by Cadillac Frank

Wowsers! Who knew it was so hard to be a Hooters girl? The delightfully informative nugget of information came my way via Shannon (who, incidentally has GREAT hooters… but I digress… as I often do when it comes to GREAT hooters.) who was sweet enough to sign her name to the back of that sheet with a delicious little heart that means so absolutely nothing to me as she whizzed away, removing her two wonderful friends from within my glorious 5-foot-Sphere-of-Influence – Eastern Bloc be damned!!

In all honesty, I don’t think I was to be allowed to see that customer service checklist at all, much less take a copy home with me. But the entire staff of F-You.com knows my uncanny ability to get gorgeous, scantily clad women to bend to my whimsy. In fact, the voluptuous Shannon wasn’t even our server. We were seated in some other girl’s section (who wound up later getting very mad at us and blaming a different table entirely). She giggled as she read some of the items on the list to us (begrudgingly) but adamantly refused to let us see the list in its entirety because it was “against the rules.”

In a way, I understand her reluctance because on one of our previous visits, we found out from a different girl that Hooters does employ “Mystery Shoppers” and each girl is grilled on the 16 items on the checklist. (Yes, Cadillac Frank is not above using phony commiseration to gain information he needs. Works well on strippers too.) For the record though, if Hooters’ Senior Executive Vice-President in charge of Customer Relations and Quality Control is reading this, please make me an offer… no really.

So gauging by our current server’s reluctance to part with the checklist and the information gained from the last girl, I immediately decided we were to be Mystery Shoppers too. Yes, my friends, the kind of Mystery Shoppers who eat wings and drink beer on the job (as part of the job description, though).

Actually, let’s take that checklist one item at a time. Let’s dissect what is required of our beloved tacky Hooters girls as I really come down on them.

#1 Greet incoming Guests from wherever you are

Well, ok, how hard could that be? We walk in and a bunch of girls in push-up bras shout, “Hiiiiiii!!!! Welcome to Hooters!!! Three of you?” So that’s two points for the Hooters girls – they can count. (As a side note, that must make it really hard for them to count out all the wings for each order… I mean 50 is a high number to reach when you can only count three at a time.)

#2 Seat Guests (at the best table in the house, yours of course!)

Hmmmm, well, maybe I’m asking for trouble with that one. I’d say about 99% of the time I go to Hooters, I’m wearing my lucky shirt. Yes, THAT one… and for the mentally challenged, it’s my infamous “Chicks Hate Me” shirt (but that’s a different rant). But, quite honestly, we NEVER get seated. It’s one of those, “Sit wherever you like!!!” things. Kind of like God and the Devil fighting over your soul because neither one wants you. Kind of like Rodney Dangerfield telling us that his kids flip a coin every night to see which one has to kiss him goodnight. Kind of like the Hooters girls have a little betting pool to see which of them gets stuck with us at their table.

#3 Greet table (within 30 sec. Or less), suggest a specific drink

Well, 30 seconds? Please… I can count to 30 in Aramaic (yes, by 3’s) faster than our table gets greeted. That’s a non-issue already. As for the specific drink? Do they have anything besides beer and soft-drinks? What are they going to suggest? That I pay $180 for that shitty Sav-On bottle of Dom P they serve? (Shannon, baby, it’s not about the cash… come with me to my establishment of choice and you’ll see, I swear!)

#4 Inform Guests of a specific special or promotion

That’s asking for trouble. Know what kind of special piques my interest? “Hey fellas, if the fat guy can eat 100 wings I’ll give him head in the men’s room!” Promotion? “If you guys buy $50 worth of merchandise each, I’ll get under the table and play the Game of Smiles with you!”

Duh, we’re there for chicken wings, beer, ogling, and heartburn. So unless it’s one of the above listed offers or the Marketing Department needs my creative genius, spare me.

#5 Bring drinks (in 3 min. or less)

This only happened to me once during my entire life. I’m trying to remember if it was Hooters or not. I think it might have been the time at Claim Jumper when I pissed off the waitress by refusing to be seated until I told her I wouldn’t tolerate sub-standard service and it would be “bad” for her to provide anything but excellent service to us. Or maybe it was Hooters?

#6 Suggest a specific appetizer

OK, that’s not a bad idea for any eating establishment. But lay some groundwork here. Let’s use those few remaining brain cells for this. I know they serve entrées there, but for the most part, most of us are there to knock back a few brews and eat heart-attack chicken wings. Chicken strips before chicken wings? The fat guy from D12 said it best with, “Bitch, are you retarded?”

Now, if for some reason, one of the people at the table decided to go with a Philly Steak Sandwich, hey, it’s cool to backpedal and get that in there… “Would you like to lead into your sandwich with some chicken strips?” Damn, that’s quite a smooth way to put it too. But maybe that’s just my Jedi Mind Trick at work. I said, THAT’S MY JEDI MIND TRICK AT WORK!!!

#7 Sit down to take food order, suggest fries with every order

Whoa, we’ve got to slow #7 down. In fact, I’ve got to split it up into two. Sitting down to take the food order is fine. It lets us stare down the ALREADY low cut top as she leans every so slightly to write down the order. On the rare occasion when it’s too busy to snag a chair from a nearby table, I’ve even had the cheap thrill of having my lap sat on to have the table’s order taken. For a creep like me, hey, cop those feels when you can.

Suggest fries with every order? Can you do it in a Beavis voice while you’re at it? “Heh heh, yeah, so like, would you like some fries with that? Thank you drive through!” I don’t know, I mean, seasoned curly fries are great… but I’ve never found them to go well with chicken wings. Maybe it’s just me? Maybe they should suggest angioplasty with every order?

#8 Ring, Sling, Bring Setups!

I am so scared to even touch this one. I’m not even sure what the fuck this means? I’m going to take a stab at that with RING up the order… SLING the wings onto the plate? And BRING ME MY GODDAMN SETUP!!! I NEED THAT NAPKIN AND FORK!!!!

Of course, being the breast connoisseur that I am, “slung” is an accepted adjective to describe an ample-bosomed sweetie working there. (e.g. “Shannon’s delicious figure makes her very well-slung.)

#9 Entertain, Entertain, Entertain! (visit each others tables)

Lord… here’s a tirade unto itself. Now, I rarely have a complaint about the less physically attractive girls who wind up serving our table. In fact, one, while trying to prove how tough she was, worked SEVERAL knots out of my back (some dating back to my days in Audio/Visual Engineering). Come to think of it, she made my back feel so good, she was downright HOT by the time she finished, so that kills the point I was starting.

But there’s usually one REALLY hot chick working there and she always knows it too. And she NEVER comes by our table. Even after we make all kinds of stupid gestures to try to grab her attention and after cajoling our own waitress. It comes down to almost filing a complaint before she comes by.

Here’s one of my favorite Hooters experiences: It was Halloween night (on a Sunday in 2004). I was done with my costume by Sunday so I was, again, in my favorite attire. Chicks Hate Me. Going with Juan and Dean, we were making all sorts of smart-ass remarks about the people around us before we went in. Constructive observations like, “Hey, check it out! That guy is dressed like a retard for Halloween!” In passing, there were MANY people dressed as retards for Halloween that year.

We went in and seated ourselves, as per custom, and began wondering what the hell was going on with the girls’ costumes. One was kind of… well, we still don’t know what the hell she was dressed up as. It was kind-of a Euro-chic something? To her credit, when we interrogated her as to what her costume might be, she responded with, “Oh, I don’t know what the hell it’s supposed to be, I just threw it on and hoped it would work.” Well, hey, she had the body for it. And honesty ALWAYS works – Thanks!

Our rude waitress was dressed kind-of Coyote Ugly style with black velvet kitty ears and a tail. OK, it sucks to work on Halloween night, but for the amount of tip money those girls make, cry my ass a river and rent a Playboy Bunny outfit.

By all means, though, the hottest (by traditional standards?) girl was dressed in a black vinyl police girl uniform. Tall, blond, curvaceous and air-headed, she had every man’s attention on her. My perverted ass, however, had my eyes on this short, spilling-out-of-her top cutie dressed as an Indian. I was thinking savory thoughts along the lines of Pocahontas 2: Still Poking!

Well, the big question as we walked in was, “Oh, what are YOU three supposed to be dressed up as?” My cohorts immediately pointed to me and said, “Him, he’s supposed to be a comedian.” So we decided that Juan’s costume was to be that of a realtor and that Dean was supposed to be a UFC cage-fighter or something.

Well, along with our drinks, one of the girls brought over a helium-filled balloon with “I’m a comedian, Laugh at ME!” written on it and tied it to my wrist. No big deal, I could hold my own against that. Also, it gave everyone else in the place something to look at. Which made all the girls come by our table that night. (Visit each other’s tables!!!) Every girl except for the vinyl cop, that is.

So finally, we started griping and one of the girls went and told her to come spend some time at our table. Well, she halfheartedly came over and we let her have it. Of course, she sat down to talk and immediately remembered she knew how to read. So to entertain us with her incredible reading skills, she read the helium balloon and said, “Oh my gosh, are you really a comedian?”

Before I could even react, my comic instinct blurted out, “No, no, I only play one on TV.” Without missing a beat, she asked, “REALLY? Which TV?” The split-second before I opened my mouth, I heard Dean mutter under his breath, “Oh, I love you!”

I pointed straight up at one of the 40 television sets in the place and told her with all the professional sincerity I could muster, “Only that one, sweetie. Only on that one.” That was the last time I ever EVER saw her there.

As for other ways to entertain us, I personally HATE the song “YMCA” so the less times I hear it, the higher my quality of life gets. Touching my shoulder as she passes by with somebody else’s pitcher of beer DOES NOT COUNT as entertaining me. Now, brushing my nugget with her fingertips or using those acrylic nails to give my nipples a flick as she whizzes past, ok, that’ll keep me entertained. That’ll also cost me a lap dance fee and tip.

As for YMCA, let’s see what that might possibly stand for?

· You Might Catch AIDS (from the Village People)

· Your Man Cheats Around (with the Village People)

· Yo Momma Couldn’t Abort

· MY WINGS ARE GETTING COLD AND MY BEER IS EMPTY!

The times when we’ve blatantly asked to be entertained, (now now, we HAVE kept it nice. Sexual harassment IS a crime) we have been turned down each time. We’re talking about simple requests. “Hey, sing us a song!” “Why don’t you tell us a joke?” Telling us about your boyfriend IS NOT entertaining. Well, it can be, but again, we end up doing all the hard work by picking on him behind his back. One time, it was great; she called him up on a cell phone cracking up and has us rip him “to his face” over the phone. But I guess the last laugh is on us since I was chugging Maalox that night and he was suffocating in titty-flesh.

#10 Secret service – anticipate the guests needs

Is she going to wear an earpiece? Going to pack a rod? Can she holster MY piece? Will she take a bullet? Can I give her a shot? Can she stop John Malkovich? OK, that’s enough of the secret service puns. But, seriously, WHAT THE FUCK? I need “secret service” at Hooters like I need a gun barrel in my mouth. Hmmm, yeah, anticipate THAT need of mine while you’re at it.

Anticipation of the guests’ needs is the core of EVERY service-based industry. That’s what separates WORLD CLASS service like what you receive at Bally’s Sterling Brunch from the McService at McDonald’s. (DAMN YOU, IT’S CALLED BARBECUE SAUCE IN SPANISH TOO!!!)

#11 Deliver food to the table

I’m glad this was put in writing for them. They might get too carried away singing YMCA or sitting down at someone else’s table and forget my wings are getting FUCKING COLD ON THE COUNTER!!!!

#12 Check back in 2 bites or 2 minutes and refill drinks

HEAVENS!!! Refill drinks…dammit, YES!!! REFILL DRINKS!!! I don’t care if I’ve only spilt a few drops from the brim! FILL THAT BITCH BACK UP! It doesn’t matter if I tell you not to, I will love you for it.

That one time when the girl got mad at us, we still gave her an excellent tip. Why? It only felt like we each drank 1 glass of beer. The glass was ALWAYS full! Every time we looked at it… EVERY time!

Now, let’s point back to the stupid shit. Two bites or two minutes? With my accredited experience in eating chicken wings, I have yet to encounter the chicken that took me more than two bites to devour its wings. Two minutes? I’m not geriatric. Two bites take me less time than it took me to write this sentence. But even if we’ve missed a bite here and there, HURRY YOUR ORANGE SHORTS ASS BACK TO THE TABLE! We really don’t care if you ask, “Is everything all right?” because what we want is more Ranch/Blue Cheese (regardless) and we want our beers topped off again.

#13 Hands Full Golden Rule: Pre-bus, help with wait station.

I have no idea what this means. I can only venture to guess that it means, “be careful” because breasts, when done right, take up a lot of space in front of you.

#14 TEAMWORK – acknowledge every guest (5ft rule)

Ohhhhh, the sheer delight of the 5-foot rule! Unfortunately, my pecker is not five feet long so as to intrude into the airspace of others, but then, if it were, I wouldn’t need to go to Hooters for cheap thrills.

But yes, in a perfect world, that would give us a 15-foot Sphere-of-Influence at Hooters for our usual trips there. More than the average man gets anywhere, unless he is a remnant of the Soviet apparatus. (I’m working on it.)

#15 Offer Dessert and Merchandise!

Were I the manager of our local Hooters (I’m working on that too), this would be one of the highest graded points on the checklist. Hooters, just like Hard Rock Café has those little pins to collect and I’m proud to admit that I’ve never been suckered into shelling out any of my hard-earned cash for any of it. Who’s going to be impressed? “Wow, you’ve been to the Hooters in Old Town?” As opposed to, “Hey, you’ve been to the Hard Rock in Surfers’ Paradise? Sweet!”

#16 Present check in a timely manner

By this point, we know she’s sick of us. She’s not asking, “Oh come on, why do chicks hate you?” anymore. In fact, she’s probably at home now writing an article for her web-column (God, I hate the word blog!!) about exactly why chicks hate me.

Now, this isn’t solely for Hooters girls, this is for EVERYONE in the service industry. Don’t EVER assume someone is done. EVER. Don’t wish someone a nice day, good night, etc. without the obligatory, “Anything else for you today?”

Hell, I bet that’s how most of the winning lottery tickets have been sold (never to me, of course). Maybe take a couple rounds passing the table and ask, “So, did you leave enough room for dessert?” “You fellas look like you can squeeze in another pitcher!”

The manager will love you for it. Plus, you’ve gotten us assholes to refuse twice. After that, we have no excuse to bitch that you rushed us out. We KNOW you want to get rid of us. You don’t have to prove it to us, really. It will also help your tip.

If your performance the whole night was simply stellar, botching it up at the end is like missing Heaven by two inches!! Isn’t that tip money worth all the fake affection you show us? Isn’t it worth that whole, “I’m gonna touch this gross guy on the shoulder” gesture? Isn’t that tip worth all the lousy jokes you had to put up with? Please please ask yourself these questions toward the end of our visit there. Otherwise, you may be less than pleased when you get: “Don’t eat egg salad while riding on the train.”