temperatures tended to hover close to hypothermic conditions because the place is extremely expensive to heat. Because it was so cold, we were allowed to wear our warm ups to work at the show.





So happily I trotted off to the Saturday morning show where I was scheduled to work from ten in the morning to three in the afternoon, after which I would then have to race into downtown Cleveland to make it to work in time for my four o'clock shift that evening. Throughout the day, we handed out coupons, made small talk and sold Hooters paraphernalia. We signed the new swimsuit calendars - we weren't in them, we would just pick someone who looked like us and sign it as them. I kept telling people to come in and see me that evening since I was working at the bar and not waiting tables.





Three O'clock rolled around and the new shift of girls arrived. I packed my stuff up and headed into work. When I arrived, I touched up my make-up and changed into my full uniform. We had our "shift" meeting where everyone was assigned sections and off I went to the bar, perky and full of caffeine.





About an hour into my shift, I saw four guys making their way into the bar. They sat down at the far end of the bar and caught my eye. It was a group of fellows I had met at the show earlier in the day. Fancy that!!





I bebopped my way down to say hello and get their drinks orders. The guys were super friendly and all smiles and told me how cute I looked out of my warm up and in my regular uniform. As I worked my way down the bar, orders started coming in faster and faster. I was the only one working a 30 + stool bar that evening and even though I was used to getting good tips, people were literally throwing money at me. I had the mojo that night. For the next thirty minutes, I was propositioned no less than twenty times. What the hell? I knew I looked good and I had a great banter going with the crowd, but they were really starting to get rowdy. Whistles and catcalls abounded. These guys were starting to get out of control.





As I desperately struggled to keep up with drink and food orders, my mind was racing. Why this night? What was so great about me today? I didn't have a lack of self-confidence, but something was off and I just couldn't put my finger on it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the guys that came in from the golf show flagging me down. As I made my way down the bar, I felt like every set of eyes in the place was staring at me. I finally reached the end and the guy motioned me closer. As I leaned over the bar, he placed his lips at my ear and whispered something that I hope I never hear again:





"Sweetheart, you might want to adjust your tank top."





I whipped around and looked down to see the top of my tank askew. My right nipple, Mrs. Buttersworth, was staring back at me. As quickly as humanly possible, I adjusted my top. Face flaming, I turned around and thanked the man. He shrugged back at me. It was then that I realized what had been going on. Here I was trotting around with a tit out, while happily collecting all of the money thrown my way and not ONE PERSON said anything to me about it.





Now it takes a lot to embarrass me these days, but back then I still had some feelings and I was mortified. Oh my hell. I wanted to run out from behind the bar and hide. My stomach was doing flip-flops and I was almost certain that I was going to lose what little I had time to eat that day. Instead, I brazened it out and acted like none of it bothered me, all the while I was dying inside. I couldn't get that horrid feeling of embarrassment out of my system. I replayed the scene over and over in my head and each time, my stomach threatened to lose its contents.





These days, if something like that were to happen, I would laugh it off and go on my merry way. I would have something extremely witty at hand, some self-deprecating comment to make everyone crack up and I would manage to keep my head up and not be ashamed of an accident like that. But then... then I was beyond any level of humiliation I had ever experienced.





I guess that little incident taught me a valuable lesson:





Be humble when you receive interest from the opposite sex because it might not be your fabulous self that is garnering their attention. They may just want a closer look at Mrs. Buttersworth.





Thanks to Bottle Blonde, my scissor sister, for reminding me of this story. See, you aren't the only one who has this shit happen to them.