A bright orange roof and gaudy neon sign signaled the arrival of our latest neighbourhood eatery – Hooters. I imagine a lot of women sighed in despair as the restaurant opened its doors to the crowds of excitable young men. The prospect of being served sizzling wings by a girl in tangerine hotpants isn’t my idea of fun. Yet I can’t help glancing longingly through the windows every time I drive by…
OK, I admit, I want to be a Hooters girl! I don’t really want to be a waitress – I tried it once, but my lack of balancing, pouring and social skills meant that career lasted one night only. No, it’s because all the girls who work at Hooters are pretty.
They have skinny legs, shiny hair and white-toothed smiles. Their orange hotpants don’t make their butt look like two bouncing pumpkins.
If I was a Hooters girl I could use my female assets to hide my lack of waitressing skills. It wouldn’t matter if I dropped the salsa or poured hot gravy into the slightly bulging lap of my diner – he would be too busy trying to get a glimpse down my t-shirt to notice. And then he’d leave me a big tip! Now that’s job satisfaction.
However, I think I’ve left it too late to pursue my dream. Most waitresses at the restaurant are students, so I’m probably 10 years to late to be a Hooters girl. Although I was probably 10 years too late 10 years ago.
Come to think of it, there’s never been a period in my life when I haven’t looked dorky, awkward or lumpy in the wrong places. I’m just not Hooters girl material.
I wonder if other Hooters wannabes have landed their dream job, only to be greeted by screams of horror as crowds rush to the door to escape the sight of their wobbly orange-peel thighs.
On the other hand I probably look as good as it’s going to get, so why not try? If I land the job I’ll let you all know. You could all come in and ask to be served by that cute waitress with the matching colour hair and hotpants, no, she’s not a freaky old hag, she’s just, erm, womanly.
Would you mind doing that for me? Just don’t order anything with hot gravy and you’ll be fine.
Mind you, there is another place where I can wear hotpants, serve men beer and get lots of tips. And the place is so dark I could easily hide my dorkyness. Although I don’t think I could manage that pole…
Hotpants are tight and wings are hot over at Humor-Blogs.com