Plus Two

It seems that two more Hooters Girl blogs have sprung up in the past couple of months. One, California Hooters Girl, written by, you guessed it, "California Hooters Girl," has only a few entries thus far, detailing her experiences apply at Hooters and her orientation. Her writing style is chaotic and energetic, which makes for a fun read.

The much-awaited 2nd interview has come and gone and with it I've embarked on a rollercoaster of emotions. Yes, Hooters has me on an emotional rollercoaster...who woulda thought!

Anywho, I got there promptly at 3:15pm, once again sporting false eyelashes/overdone eyeshadow/cleavage. The girl at the front recognizes me right away (it's the same girl who helped me when I applied last week). She's super sweet once again and leads me to a table at the back of the restaurant...why the table all the way at the back? I do not know. After waiting for about 10 minutes, the other manager, Chris comes out and greets me...he's this very tan fellow with a heavy Australian accent. We spoke for about half an hour, about my interest in Hooters, my qualifications (bubbly personality, good looks, positive attitude, ability to flirt...no joke). Of course I say I have all of those and go on to explain how I've used each of these qualities in the past...this is the first time I've ever had to discuss my looks or flirtatiousness at a job interview. Or anywhere, really. We also talked about school and future career goals, which was a little more normal for a job interview. So as our chat is winding down, Chris congratulates me...yes, he offers me the job on the spot! Money, here I come! Oh yeah...neon short and cleavage-exposing uniforms, here I come! Sexual innuendoes by way of drunken men, here I come! I said I was on an emotional rollercoaster, right? Can you see why? Job/money=good; uniforms/sexual comments/the stereotypes that come along with being a Hooters girl=not so much. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm excited on a lot of levels...yes, because of the money but also because...well...I'll admit it...it actually does seem like a pretty fun job and like a lot of other women, I do like showing off what I've got (up to a certain degree, of course). But I also am a little nervous about it. Although I shouldn't care, and I usually don't, I am a little concerned about what people will say and how I will be treated by customers. I guess I'll find out soon enough. For now, say hello to the newest Hooters girl! Oh yeah...I have orientation on Tuesday at 2pm.

-California Hooters Girl

The second blog is titled, Hooters Girl on the Side, and is written under the moniker, "Ashamed & Amused." It's a bit disconcerting for me to read this blog, as Ashamed's attitude regarding her employment at Hooters is one of self-conscious and disparaging embarrassment. It is quite sad to read about someone working at a place that they seem to feel very poorly about, and in the few entries that have been written the author makes note of several things that she dislikes about her job, her coworkers, and what is required of her. I hope, for her sake, that Ashamed has either grown to enjoy her job or has found employment elsewhere, but as the last post is from the month of September there is no way to know. Perhaps she'll update soon.

Apparently working at Hooters involves a lot of training, studying, and tests. I feel like I'm at school again. Only school for vain women. So I have now completed 3 days of my 5 day training period. Phew!

So Day 1:

I am working a night shift. So I have all day to get myself "photoshoot ready". I do my hair, I think it's meh. I finish my make up with some natural looking eye shadow and not too much eyeliner. I don't want to look like a hooker after all. So I pull on my skin tight panty hose, my teeny shorts and shirt, and then of course get dressed again on top of that (remember we have to be completely covered on the way in and out of the restaurant... stupid) So now I look like a fat yoga instructor and feel about that attractive too. Awesome!

I walk in the door and obviously no one knows why this scrubby girl just walked in alone, and no one talks to me. I finally see one of the managers and he takes me into the office. He does the mundane things like photo copying my alcohol serving certification. (Did I mention Hooters does not require you to have a Food Handlers License?! I find that a little upsetting and kinda gross.) Anyway he goes and gets me a new black uniform since the other one was too small. (Although when I said they were too small he looked at me like I was crazy... apparently there is no such thing.) Regardless I have to go change into the black one since it's Wingsday. I put all my stuff into the TBC (Taking Care of Beauty (vomits in mouth a lil)) and he tells me to sit at this table, meet some of the girls, and wait for my trainer. I'll call her 'R'.

So I sit and start looking/judging all of the girls around me.

Here is what I observed:

1.) apparently the 'hooker' eye make up I referred to earlier is custom

2.) the longer the hair the hotter you are. (Seriously the like 'famous' promo girl from our restaurant has hair below her butt.)

3.) Some girls think they are working at a strip club

4.) The girls somehow make these tiny shorts go so far up their butts that their cheeks hang out. I don't see how guys could possibly find wedgies attractive, but I guess they must.

5.) Every girl thinks that she knows the most about everything... ever.

and...

6.) I was suddenly alone at these two tables where like 10 girls were before I got there.

So in case I wasn't awkward, now I'm really uncomfortable. I decide to start talking to them and maybe they will stop ignoring me. One girl comes up and I ask if she is "R". And she looked at me like I was retarded and said "Why would you ask me that?" (... uhhh.) I told her she was training me and she finally said "oh, she's cool I guess." And walked away.

Girls slowly gather around some pigging out on fries, most bitching about some drama about 'he cheated on her' and 'how could you tell them'..., a girl came in with her 3 year old son and her Hooters outfit. All very 'normal'.

Finally I hear someone say R's name. But I say nothing. Finally the manager kinda introduces us from two tables away, and she just says 'hey' and turns back to her conversation. Then all at once all the girls get up and take off any jackets, pants, dresses, whatever and walk into the To-Go room. So I follow. Apparently this meeting happens before every shift and it's called 'Jump Start'.

Definition of Jump Shift: Meeting to kick off the shift. Discuss Promos and sports. Do the line up and figure out section placement.

What Jump Shift actually is: The manger calls each girl by name. When you're called you must stand in the middle of the room, hold your hands up so he can see your nails, and twirl so he can make sure you are 'picture perfect.' (aka, look at your ass and tits) Then he says 'who wants to go home.' I really really wanted to be like "ME!" but I guess that's not what he meant. Apparently they schedule too many girls and usually people get to go home before the shift even starts. Then they play games to decide who gets what section. I pay no attention to this.

R finally starts talking to me and taking me around the restaurant and showing me what all I have to do. The rest of this night was pretty boring. I had to fill out some of my workbook and literally follow her around. EVERYWHERE. It's so weird. Whatever. At the end of every training shift you get free food. (I am a vegetarian... why am I working at a wings place? Idk) So I just got a kid's grilled cheese and fries with the awesome ranch and I am happy. So I go home.

Day 2- I work lunch shift. Which apparently I was scheduled to be the hostess. R did not tell me that the hostess has to wear the opposite colors of the rest of the girls. So I was in the wrong uniform. Great. Oh and the manager made me play the game with the other girls to decide who gets to be Head Wait... even though I couldn't... he just wanted to embarrass me. The game was WHO CAN THROW THE LEMON SLICE THE FURTHEST ACROSS THE RESTAURANT BACKWARDS! (yes these games are incredibly challenging and require extensive knowledge.) I tried to not win, cuz I didn't want them to be mad, but I still got 2nd. Because 4 of the 6 girls threw theirs over their shoulder and into the ceiling.

But I actually really liked this job. I literally sat at the front of the restaurant and when someone would walk up I'd open the door and say "Hi, how are you? Sit where ever you like." Then I'd sit down again. Easy ass shit. All the girls complain about it, but you get paid min wage and you do nothing. Some guys came in and when I told them to sit anywhere and they were like "we wanna sit with you." First 'hit on' comment I'd gotten. I told them unless they wanted to sit at the front door they were outta luck.

Also being hostess means you get cut REALLY early. Another awesome perk! So then R took me into the other room, and was like are you ready for your quiz over the beer, wine, and liquor? (umm... no!... I didn't know I had a test!) She thought I was an idiot, but clearly she doesn't communicate well (ex. the wrong uniform). So I ordered cheese quesadillas (which were actually really good), did my work book, and left.

Day 3- This day when I walked in, one of the girls that had worked the day before said "Wrong uniform!" and I freaked out and she laughed. Even if it was making fun of me, hey someone talked to me! (ugh) Anyway I continued on trying to make myself look busy while waiting for Jump Start. This time he actually made me get up and twirl... great. We start the shift. R is kinda in a bad mood, so I try to be as out of the way as possible. This is the day we did 'Digital Dining' (I learned how to put orders into the computer... rocket science). After that she started trying to quiz me over sides and toppings and meat... being a vegetarian I was not very good. I actually studied the night before. I haven't studied in 10 months, and I did for this bullshit job. So when R said "you didn't study did you?" I kinda wanted to punch her in the face a little. But I'm sure it seemed like I hadn't because things that are common sense to most people (like how oysters are weighed, how shrimp is prepared, what a naked Daytona flapper is...) does not make sense to me. Needless to say I "passed" the tests. FINALLY!

The shift drug on later than the other days before he finally cut R and me. This shift I wanted another Grilled Cheese. Apparently the rule is when you are training you have to try a meal from every category on the list and I couldn't have that category anymore. R tried to explain that I was a vegetarian but the manager just told me to get a salad. I was WAY to hungry for a salad and R had to eat whatever category I chose from. So I ordered a Philly sandwich with no meat. It was actually good and everyone was happy. And while I was eating it, a girl (who wasn't even working that night) came over and sat and talked with me the whole time. It was so nice to meet a human. (I actually love R cuz I think she is hilarious, but I don't think the feeling is mutual.)

I finally got dressed, got escorted to my car, and went home knowing I had the weekend off and it was wonderful. (starting to dread days 4 and 5).

-Hooters Girl on the Side

I wish that I could promise that posting on, The Hooters Girl, will return to normal soon, but I have a feeling that it may be another month or so until that happens. The Boyfriend and I will be busy with cleaning our new house and moving in over the next couple of weeks and my work schedule will be cut somewhat during that time, thus less time to write and fewer incidents to write about. I do promise to write what and when I can, but I'd recommend not expecting a whole hell of a lot until the new year begins. Thank you, everyone, for understanding.

UFC 106

"Hi! Thanks for calling Hooters, your local UFC headquarters! This is K.H., how can I help you?"

"Um, yeah, hi," replied the voice on the other end of the line. "I was wondering if I could reserve a table for the fight tonight?"

I sighed wearily and apologized. "I'm afraid we're not taking anymore reservations. There are still a few tables available, though, first come first served, and you can also try to nab a seat at the bar," I offered.

"So...I can't reserve a table?"

"No, I'm sorry." I apologized again, shooting a dirty look at one of the girls who giggled as she listened to me begin the all too familiar conversation.

"You poor thing!" she whispered. "If I were you, I just wouldn't answer the phone on UFC days!"

"Wait a minute...You said you have tables that aren't reserved?"

"Mhm." I knew where this was going...

"Well then, why can't I sit at ona' them?" His voice was irate, confused, a bit desperate, making me want to laugh. I love UFC matches as much as the next girl, but damn, it's just a fight!

"Because," I replied, striving to keep the boredom out of my voice as I began my oft repeated explanation. "We need to keep a few tables open for walk-ins, particularly for those who aren't even here for the fight." Couldn't these people see how having the entire restaurant reserved in advance was a bad business practice? First time customers might assume that the place is always insanely busy and not bother coming back.

As I had expected, the man on the phone kept me on the line for several more minutes, protesting, pressing for more information, and generally making an ass of himself.

"Look," I finally cut him off, my patience worn through. "Even if we were accepting reservations for the entire restaurant, you would still be too late to get one. Now is there anything else I can help you with?"

The hours before a UFC match, especially a big one, are always filled with these sorts of conversations. Over and over the bartender on duty (usually me) must disappoint the more meatheaded UFC fans who struggled to understand the concept of "no more reservations." It seemed that their inability to comprehend this simple statement gave them flashbacks to that history class that they flunked their sophomore year of high school, and they grew defensive and hostile towards me, seemingly forgetting that I have absolutely no control over how many reservations we can take or where the cut off is. Truly, there is nothing more appealing to me than to be berated by these overgrown man-children as I make my way through a double shift that will conclude with serving these same douches shots of Jager while they pump their fists in the air an leer at me.

Since Tito Ortiz, one of the contenders in the headlining fight on Saturday, is a rather reviled fighter, being that he is in fact one of those Jagermeister pounding, fist pumping, douchebags himself, Hooters was even more packed than it normally is during UFC matches. Everyone was looking forward to seeing him get his ass handed to him, including myself. Demi and I had a hell of a time keeping up with the drinks orders pouring in. Being that it was the busiest night we had seen in a long while, a number of kegs ran out. While we waited for them to be changed, tickets would pile up. At one point I had twelve tickets for Bud Light alone, yet no Bud Light was available to me. As the evening progressed we began running out of glasses and pitchers, despite having just received a shipment of both. Tickets were piling up simply because every pitcher that we had was in use. Beer was being poured in to plastic soda cups, as we had no glasses available. It was incredibly hectic, even by fight night standards.

Adding to the melee was the girl who still could not figure out how getting change from the bartender worked. First I had to explain to her, yet again, how the whole change thing worked. Then, for probably the sixth or seventh time, I suggested that she do like the other Hooters Girls and bring her own bank.

"Okay," she pouted. "But what does that mean? You've said it before and I just don't get what you mean?"

I blinked. What do I mean? "Well, most of the girls bring in anywhere from ten to fifty bucks in ones and fives. When a customer needs change, they can simply take it from their own bank...Does that make sense?"

She though for a moment, her brown furrowing with concentration. "But, will I lose my money?"

I wanted to tell her 'yes', that she was clearly a moron and would likely end up giving all of her cash away , but I thought better of it. "No, not if you give them the correct change," I replied instead.

She nodded. "Okay, I can do that. I just never knew what you meant before."

Demi butted in at that point. "Didn't I just give you change for a hundred?" she asked.

The girl nodded.

"Then, you shouldn't need to come back for change so soon. Can I see what you have?"

The girl opened her book to reveal a plethora of bills.

"Honey..," Demi began. "Why aren't you using these?"

"What do you mean?" Her expression was one of complete bafflement.

"These bills! Use them! You can use them for change so you don't have to keep coming back here!" Demi cried. After showing the girl how to make change with her own stash of money, Demi turned back to me. "Does she do this with you, too?" she demanded.

I nodded, laughing, and we discussed how similar to Liah this one was in many respects.

Fortunately, despite how frantic everything was, the customers that Demi and I had at the bar were all very patient and fun. For the most part, things went smoothly, and I was able to walk out that night with one hundred and thirty dollars in tips, just from the second half of my double shift alone.

Interesting

The Crazy Liberal (who is quite infatuated with me and now comes in every single shift that I work), mentioned something that I found rather interesting. Apparently, now that he is at Hooters so damn often, the uniforms that he once found extremely sexy have lost their luster. Instead, he confided in me, he loves to see the girls during shift change, when the night girls come in wearing their street clothes and us day girls change in to ours to leave. He now finds us much more attractive when we are, as he said, "wearing pants."


For those of you going through withdrawals, I promise that a more lengthy post about last Saturday's UFC match will be up tomorrow!

Too Much

I promise I'm not dead, just far too busy and uninspired to write at the moment.

Those Things

Lone female diners are a relative rarity at Hooters, especially at the bar, so I noticed when an attractive, well dressed woman who appeared to be in her mid to late thirties was approaching my bar. She seemed uncomfortable, a bit out of place, maybe even slightly nervous.

"Is she one of the managers' wife?" I wondered to myself. "Or one of the girls' mom?"

As the woman lifted herself in to one of the stools near my register, I flashed her a smile, hoping to calm her somewhat. "Hi! What can I get going for you?" I asked her, wondering if perhaps she was meeting a husband or some girl friends.

"Well, actually, I was wondering if I could get an application from you."

I hesitated for a moment. We seldom see any women over the age of twenty-six or so seeking jobs as Hooters Girls and management positions are typically filled on an executive level, hiring from within the company when possible. The woman must have noticed my slight confusion, as she continued on in a rush.

"Oh, I don't mean to be a Hooters Girl! I want to get the application to be a bartender," she explained.

Before I could explain to the woman the bartenders are Hooters Girls, she began speaking again.

"See, I don't want to have to wear those," she went on, gesturing at my shorts and wrinkling her nose with obvious distaste. "I could never wear those things!" she laughed. "I just...it just goes against everything that I stand for. I just couldn't wear them, ever," she emphasized. "That's why I want to be a bartender, so I don't have to wear those. Don't the bartenders wear something different?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm afraid not," I replied, feeling a bit hurt on my shorts' behalf. Sure they're a blinding shade of tangerine, but they're not that bad! Besides, who goes in to apply for a job and begins by insulting the uniforms that all of her would-be coworkers wear? And really, they're against, "everything," that you stand for?

"What?! Really? Bartenders have to wear those things? But, they're so short! And tight! And so...so..."

I nodded. "Yeah, I guess so," I replied, unsure of what to say to this woman's vehement opposition to my poor shorts. "Not if you find them so morally offensive..."

The woman was so lost in her disappointment that she didn't even seem to notice my snark. "Well, thank you anyways," she sighed, turning to leave.

"I could've sworn they wore something else!" I heard her mutter as she walked away.

Tilted Kilt Girl

If you enjoy a side of mutual exploitation with your burger and beer, you might have already heard about or been to Hooters' Scottish cousin, Tilted Kilt. Tilted Kilt is essentially Hooters, but instead of offering the glaringly orange eighties beach theme that Hooters provides, Tilted Kilt is designed to feel like an old Irish or Scottish pub. The bartenders and servers who work at Tilted Kilt wear tartan plaid push-up bras, midriff-and-baring button-up tops, and so-called, "mini-kilts," which no doubt have contributed to the relatively young company's quickly growing number of franchises.

A recent hire at the Tilted Kilt, writing under the moniker, "S," has just begun a blog about her job as a Tilted Kilt Girl. Thus far, S has only a couple of posts, but both are very well written and quite amusing. If you enjoy, The Hooters Girl, I strongly suggest that you give, Tilted Kilt Girl, a read.

Faking Laughter, Making Excuses, & Mocking the Crazies

I had no plans to mention Halloween or what slutty occupational costume I wore while working today, but I find it absolutely ridiculous that, during a six hour time period, no fewer than twenty-three men (Yeah, I counted.) felt it necessary to crack a joke about wanting me to arrest and/or frisk them. The first few times I utilized the ubiquitous fake laugh that every Hooters Girl cultivates for such drearily unfunny times like these, but as the day wore on, my laughter quickly mellowed in to a sarcastic half-smile, accompanied by a decidedly forced, "Haha." Most depressing is that all but one of these twenty-three comediennes clearly fancied themselves quite clever.

Obviously, I have been a markedly shitty blogger as of late, and for that I apologize and offer up a few equally shitty excuses: Things have been busy/stressful/demanding, especially in regards to house hunting. Fortunately, The Boyfriend and I have finally found a house that we love. Our offer was accepted by the seller and the initial inspection went well. We are now in the process of getting loans finalized and securing FHA approval. If all goes according to plan, we will be moved in by Christmas. At this point, I am still unsure what this means for my job at Hooters. Though I do plan to continue working there, I will likely be scaling back on hours a bit, and possibly finding another job a bit closer to the new house, and I might take a brief leave of absence around the holidays. Posting will likely continue to be a bit slow for a while, but I promise that I am not deserting the job or the blog entirely. In addition to general business and being unable to summon the creative energy required to write a decent post, shifts have a been a bit slow lately, thus fewer crazies wander in and give me cause to make a mockery of them on the internet. Fortunately for the quickly atrophying muscles that I use to type, however, a new character has arrived. He's been coming in at least twice a week for the last four weeks, always while I am behind the bar. I mentioned him briefly a few posts back (He is the guy with the conspiracy theories who hit it off so famously with Classy Nipples.) and I have been referring to him as the, "Crazy Liberal," when telling The Boyfriend about him.

Crazy Liberal is a bachelor in his mid-forties. He believes strongly in the power of his mind and is completely convinced that the reason the severe acne that he dealt with as a teenager eventually subsided was due to his mental powers ( and not, you know, because he grew out of it like ninety-eight percent of the population does). He also believes that his supposed mind power is responsible for him not going bald yet. Apparently the guy literally stands in front of a mirror and repeatedly says, "I will not lose my hair," on a regular basis. As discussed previously, Crazy Liberal also believes that the George Bush's are members of a secret organization who began the war as some sort of scam, and I think I overheard him talking about government mind control at one point. He mentions Big Brother a lot, and seems to enjoy discussing political corruption and conspiracy theories of all kinds, most of which he is an avid believer in. When not ranting about these sorts of things to I or Classy Nipples, who also appears nearly every day that I work, Crazy Liberal spends his time discussing his sensitive stomach and how fond he is of my ass. Even more disturbing, just a few days ago Crazy Liberal let slip the fact that he has been a fan of my ass since I began working at Hooters more than a year ago. I cannot even begin to explain how disturbing it is to listen to a man nostalgically reminisce about the first time that he noticed your butt, especially when the aforementioned reminiscing is coming from a man who you have no recollection of ever even seeing prior to the last few weeks.

As time passes, more and more of the Hooters Girls who were already working at Hooters when I began have left. I am now one of the senior girls on staff, and I am truly beginning to appreciate some of the coldness from girls like RW Jenn when I first started working on the floor. As being friendly and conventionally attractive are the two most highly sought after traits in new hires, a disturbing and seemingly ever-increasing number of my coworkers have intelligence levels akin to the intelligence levels of the average cow; that is to say, quite frankly, I work with idiots, and lately, I have simply been assuming that everyone is an idiot until proven otherwise.

Today, while rushing back and forth behind the bar, tending to customers, pouring drinks, and somehow managing not to slip in my heels, I noticed that one of GM J's latest hires was not picking up any of the drinks that she had been ringing in. Several times I shouted her name, figuring that she had simply not heard me above the noise of the busy restaurant, but still she did not come. Finally, several minutes after my latest call, I noticed her at the main window where most of her drinks were waiting. She was not taking them, however, so teetered down to where she was.

"You need something, hon?" I asked her.

"No..," she replied, seeming slightly confused. "I thought I heard you call me."

"Um...yeah. Your drinks are up," I explained deliberately. "Almost all of these are yours," I went on, gesturing at the eight or nine drinks in front of me. "They need to go out. The beer is going flat and the ice is melting."

"These are mine?" she exclaimed, to which I nodded.

"Most of them."

"But not all of them?" she asked.

"No..." Now I was confused.

"How do I know which ones are mine?"

I must confess, at this point, my incredulous bitch face took over and I had to work to keep from asking just how low her I.Q. really is. "Well, the drinks that have tickets with your name on them are yours. The ones with someone else's name are not, although you can run them if you want."

"Our names are on them? So that's how you know who to call!" she exclaimed, beaming with excitement at having figured that one out.

RW Jenn was standing nearby and overheard this exchange. She just laughed. What else can you do?

Hooters Pantyhose: Brands, Colors, Sizes, and Where to Buy

Halloween is nearly upon us, and I have received several emails inquiring about how one can obtain the pantyhose worn by Hooters Girls, as well as a few questions on sizing, so I thought that a post on the matter might be in order.

Some Hooters locations use Peavey brand pantyhose, while others use the Tamara brand. As the Tamara brand is the only one that I have personally worn, I cannot be of much help concerning the Peavy brand, however, you can check out the product list from Peavey here, where you can also obtain your scrunch socks. Anyhow, the exact nylons that are worn by the Hooters Girls at my store (Tamara footless pantyhose, in "Suntan.") can be purchased online here, for a mere $2.59, plus shipping. I have utilized this web site before, so I can vouch for their reliability and promptness. Sizing is as follows.

Size A: Up to 5'2" in height and weighing up to 105 lbs.
Size B: Between 5'0" and 5'5" and weighing 95-120 lbs.
Size C: Between 5'3" and 5'8" and weighing 105-140 lbs.
Size Long: From 5'6" and up and weighing 115-175 lbs.

If you fall in to two size categories, take your body proportions in to consideration. If you are 5'1" and weigh 110 lbs, obviously either sizes A or B could work for you, but if you are like me and have a bit of a butt on you, opt for the size B. Likewise, if you are 5'6" and 125 lbs, but have a very slender build, size C will likely work better than size Long.

If your weight is higher than 175 lbs, I would recommend using Leggs brand nylons, as they have a wider range of sizes than Tamara does. Be sure to purchase "Suntan" colored pantyhose, and ensure that you choose a "sheer-to-waist" style. Nothing kills that lines of your body like the panels that many nylons have. Try these or these, in a size Q or Q+. I believe that Peavey might also have larger sizes, so take a look at the previous link.

How Should I Respond to That?

It's late and I am tired, but I haven't updated in ages (due to a mixture of being a bit burnt out on writing at the moment, as well as a lack of subject matter in relation to Hooters) and you deserve better. With that in mind, allow me to present to you a few comments that were made to me today, entirely in earnest.

Guy: Wow! You're really great! You're just a great bartender!

Me: (Laughing.) Thanks.

Guy: Seriously! Your conversation is just as good as your looks!

Me: Um...I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to say to that...

The best part of the exchange is that the guy seemed a bit confused as to why his oh-so-generous compliment was met with anything other than feelings of flattery and thanks.

A bit later, after Acedia bragged about her "audition" for Playboy and how great all of her pictures came out (She actually uttered the mind-numbing phrase, "Like, I looked, like, sooo hot, like, you don't even know. Like, you have no idea how hot."), the same man and I had the following exchange.

Guy: (Acting as though he is joking, though he clearly was not.) So I guess she's gonna show me her Playboy tryout pictures! Do you have any? I'd tip you like, two hundred bucks if I could see them!

Me: (Under the impression that the guy was possibly planning to give Acedia two hundred bucks to see a picture of her boobies.) You know, have you thought this through? I mean, if she gets in to Playboy, you can see the whole spread for what, five bucks? And if she doesn't get it, is it really worth paying two hundred for?

Guy: (Laughing.) Good point. I'll only give you two hundred for 'em!

I won't lie; I relished the fact that that last bit was overheard by Acedia, who spent the remainder of the day shooting me dark glares. That yet another person mentioned how unfortunate it was that such a pretty girl as her was so absolutely self-absorbed also made giggle a little.

Anyhow, moving on...

While a customer spouted off about how much he prefers schwag over a green, heavily scented marijuana, Classy Nipples chimed in to advise us all to consider pairing our cheap weed with some cocaine. The other man then began a nearly rehearsed sounding speech about government corruption, conspiracy, drugs, and the like, which eventually led to a a heated discussion between him and Classy nipples about secret clubs involving George W. Bush and Dick Cheney. It was a good time.

Another man, who ate alone in complete silence and stolidly rejected any attempt that I made to draw him out, said as he was leaving, "You know, I think I might name my daughter after you." He then turned and headed out the door. Yes, it was a bizarre as it sounds. Again, what the fuck do you say to that?

The Only-Slightly-Cranky Waitress on Why You Should Tip

The following was written by, "Purple Girl," author of, The Only-Slightly-Cranky Waitress.


In the homecoming post, Suzanne posted the following comment:

Okay, I'm going to go completely out on a limb here, and being anonymous, I gonna really not hold back. What the heck, call me a coward, I'll get over it.
To give you an idea of how often I eat out, here are some facts. I have never gone out for dinner with my parents in my life. I have been married 17 years to my hubby, and having 4 kids has seriously affected our finances, in that we go out for fast food maybe once every couple of months, and for a 'nicer' meal, like Swiss Chalet, once or twice a year.
I have to tell you that my jaw is dropping when I read your and other blogs like this. I thought you all were paid minimum wage, which as far as I know here in Canada is getting close to a very respectable $10per hour. I know that the polite thing is to tip, and we do, generally not more than 15 %, but here's my point. I thought that getting a tip was exactly what the word sounds like, an extra little something something for a job well done. From what I read here, it is tantamount to giving your waitress the finger, if you don't tip at least that regardless of service or quality of food. We work hard for our money, AS DO YOU, but is it really the case that when you don't tip (enough) you are really the lowest scum out there?
Suzanne

I wanted to address this fully, hence the post. First, being anonymous doesn't make you a coward--that only applies to the asshat who likes to anonymously troll my blog every few weeks! Nothing wrong with it otherwise.

I did a quick search, and it seems that servers in Canada do get minimum wage. In that case, a tip is absolutely an extra. If I got minimum wage for my job, I wouldn't bitch nearly as much as I do! Of course, if I got minimum wage I'd find some other minimum wage job instead--serving is worth it because of the potential to make more, and also because you get the cash in hand, now, and taxes are taken out of the wage you do get.

In my state, that's $4 an hour. It used to be $2.13; it still is in most states. I went years without getting a physical paycheck that was for more than $2 total. I think California is the only state where servers receive a true minimum wage. Everywhere else, servers get the shaft, and tips really do make up the vast bulk of our income. It's a sort of social contract; customers get lower food costs in exchange for the inconvenience of tipping. If that were eliminated, the price of menu items would go up. I wrote a blog post about it last year, but it's pretty long so I'll just summarize it.

At my particular restaurant, increasing server wage to minimum would cost the restaurant an extra $300 per day, a 42% increase. There are two ways to compensate for that: cut portion sizes, or raise prices. Either way is less hard goods for your dollar amount, and most likely the cost would just be tacked on to menu prices (as it was when the increase to $4 happened). If server wage were increased to minimum wage, a four person tab of $77 now would become $109--whereas with a 15% tip it's only $88.50.

Essentially, with the current system in the U.S., customers are paying for the foodstuffs, the cook's labor, and the operating costs such as electricity. When they don't tip, they're getting service labor for free--it's not included in the base cost of their food, after all. Furthermore, servers get taxed on the imaginary percentage they "should" be getting. A lot of people think that servers either get a fuckton of tips they don't claim on a good day, or on a bad day that they'll just claim what they get and that's that.

(This is about to get long, but I'm trying to be thorough.)

While I'm sure there are a few places that still happens, they're very few. Owners and managers of private restaurants have to make certain that their staff is claiming a certain percentage of the restaurant's total sales (I think it's 8%?) or risk getting audited. That may not sound like much, but if you factor in a bar, to go service, the regular dining area, and at some places banquet halls where. Bartenders may or may not get tips depending on the situation; to-go servers may or may not; banquet halls may have a self-service line and not have to pay a gratuity. There are a lot of sales with often only the dining area workers getting tips they have to claim. So even if the restaurant doesn't have a computer system that regulates what servers claim, the people in charge will monitor it.

If they have a computer system, as corporate restaurants do, it's even worse. Say I have $500 in sales. If it was all in cash, the system is going to require me to claim at least $50 in tips. If I got less, I can have a manager approve it--but again, they have to watch the overall percentage. I couldn't get away with consistently claiming less as it would trigger alarms in the computer system and I'd be questioned. So sometimes, because of that, I have to claim more than I made.

If that $500 was all on credit cards, it's even worse. At the end of the night, I go through each credit slip and enter the tip into the computer before running my checkout. When I clock out, the computer again wants me to claim 10% of that $500 even if every sale was on a credit card and the system knows I only have $40. Again, I can get the manager swipe, and it's less of an audit danger there as there's documentation .... but for a lot of reasons, sometimes I won't get that manager approval. Maybe I'm in a hurry and the GM is on the phone with her sister and ignoring her job or Lapdog is pissed off and not answering when he's spoken to.

The worst case scenario, though, is when every last sale is a credit card, and every last tip is on a credit card. If I get all my tips on credit cards, and they add up to $86, there is no way to claim less--even if I had to tip out $20. Or maybe I got $80 in credit cards and $6 in cash, then had to tip out $20--I still have to claim at least the $80. And then whoever I give those tips to has to claim them, and so the goverment basically gets to tax that cash twice.

Imagine this situation. I have three or four tables or two, and maybe I make $20 off of them in credit card tips. Then a table of twenty comes in an takes up my entire section for the rest of the evening. Their bill comes to $250, and despite them having a great experience, the old granny who pays doesn't leave a tip--and our system doesn't even have auto-gratuity capability.

My checkout slip reads $350 in sales, and when I check out I have to claim the $20 in credit tips. The manager saw me throwing things and/or crying in the kitchen, so he knows I got stiffed by the big party and swipes his card so I don't have to claim the extra $25 (minimum) I should have gotten from them. However, I still have to tip the bartender who made me twenty drinks during the course of the evening, and sometimes I have to tip a bus kid or two, too. So I get taxed on $20, and I only take home maybe $14 for six hours of work, plus I'm pissed off, plus the bartender and bus kids are pissed too because they got shorted.

Yes, it's an extreme example, but this has happened to me. In that case, those twenty people got my time, effort, and service for free, and they cost me money. Because I have to pay taxes on that $6 I had to claim, but also had to tip out. The same thing applies if it's a table of two who don't leave me 10% of a $20 bill. Is it a lot of money? No, but it adds up, and I don't go to work to pay to serve people their goddamn fried chicken! And certainly there are days when I make well above the 10% the computer requires me to pay ... but if the extra is on credit cards, I'm still claiming it. And if I don't, it's really only compensating for times when I lost out because of situations like the above.

So are people who don't tip the lowest scum on the face of the earth? No. They rank about pedophiles, rapists, and murders. But they are low-grade thieves, I think. And if your server provides good service, and if you're in a place with the social contract regarding tipping and low food cost, then not tipping at all is a huge finger to your server.

As far as not tipping "enough" ... well, that's subjective. If I get 10% off a couple of people who were low maintenance and polite, then I'm not thrilled but I'm not pissed. If somebody runs me like I'm doing a goddamn Jane Fonda workout video and then leaves me ten percent or less? I start having thoughts of stabbing.

On the other hand, if I screw up majorly, like I did with the steak guys, I expect nothing. If I'm mediocre and I know it (clap your hands), I don't get cranky about a mediocre tip. But if you're nice to my face and telling me what a great job I did, and if everything was perfect with your meal, and you tip my 5%? I'm going to remember you, and not fondly.

Similarly, if something is wrong with your food that is completely out of my control--say, a steak with a large vein of gristle through the center--and I fix it promptly and with an apology, and then you stiff me or short me? You will be remembered. Especially if because of that "error" you got your food for free! Now you've cost the restaurant money, you've gotten free food and labor, and you've cost your server some money too. Unless the server caused the error or was a bitch about it, there is no earthly reason to punish them! Why should I pay taxes on money I didn't get because a cow in Wisconsin grew connective tissue in an inopportune place?

Also, please keep in mind that blogs like this naturally highlight the best and the worst--there's a hell of a lot of in-between. Probably 50% of my customers don't tip me "enough" since the economy went tits-up, but unless it's under 10% or they were jerks, I'm probably not going to mention it here other than as part of an overview.

This may be a lot more info than you were looking for, especially since you're in a place where servers do get that minimum wage; but I'm wordy.


For more like this, check out either of PurpleGirl's blogs, The Only-Slightly-Cranky Waitress, and/or, The Blog of No Unifying Theme.